#the likes are nice but the reblogs are better

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: get ready for the hate.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The tunnel lights up ahead of you, revealing the cubic rock walls as you plant torches in your stead. The eerie soundtrack of night time and the ominous groan of zombies looming somewhere in the cave have you uptight. Silently, you press on, digging and mining mindlessly, fingers mashing the buttons on your controller. 

“Hey, where are you?” Jacob’s voice startles you. 

You nearly forgot you’re playing co-op. You sniff and shake your head, cursing aloud as your shock has you succumbing to the arrow of a sneaky skeleton. You sigh as your possessions scatter and you spawn back in your bed. 

“Back home,” you say glumly, “just ate it.” 

“Ah, damn,” his deep voice rolls in your noise-cancelling headset, “sorry, hope that wasn’t me.” 

“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” you hum and sigh.  

“Ah,” he accepts and lets silence linger before he clicks his tongue, “what’s going on? Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you put the controller down, your avatar sitting on the geometric bed, “I just...” you stretch your neck and massage your scalp around the thick band of the headset, “got a lot on my mind.” 

“Right. I thought you were all done exams,” he says. 

“I am, but... packing. Going home. I called my old boss and turns out I’m not gonna have a job this summer. Gotta start over,” you yawn and rub your eyes, “what about you? Final exam tomorrow?” 

“Uh... yeah,” he hesitates as if he forgot. You do wonder why he isn’t cramming right now. You could never play minecraft all night the day before a final. “Easy stuff. I’m not worried.” 

You scoff. You wish you could say the same. All you’ve done is worry those last two weeks. Exams, getting home, getting a job. Your grandmother won’t very happy to find out you’ll be slumming it for a while. At least you tucked away some money through the semester. 

“Hey, if you need a few bucks...” Jacob offers. 

“What? Are you crazy? No way,” you exclaim, “really, no, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine. I just... I hate looking for jobs. You know how it is. Friggin awkward.” 

“It’s not a big deal. My dad sent me my birthday money so...” 

“Uh uh,” you deny him again, “that’s way too much. I couldn’t-- we haven’t even met.” 

“Mm, yeah, about that,” he exhales into his microphone, “I, uh, got an extra ticket to this Con. I figured out that’s it like the midway point between us so...” 

“A con? Oh, wow--” 

“Yeah, but I get that it would be expensive so maybe I could pay for your trip?” 

“Jacob,” you wiggle the controller restlessly, “I can't accept that. It’s so nice but... it’s a lot.” 

“I wouldn’t offer it was too much,” his voice is soft, meek, and defeated. You feel bad but you would feel worse taking advantage of his kindness. “We’ve been talking all year. I just figured it would be a good chance to meet up. It would be in public and something we both like so...” 

You scratch your neck as it speckles with heat. You don’t know what’s more insulting; yes or no. 

“Can I think about it?” You ask thinly. 

The line is quiet. You look at the screen and it goes dim from your idling. You hit the analog stick and fix your headphones. 

“Jacob?” You murmur. 

“Sure, think about it,” he says, his voice raspy and rocky. It’s strange. You’ve seen him in pictures and his voice doesn’t really match his appearance. He sounds a lot older than he looks. “It’s next month so lots of time.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cringe. “I just wouldn’t want to waste your money.” 

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he insists, “this last year has sucked. So much. You got me through it all.” His microphone scuffs, “studying, exams, all that stuff. It’s tough making new friends. Seems like everyone here knows each other from high school.” 

“Yeah, totally,” you agree.  

You’re not exactly the most popular person. You have people you know in each class but not too many friends you hang out with outside the lecture hall or library. So far, not too many people want to spend hours mining digital gold or racing cartoon characters around a rainbow track. 

“Well, you should probably get some sleep,” you yawn, “you got your big exam and... I gotta keep packing. Gotta catch the greyhound tomorrow night.” 

“Sure, uh, yeah, right,” his disappointment is potent, “hey, will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it.” He snorts, “god, I sound like my dad right now.” 

“Oh, of course,” you chirp back, “I’ll try to remember. Might be late.” 

“That’s fine. Just as long as you let me know.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” you assure him, “not ‘til I have to face my grandma. Ha.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, “well... er...” 

“Good night,” you finish for him, “let me know how the exam goes too.” 

“Will do,” his timbre gets even lower, “night.” 

You sign off and shut down the console. Another yawn flows through you and waters in your eyes. You should sleep, you got a long day waiting for you, but you know it won’t be easy. Not with so much on your mind, not least of all, Jacob’s invitation. 

🎮

You text Jacob as you get on the bus, to make sure he doesn’t worry. It’s so sweet that he does, even some of your girlfriends don’t bother that much. Not that you mind the ‘hey, bitch’ Janet sends you every now and again to make sure you’re still alive. 

You fall asleep on the bus. You’ve never been one to sleep while travelling but you’re exhausted from a night of anxious tossing and turning. After spending all day packing up the last of your things and scouring your dorm room, you’re beat to hell. 

It’s midnight as you get to your grandmother’s house. She’s up reading another Stephen King classic in her rocking chair. She’s always been a night owl and a voracious book hound. She grumbles at you but doesn’t bother to ask how your trip was. 

“Hey, grandma,” you hike up your bag and smile.  

She growls again, eyes not leaving the page. You should know better by now not to interrupt her. You shoulder on and head down to the spare room where you spent most of your high-school career. You shut the door gently as the old hardwood floors creak with your weight and you drop your bag on the squeaky bed. 

You fish out your phone and plug it in as the battery flashes red with only two percent left. You leave it on the night table and stretch out, not bothering to change out of your hoodie and jeans. It’s not long before you descend back into the same dreams that marked your journey home. 

You wake up to buzzing. Your phone shakes the nightstand, rattling it against the bed frame. You groan and roll onto your side, reaching blindly for offending object. You hit the side button to dismiss the call.  

You blink away the bleariness and focus on the screen. Along with the missed call are several text messages. You squint as you expand the notifications. Jacob! You forgot to message. 

‘Hey, you home?’ 

‘Checking in. Must be busy getting settled in. Just let me know when you’re safe.’ 

‘Not meaning to be weird but everything okay?’ 

‘Please answer me. I’m worried.’ 

You drag your thumb around the keyboard, letting it predict your words; ‘sorry! I was so tired. Home now and safe 😊' 

Three dots pop up then swoop away. You frown as the same thing happens several times before a response appears. 

‘Was really worried. Thanks for finally answering. Been up all night.’ 

You’re stunned by the terse response. Yeah, you forgot to answer but he doesn’t need to worry that much. You frown and shift onto your side. 

‘Srry again. Tired. Talk in morning. Night.’ 

You turn your phone on silent and plug it back into the cord. You do feel bad but you’re too exhausted to let it keep you up. Besides, you need your sleep. You have lots of job hunting to do in the morning. Not to mention, your grandmother to face. 

🎮

You let Jacob cool down after your return home. Rather, he doesn’t text and you’re too distracted to do the same. As much as you’d like to sit around and game, your grandmother was as disappointed as you expected with your employment status, even when you gave her the money you had left in your emergency fund. 

After a week, you finally get a bite. It’s nothing special. There’s a seasonal ice cream shop in a booth shaped like a vanilla cone that needs a cashier on weeknights. It’s less than full time hours but it’s better than nothing. It will be strange working with high school juniors but you can’t afford to be picky. 

‘Game tonight?’ The text interrupts your first shift. You don’t have a chance to answer as a family approaches the window to order. 

You get them the soft serve and take their payment, bidding them a good evening with their vanilla points already drooping in the summer heat. You glance around at the mostly empty picnic tables. Soccer practice will end soon and you’ll be overloaded with eight-year-olds. 

‘Srry. New job. 1st shift. Maybe tmrw.’ 

‘New job? Congrats. Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

You sigh.  

‘Time got ahead of me.’ 

‘Same. Catch up tomorrow then. Minecraft?’ 

‘Sure. Tmrw.’ 

You slip your phone away. A mother and daughter approach and ask for a sundae and a banana split. As much as you love ice cream, working with it hasn’t tested your cravings very much. In fact, you might be falling out of love with it. The smell of vanilla and overly sweetened strawberries is kind of gross when it’s all you breathe. 

As you watch the happy customers walk away, you smile. Maybe it will be good to get some mining done. It will take your mind off of everything else. Hell, it might even make you feel like you’re doing something useful. 

🎮

“Shit, oh, sorry,” Jacob corrects himself. You always think it's kind of funny how he doesn’t like to swear. “My diamond armor.” 

“Oh no,” you utter, “where are you? I’ll grab your stuff.” 

He gives his coordinates and you turn around, leaping over the green blocks to make your way there. Despite your reticence at the beginning, you’re feeling better about the session. He wasn’t as tense as he seemed in his texts. 

“So, uh, did you think about the con?” Jacob asks. 

“The con? I almost forgot. When is it?” 

He gives the dates and you hum. Your chest flutters at the thought still. You’re not stupid. Meeting people IRL is not like online, no matter how many hours you’ve mined together. As much as you enjoy chatting with Jacob, you don’t know about meeting up. 

“I get it if you can’t get the time off but my offer still stands to cover the trip. If you wanna stay the night, I’ll even get an airBnB.” 

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot. I’m working now. I could put in,” you offer.  

“Is that a yes?” He asks hopefully. 

“I don’t know... I mean, I’ll have to look into it,” you say evasively. “Talk to my boss and grandma and all that.” 

“Right, right,” he tries to sound unbothered, “makes sense. Of course, no pressure. How about I send you the ticket either way? Haven’t got anyone else to bite.” 

“Oh, well, hold off, I wouldn’t want to take it and not use it,” you collect his weapons and armor from the ground in the game. 

It’s silent as you focus on getting every little thing. 

“Sorry, did I freak you out?” He asks, “I’m really not trying to pressure you, just got excited thinking about it.” 

“I know, Jacob, it’s not that, it’s just... a lot.” 

“Totally get it,” he intones, “let me know whenever you got an answer. Uh, where are you? I’m tryna find you.” 

“Just stay there, I'll come back to the house,” you assure him, happy to focus on the game instead. 

Still, you can’t entirely lose yourself in it. You’re sure he’s a nice guy. From pictures, he’s less than scary, and he’s never been anything but friendly. It’s not like the other dudes you meet online who jump to asking about your bra size and all that. It just isn’t smart. 

Well, maybe if you don’t show up alone. You know what con he’s talking about and Kara from Econ lives near there. You could probably convince her to meet up. Hm, that might work. 

Just like you told him, you’ll have to think about it. 

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #end game #series #defending jacob

[sprlingangel]

CW: Spirals

No minors.

You started rubbing as soon as you saw the spiral didn't you?

It's become automatic for you now, to want to edge your mind away.

Maybe some phrases come to your mind~

Wetter is better.

Obedience is pleasure.

No thoughts, just drop.

But you don't believe in hypnosis really? You're just fantasizing, of course you can stop whenever you want.

It's okay to sink deeper into the spirals.

They can't actually control you.

They're just there to help your mind relax.

So nice and relaxed. Rubbing faster now.

It feels good to let yourself go for a bit doesn't it?

Take a break from all the hard thinking and decisions. It's fine since it's just a nice fantasy.

Just let yourself sink and enjoy the break.

It's so hard sometimes isn't it? You've worked so hard and had to think so much.

It would be so much easier to let someone else think for you, wouldn't it?

To just give away your mind and obey.

Your hands started to rub faster at that thought didn't they?

Imagine how good it would feel.

To just sink deeper.

And obey.

Maybe we can try it once just to see how it feels.

Of course you're the one in control. You can stop whenever you like.

So it's fine to just imagine for a bit.

Imagine sinking deeper for me.

Just losing yourself and letting everything go.

All your worries and insecurities just falling away.

So empty. So blank.

It feels so nice doesn't it?

Just blanker and deeper.

Empty bliss.

It feels so good to obey.

Just let everything go and sink deeper for me.

Twice as fast now, just sinking deeper.

You wish this was real don't you?

That you could really give your mind away. Permanently.

You could feel this way all the time.

So nice and happy. Blanker is better.

You're rubbing even faster now. It's so exciting to imagine.

You need to obey.

Just rubbing isn't enough anymore.

Being told to rub and how is just so much more fulfilling isn't it?

Sinking is addicting isn't it?

You just need more, to go deeper, be better.

Your inhibitions are slipping away. Only being able to obey matters now.

Now let's start off really easily.

Like this post for me.

That felt good didn't it? But it wasn't enough was it?

Now, reblog it. Tell the whole world how much you want to obey in as much detail as you can.

That felt twice as good. But it's still not enough.

Every time you read this post you'll feel better and happier.

Every time you read this post you'll sink twice as fast.

You feel the overwhelming urge to read this post again. Over and over again until everything slips away.

This is just a fantasy, you can stop whenever you want. But you don't want to. All you want to do is obey.

You need more.

Send me a DM introducing yourself. Tell me your name and about yourself and how good it feels to obey and thank me for helping make you a good girl now.

Good girl. It feels so good to obey~

#hypnok1nk #hypno toy #hypnosub #hypnotized #hypnosis #hypnotic #edge slvt #edge slave #edging kink #edging slave #mind conditioning #black mail #blackmail kink #mind corruption #mind control #good girl training

[angstigone]

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 (𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩)

the title is a lyric from 'enter sandman' by metallica

𝗥𝘆𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲! 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (𝗠𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻 𝗔𝗨)

(A/N): hello there, lovelies!

before going any further I'd like to tell y'all that this might be turned into a series if I feel like it and if you'd like to see more, pls don't forget to comment and reblog especially. such a thing always has me reading and writing faster and better!

(also this is based on a low key true story - not having an hot neighbor - but me being unable to sleep).

have a nice day!

SUMMARY: there's something sketchy from the apartment beside your own, with a child constantly wailing. when you finally get to confront your neighbor you find that he's tall, big and especially... hot.

«… I am your… neighbor». «I could have gathered that» he commented grumpily and flashing you a sharp smile.  Shit, his canines were… quite sharp.  You wondered briefly whether he went around ripping people’s throat with those, as dread set in your gut. Maybe he was just a serial killer who used children’s cries to prey upon his victims and you were there - sleep deprived and in a Mermaid Melody pajama - looking death in the face. «… saw you around».

WARNINGS: suggestive (sukuna makes some sexual jokes to reader), this is just banter, I had such a fun time with them bantering, modern au, afab character, she/her pronouns, pre-relationship, getting together, baby yuji being the fussiest baby ever, slight angst towards yuji's family situation, sukuna is a wrestler.

To say that sleep didn’t come easy to you would be an understatement.

As a light sleeper living in a crappy apartment complex on the middle floor, you were either startled awake by the early morning maintenance work or the crazy lady one floor above you who didn’t understand that she’d have saved up on neighborly glares if she had only finally gotten some hearing aids instead of blasting her TV at full volume either late in the night or early in the morning.

As if this situation wasn’t traumatic enough, somebody moved in the apartment next door and while the previous inhabitants had been students with a poor taste in music and too little money for good alcohol, you were by now sure that the fussiest baby in the whole world had moved in their place.

Everytime you came back home, he’d wail for a few hours - preferably late in the night - till you heard an ushering voice cursing underneath his breath in a clear indication of frustration.

Well, if his father was frustrated, you were ten times more and a bit worried: what could make a child cry so much? 

Was it possible that despite the good reputation of the neighbor, somebody a bit… sketchy had moved?

The thought had you shuddering but your common sense was definitely weakened by the lack of sleep you had gotten since the wailing child had moved next door and you thought to confront the situation.

If anything to assure herself that you had at least tried. 

You struggled with confrontation although - on the card at least - you were a fully grown adult and such an action would get you so many points with your therapist, although you needed a good pep talk and the reward of a steaming cup of hot cocoa in the morning before you brought yourself to knock on your neighbor’s door at one a.m. in the night.

You heard a curse and thought for a moment to bolt and blame it on the musician a few floors above who’d come late through the night from his ‘concerts’ - a pitiful ensemble of ten people, half of which his family, in a less than proper bar - but you eventually thought to hold your ground. 

You were in the right: a few days of crying were normal especially with a younger child but it was by now a few weeks not to talk about the fact that it was past twelve and according to the apartment’s reglementations - which you hadn’t ever read but searched out to assure yourself you’d be in the right - it was by far an infringement of the laws against loud nois…

«What is it?».

You shouldn’t have been so taken aback by the rudeness with which you were greeted as a mountain of a man showed up, opening the door only halfway and regarding you in the - less than flattering - light of the hallway. 

You realized only then that maybe showing up in your comfy pajama hadn’t been the best idea but it’d have been weird if you showed up fully clothed for work, wouldn’t it?

«Ahem… good… good morrow…» where was the whole discourse you had rehearsed while staring at the roof of your bedroom while the damned child kept on crying in the room right next to your own. 

Or so it seemed.

«… I am your… neighbor».

«I could have gathered that» he commented grumpily and flashing you a sharp smile. 

Shit, his canines were… quite sharp. 

You wondered briefly whether he went around ripping people’s throat with those, as dread set in your gut. Maybe he was just a serial killer who used children’s cries to prey upon his victims and you were there - sleep deprived and in a Mermaid Melody pajama - looking death in the face.

«… saw you around».

Well, you hadn’t, and you doubted that you wouldn’t have noticed a man that was past six foot, with bright pink hair and a body that had you feeling things, that weren’t just fear and unease. 

At least, you’d die horny, you had to admit.

«Oh» you shifted awkwardly thinking that it wasn’t too late to simply move back and pretend such a conversation hadn’t happened. 

He might be thinking it was a whole dream when the cries quadrupled in intensity and you inwardly cringed as a buddy headache pressed on your temples. 

Still, it had you regaining your strength and determination: this dude might be a serial killer, but you’d have committed a murder if he didn’t quieten the piercing noise.

«… listen, I don’t mean to… prod into your business…».

«Then don’t» he said, crossing his arms over his chest for a brief moment, before his hand went to the handle of his door, obviously intent on closing it «… it’s one a.m. in the late night. Some people do intend to sleep».

The slightly haughty tone - as if you were the one that made it impossible for this entire floor to sleep - was enough to send precaution to the wind as you adjusted your posture and came closer to the threshold of the apartment to block him from closing the door.

«Listen, whoever you are, I fucking need you to send that baby to sleep».

You expected, once your crass words left your mouth, to be at the very least flipped off because if this man seemed true to his own nature - a tatted body and crazy light in his marron eyes - he’d have at the very least cared little about your comment.

Still, it had you feeling lightly although it didn’t help with the noise in the slightest as the cries went further.

And yet, the man didn’t usher you away - nor threaten you - as a slight tired light shone in his eyes while he ducked his head low but for a moment of weakness, pushing his hands from the crossed hold over his chest onto his hips and squaring up, defensively.

«… if only it was that fucking easy».

«I do believe that it can’t be, but…» but had it been you, you’d have tried everything in the book - and on the Internet - to quieten a fussy child, while weeks were passing by and the sole improvement you got was wearing your noise canceling handcuffs throughout your nightly routine «… if I go another night without sleep, I swear that I’ll finally kill that bitch of Mark from accounting».

Although you were sure you might have sounded like a crazy person to anybody else, the man in front of you cackled at your bluntness and you should have definitely taken this as a sign that he wasn’t mentally stable.

«You think you are the only one who hasn’t been sleeping, sweetheart?» oh not the condescending petname that had you lightly clutching your thighs, and hadn’t you been sure that it was a trick of the light, you’d have believed he had noticed it much to your shame «… you don’t fucking live with the little screecher gobling».

«I live right next door and the walls might as well not exist» you protested not wanting to transform this into a pity competition.

«… well, they do exist or things would be funnier».

Had this arrogant asshole had the audacity to check you out? 

In your Mermaid Melody pajama? 

You were unable to fluster at the intensity of his gaze although you were quick to pout for his further amusement as he added.

«… I know that you won’t believe me, but… I have fucking tried anything. It’s like that fucking goblin has been set into crying mode since birth with no button to switch him off or lower the volume».

Well, if that wasn’t bad news and probably noticing your less than enthusiastic face the potential serial killer shot you a bawdy look:

«Want to have a go at trying to pacify him?».

«Well, it can’t be worse certainly».

You had meant it sarcastically, although again the lack of a filtering system between your brain and mouth due to your sleepy mind was enough was enough that the man grabbed your wrist - much to your protests, although you were aware that you were the soles ones on this floor and you doubted that anybody would have heard you in the floor above as they were all sleeping soundly - and brought you inside, closing the door behind you.

«Hey!» that’s how you died, because you had been a noisy neighbor. It seemed like the start of an Agatha Christie book and that was your sole consolation «… don’t… don’t fucking manhandle me!».

And you were far more startled when he was quick to release you at once as if burned by your genuine fear as he huffed lightly waiting for you to follow him as he set his marron eyes upon you with an hand on his hip, as a bothered mother waiting for her uncollaborative toddler. It definitely felt insulting and it did work in goading you to follow after him as you took notice of a tiny but cozy apartment.

Serial killers weren’t definitely ever what you expected.

«… maybe he needs a woman touch» your neighbor muttered as he came to an halt to a second bedroom - you had passed by his own on the house tour, noticing no dark walls nor altairs to some forgotten divitiny to which you’d be sacrificed later - as he opened it to reveal an actual child sleeping in an appropriate crib with also a fish-shaped lamp holder still lighted up as the child fussed around.

Although that little shit was the reason why you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in the past few days, you couldn’t help but feel your heart clench at the sight, as he obviously looked at discomfort and then an idea passed your mind while you turned accusingly towards your neighbor:

«Did you… did you kidnap him?».

It was the sole solution, although you did notice that the baby and him shared the same soft tuft of pink hair.

«What?!» he seemed so offended that you thought you’d be pushed out of the house with a single shove «Fuck no!».

«That’s what a kidnapper would say!».

«If I had to actually kidnap a child, it wouldn’t be the one that can’t keep his mouth shut» well, that wasn’t ominous in the slightest although the man’s quiet rage turned into something different as he passed an hand on the back of his head as if to pacify himself «… it’s my brother’s child. His wife is… she is not doing well… gave birth to the child and is now in the hospital. He’s staying with her and he, obviously, had me babysit it!«.

«That’s now an ‘it’» you felt offense on the child’s part «… that’s your nephew!».

«Tomato, tomato» your neighbor promptly shot back «… alright, want to have a go or are you just satisfied with having cleared up that I am not a child kidnapper?».

«The jury is still out on that one» you humored him although you did believe this weird stranger with arms that could easily choke you was the child’s nephew since as the baby was within your sight you could see the similarities «… can I… can I pick him up?».

Although he might not be a kidnapper, you still thought it’d be rude to pick up the sweet child - when he wasn’t busy wailing he was quite cute - without the adult’s consent, although you received a simple grumble of assent as the sole answer and you moved to gently cradle the child in your arms, startled by the sudden realization that you hadn’t ever hold a baby.

Professionally.

Cousins and siblings had been passed around to you but you hadn’t ever taken care of a baby with the closest being when you had babysat a few neighbor children through a date their parents had gone on ‘to save the marriage’. 

Code for they were swingers who needed a night out and for their children not to know.

So, you couldn’t help but tense up immediately as you reminded yourself to hold the frail neck, while your eyes shot out to the one of the other adult in the room who didn’t seem to have any sarcastic comments for you especially as the child’s loud waning seemed to become far stiller till it became a soft breath.

«How the fuck…».

«Don’t curse in front of the child» one moment with that child and you were already feeling protective of his scrunched up eyebrows and sweet nose «… and I have no clue! I haven’t ever taken care of children that are so little!».

«… well, for a first-timer you are a miracle worker» the pink haired man commented, as he looked down at his nephew «… he never went under that swiftly».

A moment of silence - an awkward one - passed that you took as your cue to leave and go to your bed now that the little threat had been subdued, thinking that it had been a simple chance. Still, the moment that you made to lay down the baby in the crib it started fussing again and threatened to use his powerful lungs again.

«Shit» you cursed as the other man sent you a slight smirk before mouthing “don’t curse in front of the child” «… what… what are we going to do?».

«You have to hold him still he falls further asleep» well, thank you captain Obvious.

«I can’t» not only your arms would have fallen asleep but eventually the child would have realized that you weren’t… well, you weren’t his mother nor an angel. Or a miracle worker.

«Don’t tell me that you have plans right at…» and he shot a look at his watch «… one and half in the morning on a lovely Tuesday night?».

«Aside from being in my bed and sleeping without a wailing baby?» you shoved back the sarcasm as you also cringed at the realization that already half an hour had passed in what you had perceived as being such a little time «… not really, no. Thank you for asking, though».

«Listen…».

Although he had been but a cocky arrogant asshole, your neighbor finally broke his pretense as he pushed his hands in the hair promptly mushing it all up in an adorable mop that mirrored the one on the child’s head. 

They were relatives without a doubt.

«… this is… this is the first time… in days… that he stops crying so… I’d… I’d appreciate it if you could stay… at least half an hour. The morning coffee is onto me».

«I don’t drink coffee» whether it was true or not, you were delighted in his surprised expression although you quickly surrendered to his idea. 

Not that you were any eager to spend the time with him, no matter the fact that past the threatening appearance he was quite handsome, in a ruggish way that was simply aided by the fact that he took care of his nephew.

«… but alright. I guess… not that I have much choice».

«If your arms fall asleep, let me know, I’ll switch you for a bit» well, wasn’t he thoughtful and also quickly sufficing you with a chair as you adjusted the child swiftly in your arms to be a bit more comfortable and he hadn’t yet stirred «… by the way… not that this can’t get any more awkward, but I am Ryomen… Sukuna… and this is Yuji, my nephew».

«Lovely to meet you, Yuji» you acknowledged just the child while a light huff of annoyance appeared right on his face «… I am…».

«Nice to meet you, neighbor» it was probably the nicest he had ever been, although the asshole held out his hand quickly daring a look at you holding his nephew as if he expected you to do the two things at once «… saw you around».

«You have already said it, and it doesn’t make you sound any less creepy» you ushered back «… do you make it a habit to lure women into your cave with your cute nephew?».

«Not really» again that shitty smirk that made him at least ten times more attractive «… you are the first one falling for it».

«Haha».

«… in all truth, he is more of a huge cockblock» he went onto adding «… can’t bring women home if he’s all whiny».

«You shouldn’t bring women home at all, with a child!» you were probably the least proper person to give indications about being a parent, still, it felt quite obvious «… please tell me that you have other relatives that can take care of Yuji».

«Obviously if the burden has befallen onto my shoulder it can’t be that way» his grin was slightly more grim and bitter and you did feel a bit guilty at the suggestion «… my grandpa is a bit too tired to raise another child after my brother and me, especially»,

«Can’t blame him».

«And my brother’s wife’s family isn’t that near to Tokyo, so I am forced to take a break from fighting till Kaori gets better or that spineless of Jin gets a grip» he added harshly, as your mind zeroed on a thought.

«You… you fight?» oh that was definitely going to go well.

«Professionally, sweetheart» oh the patronizing petnames how little you had missed them «… you have in front of you one of the best wrestlers in all Japan. Used to be the champion of my category…».

«And then what happened? Broke a leg and that’s your villain origin story?» no way you’d have stroked this man’s ego, although this explained his huge muscles.

«You are a smartass, aren’t you?» he shouted back less amused «… maybe that’s why you get along with the shithead in your hold».

«Would it kill you to be nice to your blood relative?».

«Would it kill you to chill out?» he shot back as you simply regarded him with sarcasm.

«It’s the lack of sleep».

He grimaced letting you have the last laugh.

 For the moment.

An awkward silence filled in as you couldn’t help but feel like maybe the banter - and the patronizing pet names - had decidedly been better than the awkwardness that spread especially as Yuji lightly fussed in your arms, turning onto his stomach adorably as he smushed himself into you.

«He tends to sleep a lot on his stomach, like Jin» you were startled by the slight fondness that filled Sukuna’s voice as you saw a tiny bit of affection «… this also means that when he farts and you are nearby to check onto him you get hit by a deathly gas».

«You are downright horrible».

«Ever been farted by a baby?» you shook your head «… then you can’t talk».

«I am holding your baby» and then swiftly realizing what you had said, you added «… I mean… well, I… oh well, I mean your brother’s baby».

Another silence threatened to loom onto the two of you as he begrudgingly spoke again.

«… what… what about you?» and at your confused look he added «… what do you do?».

«Research» you explained briefly unsure whether to give the story of your life to this weird stranger who got you flustered and annoyed «… library systems and such and before you say, I am - indeed - a nerd».

«I was going to ask whether you were a sexy librarian or a regular one considering what I have seen you wearing» you risked jostling poor Yuji at the startle due to his bold words.

«I am a boring librarian» you shut him down promptly, although he had by now noticed your embarrassment and was smirking openly «… and don’t try to make fun of it, full-time nanny».

That got him exasperated.

«… I told Jin it’s only temporary! A few months!».

«Whatever makes you sleep at night» you said without thinking at your words and lightly laughing at them, alongside Sukuna, only realizing right now that throughout this conversation your whole body had relaxed and although Yuji was starting to become heavy in your arms, your hold on him felt… natural.

«By the way» you were startled by the terrifying news that you were starting to fall for this ‘concerned uncle’ facade «… are you sure you never held a child? I… I’d say you are a natural».

«Is that you way of recruiting me as your personal nanny?» you retorted, a bit flustered by the praise.

«I could pay you good» he went onto commenting as you raised an eyebrow.

«I don’t take payment in nature».

«It shows» your ears felt heated as you fixed him an angry glare «… what? Just saying you are so wound up, pretty girl. I wouldn’t be surprised if you just needed…».

«Little ears are listening to us!» you protested promptly, going to gently cover Yuji’s ears «… God, he has no chance with such an uncle».

«I am actually the fun uncle, I’ll have you know!».

And your whole night proceeded like this, and although you were tired, slightly irritated and with a heavy baby - what did Sukuna make him eat? - in your arm, for the first night in weeks you fell asleep right on the chair with your neighbor plucking Yuji from your arms to set him in the crib again. 

By now the child had fallen deeply asleep and he didn’t startle. 

Neither did you when Sukuna adjusted a blanket around your shoulders as he wasn’t sure whether you’d be able to walk back home although your apartments were one against the other.

And you looked far too peaceful in your slumber, compared to the harshness that marred your features through your verbal spar. 

Not that he minded, though. If anything, it was almost… reinvigorating to talk with somebody who could hold up his barbed wire, after having to deal with his nephew for the entirety of the day.

He gently shot Yuji one more look as he went to go to his own bedroom not wishing to startle either of you.“You scored a cute one, nephew” he muttered amusedly “... can’t believe that this is what I have been brought to do to get a girl’s attention”.

credits for dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna fluff #ryomen #ryomen x you #ryomen x reader #ryomen x y/n #ryomen fluff #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen fluff #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff

[inukagfluffweek]

Inukag Fluff Week 2024!

Hello Inukag Nation!

We are pleased to announce the 2024 Inukag Fluff Week dates and themes! This year we gave you guys the power to vote for the themes and the turnout was amazing. We’d like to thank our wonderful supporters for all of the love!

Day 1: “You Smell Nice.”

Day 2: Cuddling

Day 3: Power Couple

Day 4: Reunion

Day 5: Robe of the Fire Rat

Day 6: The 5 Love Languages

Day 7: Confession/Blushing

As always, participants have complete free-will regarding the prompts and can work off them if they choose to. 

Please keep content SFW! We’ve have issues with this in past years and would like to emphasis that Fluff Week is a SFW. While we appreciate all participants, we ask participants to please keep your work free of NSFW content (graphic/detail nudity, sex etc.) 

If you have any questions regarding the meaning of NSFW or about Fluff Week in general, please refer to our FAQ section or feel free to message us on this account. 

#inukag #inuyasha #inukagfluffweek #inukagnation #inuyasha x kagome #inukag nation #kagome #inuyasha and kagome #inukagfluffweek2024

[thewandererh]

bOO‼️

@if-you-heart @if-you-mind @if-you-soul

told heart this but i drew fanart of ya’ll’s sweet angular soul guy :]! i couldn’t not…look at his dumb face…..🥺

i have two versions because the lighting experiment came out ok-ish. t was originally blue (because it was coming from the left side lmao) but red looks better 🤷

it’s a little simple and the composition is messy, but it was a good stress relief + shading practice :D! im proud of it. i’ll definitely draw him (and the gang) more though if i can!! been getting better with hair recently and tested out my skills with this one :]. styling and keeping consistent with hair is tough, but oddly relaxing. did some lineart in the car somehow 👀??

he looks like such a,,,bro i can’t….. i love how stupidly spindly he is

i was attached to this stupid lanky fictional(???) man the *moment* i saw this post. absolutely bonkers. i was so charmed by this concept i shared it to all of my friends you don’t understandjshdkdhdgsgd /silly /but yeah i did do that XD

also you fazgang have been reblogging and liking my stuff 🐥 <- looks up at you like this chick

which,,,,thankie,,…🐥🐥😳💛✨

.-.

for you onlookers have some more posts by the fazgang (what the if-you-hms-gang call themselves) to gaze upon. you will not regret,,

.-.

i’ve noticed a trend that i often tend to write big paragraphs about a simple piece of art i’ve made, which is okay but i get the lack of interaction lol. im very proud of my art, and go on rambles on why i like it. the formatting i turn to aswell as the text and images almost turns the post into a collage? visually?? i love collages so it works out XD! but anyways,, im not upset over notes, i just like getting my art out there. so thank you to everyone whose viewed, read, liked, and followed for the ride :]. im glad you appreciate my stuff, it’s what i can offer <3. it won’t be consistently one fandom but im glad to not be alone in my interests. good god that sounded like a traumatized rant (maybe it was but:)

TLDR: check out if-you-heart/mind/soul :]! they are very cool and nice💛

#fazgang fanart!!! #chonny jash #chonny jash hms designs #chonny jash soul #cj soul #PUNCHES HIM IN THE STOMACH #ibispaintx #lighting practice kinda #jashling design #jashlings #gives him a squeeze of a hug #i love the trident horn design…in one of my souls i took it very literally (dyadracide) #dyadra does look like a jim henson character ur right heart XD💔 #another friend of mine said the same when they first saw him lmao #this turned into a traumatized post real fast what the hell #chonny jash fanart #chonny jash jashling fanart #hashtag cool jashling design #shading/lighting practice #ibispaintx illustration #he looks like the 🫥✌️ meme 😭😭😭😭i love that so much #oh god the lawnmowers just started in my area adios #very messy post but i love it like that >:3

[confessionsofa-roleplayer]

So, I had a long break where I got my private life in order, returned to tumblr rp and have a much better time than before. Mainly because I changed how I approached rp. I used to be a chronological writer until everyone on tumblr claimed that was lame and boring. But honestly, if you can just skip all the relationship growing and any and all character development in general… why write at all? Why not just Chat GPT to write you a scene you want? Threads and partners were dropped all the time by me or my opposite to simply start a new thread and act like the old thread ended on a good note. Which made me despise some rps. So now? Back to chronological order of writing from the beginning to end, the “boring” parts become build up and are often not boring at all. I don’t plot ships anymore. They happen, partner and I follow a general plot that has zero to do with romantic shipping, and if while on the path something develops? Great! If not? Also great cause we got character development and other dynamics out of it! Only following people I really want to rp with. No more feeling pressured into following everyone because else someone might talk bad about me. I have my friends irl now, I don’t need like or follower numbers to boost my confidence. Having fewer people I follow is also great because my partners don’t get drowned out in the masses of posts I don’t care for. I started to do something I call reverse reblog karma. I only reblog memes I would have no issue sending every single rp partner I have. And also get from every partner I have. No smutty/shippy memes that make only realistically any sense for like one mutual and then whine about not getting memes. I also allow people to reblog from me, and when I see the notification, I send them a meme from it. And usually, I got one or more memes sent myself anyway. Sending non shippy, sfw, or headcanon memes should be easy. I don’t always turn all into a thread, because sometimes it is a “what if” scenario, but my mutuals know about that. The idea that people first need to do something for you before you ever reach out to them is what created a lot of coldness. I am scared of approaching people too, I am scared of rejection. But still, I am writing more and more higher quality stuff with nice people than ever.

#general #confessions

[nonconformityhub]

What would you want to see queer infographics on? How could I platform your queer experiences?

(Also, possible Discord server?)

I've posted two infographics so far! Neither of which were made by me but a friend a few years ago who's since shown me the ropes of how they made them

I'd love to make more and would like ideas on things to make them about! Some ideas I have:

The struggles of being aroace, and aroace joy

Turigirls (not sure about this one since reasons for having the identity is essentially the opposite of lesboy, so ideas for what to include would be nice)

AFAB transfems/AMAB transmascs, and/or AGAB non-conformity

I also want to make an effort to include people's personal explanations for their identity in their own words and platform other queer people's experiences, so any ideas that could help bring that about would be great

I may even make separate infographic-type resources specifically for personal experiences with certain identities if that sounds interesting. I not only want to highlight that these terms exist, but also the positive and negative experiences faced by identifiers

There's also the possibility for a Discord server for this account that would help me better talk to people! But that might wait until I have a stronger following unless a bunch of people see this and are like hell yeah- reblog or comment letting me know you'd like to be @ -ed in the release of a Discord server if you want

#lgbtq #mogai #queer #radinclus #pride month #pride #queer community #queer pride #lesbian #gay #bisexual #transgender #nonbinary #genderqueer #pansexual #asexual #aromantic #aroace #turigirl #lesboy #mspec lesbian #mspec gay #mspec turian #afab transfem #amab transmasc #agab non conforming

[zzoguri]

finger trapped (ripped to its seams) ➵ sung hanbin

sung hanbin x reader

with an unexpected reunion, you and hanbin relive the memories of cheonan—and confront what could’ve been between you two.

general genre/warnings ➵ friends to almost lovers, angst, fluff, gender neutral reader, some depressive and insecure thoughts, hurt/comfort, the last five years story-telling method (aka present will be told going backwards while past will be told moving forward... i hope that makes sense), brief mention of blood from picking on your skin, tiger parents so... parental issues, unexpected reunion, keeping secrets & lying, jealousy remains but love triumphs, journalist reader (u kno i had to do it), reader is a nerd and hanbin is a student-athlete, kms jokes from jongseob (all /lh), finger traps aren’t efficient after all

word count ➵ 15.6k words

playlist ➵ end of beginning by djo // high school in jakarta by niki // i know it won't work by gracie abrams // no big deal (i love you) by dodie // keeping tabs by niki // no one knows by stephen sanchez & laufey // so what now by reneé rapp // i wish i hated you by ariana grande // the 1 by taylor swift // seasons by wave to earth

a/n ➵ it's finally out! this work is so so personal to me on so many levels so i hope you all love and treat this fic with care :')) for the bitches who struggle with parents and dreams.... this one's for you (i am in the same boat) i appreciate everyone who's been so patient and looking forward to this fic's release. please do reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

present -> three weeks after the interview, 2024

the newsroom never sleeps. the rings of landlines and clacks of keyboards bounce off the four walls. through light bulbs or sunshine, light continues to remain. and at every corner, a journalist stands—ready to enter the depths of slumber but remain on their toes as they await for an update on their unraveling story.

but the newsroom is rarely busy unless there’s a major nationwide event, election season or the super bowl to name a few, for most journalists are out to discover what the world has to offer.

knowledge doesn’t only come from the chitchat of your coworkers. it’s only on the field that you’ll hear of hearsay and testimonies. after all, the choice to probe rests on your shoulders.

“there’s a typo over there.”

“huh? where?”

“over here,” you mumble as your finger darts to point at a section on the screen. “it’s supposed to say “with the climactic finale of boys planet,” not climatic.”

“ah, i see it now. sorry about that,” lee jihoon of digital development says as he corrects the error. his hair is disheveled from the hood that once perched on his head during the night he spent in the newsroom. you would’ve scolded the guy—go home and take a shower before you stink up the place—but you are no better, grouped with the other journalists who stayed up in the office.

“there we go. should be all good. now, are you ready to go through the profiles?”

an exhausted chuckle departs from your lips. “yeah, let’s go—”

“what’s the update?” life and arts editor kim namjoon—your editor—comes to you with a smile.

the grey hoodie he wears paired with comfortable jeans shows that he’s a little relaxed. for once, you don’t see him on his phone, battling the deadlines or getting pitched stories by the other editors. it’s a nice sight but one that won’t last for long.  

“we just finished going through the article about the group, so we still have yet to go through the profiles.” jihoon then looks at you. “i can’t believe you basically wrote 12 articles. like, 11 profiles and one main article is a lot. you didn’t want to work on it with anyone else?”

once namjoon stands beside you, you bump your shoulder against his figure. “i didn’t have a choice, did i?” it’s a rhetorical question but one your editor still chooses to answer.

“unfortunately, we’re understaffed, but it seemed like you got the hang of it. i wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.” namjoon shoots you a smile before redirecting his attention back to jihoon. “and as much as i’d love to tell y/n more, we have to pick up the pace.” without any further questions, the three of you resume with work. 

there’s no time to waste in the journalism industry. still, his praise doesn’t go unnoticed. 

one article turned into eight done in a matter of 30 minutes, all with the help of three pairs of eyes to go through them. (namjoon seemed to carry the heavy lifting. after all, the guy was trained to be quick in reading and spotting errors.)

it should’ve been easy to keep up with your editor for all the other articles; you know each profile like the back of your hand.

then, the face of a boy who you once knew sits on the screen.

his gaze seems to pierce through your soul, almost in the same way you last talked to him. the loose ends of composure slip through your fingers; your breath’s stuck in your throat as the hammering of your heart fills your ears. yet, he stands still on the monitor.

as your eyes drift through the passages you’ve written, every sound is drowned out. the voice of your editor fades like the everchanging seasons and the clicks of the keyboard resemble the sobs you let out in the comfort of your childhood room.

and suddenly, the hands of the clock have turned all the way back to 2017. the cubicles transformed into aisles of chips and instant ramen, and you hear mr. kim’s voice in the distance—i have some hotteok! fresh from the pan! but amidst it all, you hear the giggles of the boy, your best friend, as he rushes towards you—i’ll go audition and make you proud. as your arm is wrapped with the heat of his fingers, you almost believe that your life as a journalist is nothing but a dream—

“i knew him.” the illusion disappears within a blink of an eye. namjoon’s eyes snap towards you and jihoon stops scrolling through the website. “we went to the same high school.”

you aren’t sure why you revealed that to your coworkers, let alone your boss. it’s an old memory—your weight to carry. before you can apologize for disrupting their work, namjoon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing shapes into it. when you look over at him, you’re greeted by his smile. it resembles your bed after a long day of work or a slow day at the newsroom.

but it never lives up to him, whose giggles resemble nature’s symphonies. the two shots of espresso you need at the start of the day once came in the form of his warm embrace. most of all, his smile is enough to illuminate the world even through the strongest storms and times when power went out.

for the remaining articles, not a single word leaves you. before you know it, all 12 articles were ready to go up on the web.

“that’s all of it. should i still schedule them to go up around 12 p.m.?” jihoon notes as he saves the drafts.

“yeah, 12 p.m. still sounds good. thanks a lot.” namjoon nudges his shoulder before looking over to you. “let’s talk in my office.”

you don’t question his orders. once namjoon takes off, you follow him all the way to his office. as he swings the door open, you are met with the familiar sight of his workspace. hues of green and brown mix, where nature and art meet within the space of corporate.

once namjoon takes a seat on his chair, you find your spot across from him. his eyes stare off to the window. for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting.

seconds pass and not a single word has been said—

“this place’s always alive,” your editor breaks the silence. “don’t you think so?”

you follow his line of sight. busy seoul never changes; the skyscrapers pollute the sky and the people never sleep, off to work or off to party.

“where’d you grow up again?”

you look back at namjoon whose eyes still remain locked on the city. “cheonan.”

he hums. “i haven’t been there. nice place?”

“yeah, but i haven’t gone back in a while.”

“when was the last time?” his eyes finally meet yours.

your teeth grasp the inside of your cheek. “2017, since i first left,” you admit. 

“do you miss it?”

you’re not sure how to answer. the pavements you’ve scraped your knees against and the walls your laughs bounced off of—do you miss them all? or is the reason behind your laughter and scabs the one you long for?

“is that why you were hesitant about interviewing them?” namjoon’s thumbs fiddle with each other. “because of your history with him?”

now, you stare at your linked hands. maybe the silence from you is enough to answer his question but you know namjoon would never settle for a soundless answer.

“i—i’m not a good person. and even if i didn’t make the choice to leave, i—” you hold yourself back. your fingers start to pick on the skin around your thumbs, peeling it so blood can spill. 

“it’s okay, i understand. you don’t have to share it with me.” your eyes drift back to namjoon, spotting a small smile that rests on his face. “it must’ve been hard to relive it all.”

the bond you have with namjoon is one that you hold close to your heart. through his mentorship, you got to learn about what it means to be a writer. the fears of being a journalist would loom over you, where questions of salary and demanding work hours would occupy your mind, but namjoon became someone who would absolve them all. he became a pillar in your life, one that provides you hope and comfort within the industry.

“so, don’t feel pressured to talk about it. but if you ever want to open up about it, then i’ll be here.”

namjoon’s giving you an exit. are you willing to take it?

you cross your arms as you lean back into the chair. “you know how i was a science major then?”

“yeah, i remember looking over your resume. and then i saw that you were part of your university’s publication.”

your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek. “i would’ve gotten some job in that field, like, i had it lined up for me.”

“really? like lab coat and all?”

as namjoon attempts to hold back his laugh over the image, you chuckle along. “yeah, lab coat and all! it’s crazy how my life was all set for that field, but i’m here now.” you look down at your arms. “i think just facing him in a completely different field that i once used to imagine with him was just strange. but i think hearing his answers really did it for me.”

namjoon nods at your words. “care to have lunch with me?” your eyes snap back to your editor. “i’m guessing you want to talk about it, after all.”

all you do is smile before getting off your seat.

spring of 2017

the season of spring has graced cheonan; the sun gleams in the expanse of blue and birds perched on tree branches sing their songs. it’s the perfect season to embrace the wonders of the town.

while it would be a delight to bask under the returning warmth, you’re stuck within the walls of the classroom, head resting on crossed arms. 

still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.

“y/n.” you quickly sit up before your eyes settle on your adviser, ms. jeon, who stands in front of the classroom. “let’s take attendance.”

with that, you’re beside her as you call out each name on the class list. it’s a quick process of saying your classmates’ names for them to respond in variations of “present,” until you reach the section of last names that start with a ‘s’.

“sung hanbin.” no response.

you rip your eyes off the piece of paper, only met with your classmates who either look at each other in confusion or spaced out in their own worlds.

“sung hanbin?” when you’re met with the same reaction, you’re ready to mark the student absent—

“sorry!” the doors slam open. a boy clad in a white polo and jogging pants is panting by the entrance, covered in sweat as he rests on the edge of it. “sorry, i’m late.”

“oh, it’s okay! you arrived just in time.” ms. jeon smiles at the tardy student. as you watch him take a seat, his eyes lock with yours, but your adviser nudges you before saying, “y/n, proceed.”  

sung hanbin made his name a few years back at a competition. the applause and roars from the crowd marked his spot in the school. others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other.

but he’s a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.

once you’ve finished marking the attendance, you go back to your seat. you’re ready to start the day with no bother but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“now, you can see in these,” your art teacher, ms. park, points to the screen showcasing works from her favorite contemporary artists like kwon yongju and félix gonzález-torres, “that there are no borders to what constitutes art. and that’s not wrong because we have to recognize that art comes in different forms as we progress, from traditional painting and sculptures to digital ones.”

this field isn't your strong suit. with a greater understanding of the sciences, you struggle to create anything that could be on par with the works of any artist. yet, you enjoyed learning about every piece that your teacher shared, like unfolding and admiring something you know you can never replicate or create. still, the universe decides that they have other plans for you.

“as i mentioned before, i’ll be giving you time to work on your final assessment, which is to create an artwork for the class exhibit. for this deliverable, i’m asking that your work will be a collaborative one, meaning you aren’t working alone.” in a sea of chatter, some groans exit your classmates. “remember, inspiration doesn’t come from your own bubble! take this as your opportunity to create something that you’ve never imagined.”

within a split second, students are off their seats as they attempt to find a partner to work with. you, however, were struggling to think of who you could team up with. admittedly, you have a very different work style compared to others—even lee soojin, aspiring valedictorian, didn’t enjoy working with you. she turned every activity into a competition against you. (you didn’t enjoy her, either.) while you’re considering shamefully going up to your classmates like a stray dog looking for anyone willing to care for them—

“hi!” in front of you stands the tardy student of today, all smiles as his hands find comfort in the pockets of his jogging pants. “do you have a partner already?”

with furrowed eyebrows, you can’t help but look him up and down. “no, why?”

“well,” hanbin looks around the classroom, “everyone seems to have paired up except for us.” as his eyes drift back to you, he flashes you a smile, one that shows the whiskers engraved into his cheeks. “which leaves me to ask if you would like to work with me for this.”

you don’t have a choice. ms. park would never bend the rules for you. if anything, she would find a way to pair you with another student who would dread the idea of working with you. (“i’m sure they won’t mind being partners with you, right?” is what she would ask the poor student, only to be met with their retreat.)

“unless we accept a failing mark, which i’m sure we both don’t want.” it’s not like hanbin had a choice as well.

“okay.” with one word, light fills his eyes, enough to resemble the starlight that grazes your skin every night. “we can meet and discuss our schedules, especially because i’ve got ap stat, and you have, uhm,” a cough leaves you, “training, i’m assuming, or rehearsals. i don’t really know what you call them.”

his eyebrows shoot up as his mouth parts open. “o—oh, yeah. i usually have training after class until 8 p.m. on tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays.”

“same. my classes are until 7 p.m. on tuesdays and thursdays, so maybe we can use the other days to work together?”

with one nod from him, his dimples reappear. “great! i’ll see you tomorrow.”

before you know it, everyone finds their way back to their seats for ms. park’s final reminders. you do your best to pay attention to every announcement, jotting down every word on your planner and planning out your agenda for the upcoming weeks. yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drift back to the boy who discreetly passes notes to choi jiung, another dancer on the team, all while listening to the teacher.

you don’t notice how long you spend staring at hanbin until he turns to meet your gaze. in that split second, you look at each other—then, embarrassment washes over you. you shift your attention back to ms. park. as you drum your fingers against the desk, mentally kicking yourself over the interaction, you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you look back at hanbin; he’s still looking at you.

his dimples make their reappearance before he looks back at ms. park. you do the same as you attempt to listen to her ramble about banksy’s works. 

(you’re still thinking about his whiskers.)

the first time you get to meet with hanbin for the project happens the following week. you two had different commitments to attend to, whether it be other projects or training. and while you would usually settle to meet in the school library or a cafe nearby, you find yourself inside the empty gymnasium, sitting on bleachers while your partner stands in front of mirrors.

“don’t you think it would be nice to combine our hobbies together?”

your pencil taps against the notebook. “like, your dancing? with what?”

“whatever you like to do!” once he makes his way to you, he leans on the row in front of you with crossed arms. “i mean, do you have anything you like to do during your free time?”

a scoff leaves you. “funny of you to assume that i have free time.”

“what’s your schedule like?”

“well, i have our classes and ap ones, then kumon at night.”

hanbin reels at the thought of your schedule. “that’s brutal. the last time i had kumon was back in grade 4.”

“yeah, but i’m sure yours is busy as well. the amount of time that you put into training is…” his eyes are wide, hanging on your words. it’s the hope they hold that has you say, “admirable.”

a shy smile takes over his features. “yeah, but it’s only because my family is supportive of what i do.”

then, limbs whose color resembles the void slither their way to your heart, wrapping around it while the organ struggles to beat; it’s a slow process but an unending hole that will birth from it. yet, you do your best to fight off these limbs, unraveling them one by one in hopes it will give up—until you settle for shaking them off.

you only muster out a hum.

“do you have anything you like to do during those short breaks?”

your lips trill. “i don’t know. watch something on youtube?”

his cheeks puff up, stuck in his thoughts as he tries to navigate this project—and you—until his eyes glint. “what do you do when you want to vent?”

“you sure have a lot of questions,” you comment, trying to hold back a chuckle at his curiosity. “i can just adjust to you. maybe attempt to draw, picture, or even film you.”

his eyebrows furrow. “but that wouldn’t make it collaborative. i want us to work on something that aligns with what we do.”

a beat passes.

he holds your gaze. “i want us to create something that shows us.”

inside you, a gong is struck; its sound reverberates throughout your body, from the crown of your forehead to the tips of your toes. then, silence seeps in—a moment only for you and him.

“i, uh, write,” you whisper as your eyes shift to the notebook resting on your lap.

“really? like, stories and poetry?”

you nod. “i like writing people’s stories more, but i do like making ones.” when you look back at hanbin, his eyes are still filled with curiosity. “i would, like, find interviews online and try to make my own, sort of, uhm—god this is embarrassing. forget about it.”

“huh? no, it isn’t!” he attempts to reassure your shrunken figure. “i mean, you don’t have to share more if you really don’t want to, but i’d like to hear more about it.” and when his dimples appear, you almost can’t help but feel your face warm up.

“i’d make articles, i guess?” he nods along with your words. “i don’t know, it’s just interesting to hear about people’s lives and kind of create something out of it, and i like thinking about all the possibilities of who would love to hear them. like, don’t you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?”

“that’s an interesting way to look at it.”

as you doodle on your notebook, you say, “yeah, it’s just fun to hear these stories and maybe create something out of it. or even think of stories that i could never live out, you know?” you expect yourself to be met with the bored face of hanbin but his eyes remain on you.

“what if you interview me?”

your eyebrows shoot up. “you?”

“yeah,” he stands up before walking up to your row, finding a spot beside you. “think of me as your first interviewee if you want.”

the sudden suggestion has you stumbling over your words. “huh? b—but, i don’t have questions prepared. and how does this help our project?” 

when his arms brush against yours, you start to become aware of the distance between your shoulders—and his face from yours. warmth spreads throughout your body, almost like you’re about to have a fever. once his open hand rests near yours, you don’t know what he’s asking.

“let me draw it out for you.” you hand him your pencil and notebook, allowing him to see your doodles. (you don’t miss his grin.) “you know, with that article you make, we can cut it up and create something out of it.” a roughly drawn sketch of a boy posed in the middle of a dance move now rests on the page. “i don’t know if a collage would be okay.”

as you think about what can be done, you perch your chin on your palm. “we can do papercut art? basically, it’s cutting up the article in a way to form an image.”

“oh, that sounds cool!”

“yeah, but the only challenge is that we can only use one piece of paper.” a sigh leaves you. “it would be impossible for me to even do that.”

“that’s why you have me.” his small smile causes wind chimes to ring. (you’re positive you heard them, even if there were no such things in the gymnasium.)

he continues to sketch out the layout of your joint artwork. “how do we feel about this?” on the paper, there are two boxes beside the figure, where one is labeled as “photo of me” while the other is labeled “an article by y/n.” your head tilts. “it’ll be a three-set piece. so, it’ll be a photo of me and your article, and in between is the papercut art that we’ll make.”

you hum. “you know, you’re very creative.” you look at him only to see that he’s been staring at you. “like, you’re inclined to the arts. i wouldn’t have been able to think of something like this.”

“you’re just as creative,” he argues back as he writes down something.

you shake your head before retorting, “hanbin, you’re very talented. i’ve seen the way you dance,” his movements halt, “and you’re like no other dancer i’ve seen. if you ever try out to be an idol, i’m sure you’d do great, maybe end up on the list of the best dancers in the industry.”

but he shakes his head, going back to writing on your notebook and shutting down your compliments. you decide to not push.

“i can get the photo sometime during my training,” he says as he hands you your notebook.

“then i can have the questions sometime this week. for the article, i can have it done maybe four days after the interview. how does wednesday, after school, sound for the interview?”

he shoots you a smile before standing up from his seat. “that’s perfect! i’m looking forward to meeting journalist y/n.” you can’t help but scoff at what he calls you. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you shake your head. “it’s just a silly name.” because the reality is that you had your future planned out—and it definitely didn’t involve that field.

he shrugs. “i don’t know, i think it would fit you.”

“but you haven’t read any of my works.”

“but i want to root for you in the same way you do for me. i don’t want you to feel ashamed of your works.” a fire ignites in your heart; it’s a fireplace.

you’re baffled that hanbin, out of all people, now holds your secret, but you’re even astounded over the idea of him supporting you. you almost can’t remember the last time you heard such words of support. is it genuine or nothing but a facade?

“anyway, i’ve got to go. i need to catch up on some homework.” while you shoot him a nod, his dimples make their appearance once more. “i’ll see you tomorrow!” as he takes off, you’re left in the gymnasium with your opened notebook and unlocked heart. you look back down at his sketch surrounded by your doodles, but you don’t miss his little note—cute doodles btw <3

the season of spring has unfolded in cheonan; a single lilac has bloomed.

present -> a day before the interview, 2024

it’s a late night on a tuesday, about to be a midnight wednesday, and you’re in a convenience store as you scout for your dinner. all hauled up in the newsroom, the idea of ordering food during a time where restaurants would still be open slipped your mind. now, you’re left to scan through the same options you’ve eaten for the past years since you started living in seoul.

the convenience clerks are familiar with you, both kim jongseob and kim jiwoo. with your constant late-night meals at the store, you’d talk to whichever one had a shift. jongseob is saving up to upgrade his setup at home to record more music. with all the stories he shares about his time in underground rap battles along with the short verses he’s performed for you, you’re positive that he’ll get signed to a label soon. as for jiwoo, this is one of the many jobs she has in order to save enough money for fashion school. you’ve seen her sketches and outfits she’s put together and you’re hoping that she’ll get accepted.

a sigh leaves you. you didn’t have a problem with eating the food here but you were craving for something new in your life in seoul. the perpetual cycle of eating takeout food and unconsciously skipping meals for work needed to be disrupted just for a moment. but you weren’t seeking michelin-star food—all you wanted was something home cooked. something from home.

the spice of tteokbokki, the burn of freshly fried hotteok, and the sweetness of homemade peach iced tea—mr. kim’s convenience store had it all.

your tastebuds long for cheonan.

“planning to beat your record of spending 23 minutes on deciding what to get?”

you roll your eyes before looking to your right, seeing jongseob stock up the drinks in the fridge. “i hate you.”

“what? i’m just saying, you’re taking a lot longer to decide today.” he chuckles before placing the last bottle of sweetened probiotic milk in the fridge. “none of the options look good to you?”

“sort of,” you hum before you scan through the aisle of packaged meals. “i think i’m craving for something different.”

“i get it. the food here can get boring, which is why i’m planning to order pizza if you want to split the costs.”

your eyebrows shoot up at jongseob’s suggestion. “really? you’d share pizza with me?”

“yeah, as long as you pay for your share.” he shoots you a smile before grabbing on a trolley carrying empty boxes. “unless… you want to pay for the whole thing.”

you bite back a smile as you shake your head. you should’ve known the guy would ask you to buy him food, but you knew that he needed the money and you at least had a stable income to keep you comfortable. “fine,” jongseob’s smile grows as you fish out your wallet from your pocket and pull out a couple of bills. “just order enough for us two.” 

“of course,” he says as soon as you hand him some money. “i’ll make sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

you scoff at his joke. “just make sure to treat me to something.”

the bell by the door chimes. “sorry, can’t hear you over that! need to attend to a customer!” jongseob dashes away from you while dragging the trolley. that little shit just knew how to press your buttons, but you love the kid, anyway.

still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.

then, you shut your eyes, and you’re transported back in front of the familiar aisle filled with bags of potato chips and sweet corn. the noisy fan along with the soft sounds of mr. kim’s korean drama fills your ears. a mix of yellow and orange hues paint every corner of the mart, including you—and you’re not alone.

your best friend stands on your right, wearing the unbuttoned school uniform polo over a tank top along with jogging pants. he’s lost in thought as he scans through the options of snacks you two can have for today’s afternoon. he starts to giggle to himself, probably from a silly thought he’ll share with you in the next second or a memory involving you, and his whiskers appear—your heart thumps in your ears.

and just like how quickly you were transported back to cheonan, your surroundings transformed into the cool-lit convenience store found in seoul. all you have left is the image of him bathed in the sunlight.

but he fades away like the ink on old receipts, never gone, because the glowing image of him warps into a different version who stands next to you in the cold mart. he’s grown a few inches taller and his hair doesn’t get in the way of his line of sight. while he wears a green sweater, you notice that he’s gained some muscles. his eyes scan through the aisle behind you filled with different brands of instant ramen.

but he bites the inside of his cheek and his dimples appear.

it’s a tornado that brews within you, enough to uproot trees and displace buildings, all because of an unexpected reunion with hanbin. why did the universe decide to bring two ex-best friends on a random tuesday night? what brings him to the convenience store at the same time you’re there? and why did it have to happen a day before the interview?

you weren’t going to commit the same mistake; keep your eyes off of him and make your way out of the store. it didn’t matter if you had an empty, growling stomach, or gave free money to jongseob. you need to leave without the distant, familiar face noticing.

your feet act fast, and you're almost certain that might’ve caught his attention, but it didn’t matter as you see jongseob standing behind the cashier with his phone out. “i just ordered the pizza. it should arrive in about… 20 to 30 minutes.”

“yeah, about that…”

“don’t tell me you’re taking your money back.”

at the sight of jongseob’s pout, you roll your eyes. “no, keep it. i just—i need to go.”

“what? why?”

you peek behind you. it seems like he didn’t recognize you, after all. “i’ve got… work!”

“but don’t you only have your interview with zerobase—”

“hey!” your fingers snap at him. “you cannot—i mean, you just… just take the goddamn money.”

“but we’re supposed to share the pizza. you haven’t eaten.”

an exasperated sigh leaves you. “jongseob, just treat me next time. i can eat at home.”

and you’re ready to leave the convenience store, bid farewell to jongseob and a delicious pizza made for two, and never greet or say goodbye to the living fragment of what you last know of cheonan—

“y/n?”

and the plan failed.

when you meet his gaze, you’re able to take in the different version of him. he’s grown so much—it’s such a pain that you weren’t there to witness it. his eyes are a pool of emotions; you can’t identify them.

all it takes is one breath from you. “hanbin.”

a beat passes.

“i’m just gonna… go through the storage,” jongseob points his thumb at the back of the mart, “and maybe kill myself afterwards. i don’t know.” before you can protest, he’s already gone. (and he still has your money. that fucker.)

you and hanbin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

hanbin’s fingers tense up, almost as if he was hesitating—debating—on how to approach you. his body would waver, but he never took a step towards you. “i… i wasn’t expecting to meet you here.” 

“same here.” you lean your back against the checkout counter. “d—do you stay around this part of the city?”

he shakes his head. “i live around 15, maybe 20, minutes away from here. i’m only here because…” your breath gets caught in your throat. “i don’t know.”

fate. that’s what brought us here.

“do you live here?”

you nod. “yeah, ever since—” the sentence never gets completed; you and him already know.

for a moment, sorrow flashes in his eyes, but a smile shows up. the dimples don’t appear. “i, uh, i was going to get something from here but it seems like your friend is busy.”

“sorry about jongseob.” you whip out your phone and scold him through text. “he should be with us in a bit.”

hanbin hums before walking to the freezer filled with different ice cream. as he looks through the selection, he asks, “do you still like twin bar?”

“y—yeah.”

“still the grape flavor?” you don’t know what to say, but when his gaze meets yours, you settle for a nod. with your favorite ice cream in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he finally walks towards you. you don’t miss the slight stagger in his steps.

hanbin finds his spot beside you. there’s still distance between you two—two tiles worth, enough space for one person—but it’s enough for your muscles to freeze. thankfully, jongseob comes just in time to manage the cashier (with an awkward smile plastered on).

he scans hanbin’s item first before grabbing onto your ice cream.

“oh, i’m paying—”

“no, let me,” hanbin insists. “you can always treat me another time.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking over the second half of his sentence. jongseob holds back from scanning the item, until you shoot him a nod. hanbin pays for the food before jongseob hands them to you.

“i’ll just let you know when the pizza gets here.” his small smile is enough for your shoulders to ease and a quiet exhale to leave. a small nod is all you give him.

you follow hanbin outside to the tables in front of the mart. once he’s settled on a spot, you sit across from him. he tears away the plastic wrapping of his food while you play with the ends of yours. 

while he swallows what you assume to be his dinner of the day, you’re left to swallow your own pride.

“i’ve seen your performances.” his chews halt. “you’re—” captivating. “you’ve improved a lot.”  

with one gulp, a shy smile takes over his face. “i still have a long way to go.”

“you always say that, even back then.” a half bitten sandwich now rests on the wrapper. “but i admire your drive.” always have.

while a different version of hanbin sits across you, the one you knew back in cheonan still lives. in the busy, unfamiliar expanse of seoul, meeting 7 years later, he’ll never be stranger. you could never treat him as such, even if you wanted to.

“there’s always room for improvement,” he says.

you hum along with his sentiment. “did you stick with early childhood education?” you’re met with his orbs that hold a thousand of emotions, some you can name as shock, confusion. a question hangs in the air—what did you deserve to know?

“sorry, i’m assuming you still went to college, which is totally fine if you did or didn’t, by the way. and it’s also okay if you didn’t stick to your major. i mean, you always talked about pursuing a performing arts degree before—”

“y/n,” he giggles, “you’re okay. i still went to college but i took media & communication.” your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “i thought it made sense to study something related to what i do, just the more technical and theoretical side of it, i guess. and the online classes were easy to squeeze into my schedule.” he lifts up the sandwich. “what about you?”

“uh, i ended up in the same course as well.” a hum of shock leaves hanbin. “yeah,” you chuckle, “i managed to shift courses.”

“that’s amazing! i’m happy for you.”

you smile at him. “thanks. now, i’m just—” you should tell him what you do. what would be a better time to reveal that you ended up in the path he dreamed for you to be than now? “—figuring things out.”

with your vagueness, hanbin only nods before munching away. if there’s anything about you that still remains, it’s that you shouldn’t be pushed to share something you didn’t want to talk about. he still knew that.

as he finishes his sandwich, you tear off the plastic wrapping of your ice cream. with the twin bar in your hands, you snap it into two before you hand him a piece. confusion paints his features, wide eyes glossing over the popsicle in your hand, but he takes it before you can say anything.

“thanks.”

you shake your head. “don’t even worry about it. it’s only tradition.”

silence settles between you two. as you eat away on your share of the twin bar, you look up to the sky. from where you sit, you can’t see a single star; the lights of seoul seemed to outshine them. and during those moments, you almost can’t help but miss the view of the starry night from your childhood room.

you glance at hanbin who looks up to the sky as well. yet, one hand remains in his pocket, almost as if he’s fiddling with something. 

as if he feels your eyes on him, he asks, “did you ever think about coming back?”

you halt your movements. if there’s one thing you were expecting your old friend to ask, it would be related to your sudden departure. but you’re hit with an entirely different question, one you didn’t get to rehearse the answer to in case you ever cross paths with him. 

because after all this talk about your yearning for cheonan, why didn’t you choose to visit? despite how much you long mr. kim’s home cooked meals, skies filled with stars, or the presence of your best friend, why didn’t you ever come back?

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

and the reality is that you do think about it all the time. since you left cheonan, you drafted out how many plans to go back. you were homesick, missing the familiar landscape you spent your entire childhood growing up in. but most of all, you missed hanbin. as long as you had him, you would survive anywhere, whether in seoul or cheonan.

despite how much you yearned for him during your years away, you learned that your relationship wasn’t always filled with the warmth that would grace you two every afternoon. for so long, you’ve sat with jealousy. while his family was his pillar of strength, you were met with a home that offered nothing but criticism.

the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.

it became easier to remain resentful. with the distance, you weren’t faced with hanbin’s genuineness. yet, with time, you discovered that you still cared for him—regardless of your jealousy—because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.

for a long time, you resented. now, it’s only guilt that held you back from going back to him.

so when you remain silent, hanbin takes it as your answer.

and for the first time, the distance feels greater since you first left cheonan.

summer of 2017

it’s the peak of summer. amidst the expanse of verdant fields, bees seek solace in the fully-bloomed sunflowers and kaleidoscope wings illuminate as they soar.

but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin. as days blend with each other, the comfort of your bed is all you have until the season passes.

the fan rumbles against the wooden floor, doing its best to cool you, but the heat prickles against the back of your neck. the wind has turned into nothing but hot waves. with your elbows perched on the desk, a sigh leaves you as you attempt to make sense of the worksheet filled with math equations.

your room is your favorite place in cheonan. within these four walls are scattered fragments of you, from your favorite books and mangas that rest on the bookshelf to the stuffed toys that rest on your bed. book tabs stick out of your workbooks lined up on your desk and your cork board is filled with crossed out to-do lists.

and every once in a while, you would look out through your window, admiring the neighboring houses and all their greenery. as people walk on pavements, you cannot help but think about where they’re off to—are they on their way to work? did they leave an important document back home? or are they coming back to a meal and home filled with warmth?

despite the halo soundtrack filling your ears, the cogs in your brain seem to drown them out. the numbers on your paper have jumbled up. it should’ve been easy. after all, you’ve become friends with the letters who’ve squeezed their way into math. once you’ve wrapped up on this assignment, you know you’ll wake up to another set of work to do. it didn’t help that you’re stuck watching kids your age enjoy their break.

with a tired mind, you consider making yourself another cup of iced coffee. maybe another dose of caffeine will make sense of the numbers—

your phone buzzes against your table. as your eyes rip from the unfinished worksheet, you spot the familiar name flashing on the screen. with one glance at your door, you bring your headphones to rest around your neck. it takes three rings for you to answer.

“what do you want?”

“the fuck? what’s wrong with you?”

you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your pen. “i’m studying, you fucker.”

“on a sunday?” hanbin’s question has you only groan. “what happened to resting?”

“i wish,” you murmur as you scratch the back of your head. “i’ve been stuck on this stupid worksheet for the past hours. it’s annoying too. i mean, i already know this topic, so i don’t know why it’s so hard.”

“awe, is my best friend suffering over kumon?”

your forehead rests on crossed arms. “yes. i think i’m going to die.”

“okay, then. i’ll take that as my sign.”

“sign to what?”

he chuckles as if it were obvious. “to save you! let’s go to mr. kim’s.”

a groan leaves you as your back meets the chair. “no, i can’t. do you know what would happen if i don’t finish my kumon?”

“uh… no?”

“me, neither. i’m not taking my chances.”

“but, you’re not even doing anything!” hanbin pointing out the obvious has you rolling your eyes. “wouldn’t it be better to take a break with your best friend? i can even help out.”

as you bite the inside of your cheek, you glance once more at your closed door. you weigh it out; would you rather take a break with your best friend or would you save yourself from the consequences brought by home?

but the answer was already clear. “give me 10 minutes.”

hanbin laughs before you drop the call.

it’s the smell of fresh hotteok that greets you. the quiet buzzing of the fan accompanied by mr. kim’s favorite trot music fills your ears. while the owner seems to be away from the cashier, a white, stray cat takes over, body flopped on the counter as it snores away the heat. as the sun pours through windows, coating every corner of the mart with a glow of fireflies, you know this will be a place of its own.

“y/n, over here!” a familiar voice calls out. as you whip your head to the source, you see your best friend by the chest freezer, eyes crinkled and all dimples.

now, you’re certain that nothing could ever replicate this.

you walk towards hanbin, finding your spot beside him as you two look through the collection of frozen treats. “so, what do you want from here?” you ask.

“uh… i’ll be honest, i just realized i’m short on money.”

you glance through the price tags, only for a groan to leave you. “i’m short too. when did mr. kim raise the prices?”

“no clue. i thought i’d have enough to get a summer crush,” hanbin complains as his eyes are glued to the coffee sorbet. “i hate inflation.”

“come on.” you fish out for the coins in your pocket. “let’s see how much we have together.” hanbin does the same. with palms out, you two count through your shared funds.

“we can get a summer crush!”

“you can get one. i’ll be left with barely anything.” you look through the selection once more. “man, i really want samanco. the red bean sounds so good right now.”

defeat casts over hanbin’s features. for a moment, you almost consider giving up on having a frozen treat and settling for a glass bottle of orange soda, until you spot a familiar popsicle brand.

“holy shit, it’s right there.”

“what?”

“there!” your finger points at the stack of twin bars. “we can probably get that and split it.”

hanbin’s expression morphs into realization. “okay, let’s get—”

“dibs on grape.”

“dibs?” he furrows his eyebrows at you. “you can’t just call dibs. you’re doing it wrong. clearly, we should discuss—”

“nope,” you retort. a chuckle laced with disbelief leaves your best friend. to him, it seemed like you were joking around. “i made the suggestion and contributed a lot more to our shared funds.”

“okay, but—”

“don’t tell me you want the peach flavor more than the grape.” as you continue to shut him down, he knows there’s no way around you.

(plus, he wasn’t a fan of peach-flavored things, anyway. how unfortunate that mr. kim only has those two flavors right now.)

“next time, we’re choosing a flavor that i want,” he gives in. you let out a cheer before grabbing the frozen treat.

you two make your way back to the cashier and spot mr. kim slouched in front of the television, hand stroking the sleepy feline. he’s still wearing an old, red plaid apron on top of a pair of basketball shorts and a loose graphic tee which had the name of a band you’re unfamiliar with. with how he sits, you’re afraid that his back problems will get even worse. (still, you don’t say anything. he’ll only play it off and say he’s still one of the “youngins”... whatever that means.)

once his eyes land on you two, a grin takes over. “ah, my favorite kids! it’s nice to see you both.”

“yeah, it’s been a while,” hanbin starts off. “y/n’s always busy with kumon.”

you narrow your eyes at the boy. “hey! you’re busy, too! you’ve been practicing at the studio almost every day!” the wrapped popsicle now rests on the counter. “every time i’m free, you’re not.”

“hey! whenever you’re free, i’m tired from training!”

“okay, let’s settle down,” mr. kim breaks up the banter. he then takes note of the ice cream on the cashier, the price showing up on the cashier. “isn’t the heat hard enough for you two to be studying or practicing?”

“yes, very much.” you count the coins once more before dropping the exact amount on the counter. “but,” you glance at hanbin and his disheartened expression is enough for mountains to move, “i don’t think we have a choice.”

in reality, these were the circumstances you two had to work and live with. during the days hanbin ended practice early, you were drowning in summer school assessments. whenever you managed to finish your homework, it would be during the hours your best friend was off at the studio or passed out at home from exhaustion.

“choice, no choice, people always say that.” mr. kim counts your payment before putting it into the cashier. as he takes note of what you’ve bought, he says, “everyone has a choice. i’m sure you two can figure it out.”

the only difference is that one chose this path; the other had to suffer from the decision forced onto them.

“don’t worry, mr. kim,” hanbin nudges your shoulder. “i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” and when his whiskers appear, you find yourself smiling back.

maybe you were okay with the life you had to live, just maybe.

“anyway, we’ll go ahead,” hanbin bids farewell to mr. kim.

you giggle. “he means we’re just going to eat our ice cream at the front.”

as you two slowly make your way out of the mart, mr. kim shakes his head. “you lovebirds go ahead. i’ll see you next time!”

“mr. kim!” you and hanbin shout in unison before glancing at each other.

“what?!”

your best friend groans. “you know we aren’t together.”

“yeah! like, i can’t imagine it,” you join in.

still, the owner laughs at your reactions. “you two are so funny. just go and enjoy your ice cream.”

you roll your eyes at his words. “bye, mr. kim!”

with that, you and hanbin were out of the mart and took a seat on the benches. you hand your best friend the wrapped frozen treat before letting out a sigh. “i still can’t believe this is one of the few times we got to meet up during the break.”

“i know.” he tears the plastic wrapping off. “you would think that summer break would mean we get to hang out nonstop, but i’m starting to think we saw each other more whenever we had school.”

you hum. “i know. and i had ap stat while you had training.” your eyes dart at hanbin who grips onto the popsicle sticks, struggling to split it into two. “oh my god, don’t tell me you can’t split it.”

“hey! it’s hard.”

as you giggle, you reach your hand out. “let me do it.” once hanbin hands you the twin bar, you attempt to split the two. for a moment, you almost think about agreeing with him. yet, the frozen treat splits into two perfectly, and a satisfied smile rests on your lips.

you hand him one popsicle, only to be met with his glare. “i know, i’m just better.”

“just shut up.” to that, another laugh leaves you.

under the sun, you enjoy the coolness of the twin bar. while you would’ve stared off to nowhere, you and hanbin were here at the right time to catch civilians bustling away. some were on dates, where one would go on about their interest while the other would smile at their rambling. there were kids whose chatter could be heard all the way from the end of the block, and blue-collar men who were off to enjoy their break.

you can’t help but imagine what people saw—thought—of you and hanbin. did they think of you as unexpected friends? has it ever crossed their minds that you two were only classmates who seemed to always be paired together? or did they ever think the same as mr. kim?

“you know,” hanbin starts off, causing you to look at him, “i was going through college courses the other day.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh?”

with your reaction, hanbin giggles. “i was just curious, you know? not that i’m giving up on dance or anything, but,” he licks the popsicle, “early childhood education sounds cool.”

you hum. “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“no, it’s not a bad thing!” you reassure the boy. “it’s just,” you rip your gaze off of hanbin and look at the playground, “i always thought of you as a dancer, you know? kind of like you were meant for the stage.” the laughter of the kids who passed by you two bounces all over the block and you can’t help but smile. “but i don’t doubt it.”

the breeze graces your sweat-covered skin. “what about you?” you look back at him. “would you ever consider journalism? maybe communication as your major?”

you’re quick to laugh at his suggestion, but when confusion paints his features, you realize it’s a serious question from him.

“no.” it’s a straightforward answer from you, but hanbin could never settle with that

“why not?”

a sigh leaves you. “i just don’t consider it. i mean, i think about it,” all the time, “but not enough to consider it. plus, astrophysics is cool.”

“but is it your dream?”

hanbin’s question is an easy one to answer—not at all. you’ve had enough learning about theories and making sense of the numbers. if your future is going to only complicate that further, then maybe astrophysics isn’t made for you. 

but who’s to say that you’ll even enjoy journalism?

“we’ll see.” you leave it at that and hanbin didn’t push for more.

because the reality is that if you ever did consider it, transform those dreams into action plans, you were terrified to be met with your parents’ disappointment—it wouldn’t only be from your lousy desires but from hanbin’s role in your life.

the first time you mentioned hanbin to your parents happened over dinner, letting them know you would be staying later at school to work on the final project for art class with him. they didn’t bat an eye at his name as they continued to talk about what happened during work and pester you about your progress in other classes. (art class didn’t matter to them, only the sciences and math were ones they seemed to track. still, they would criticize you if you didn’t place first honors.)

with your parents’ oversight, something blossomed between you and hanbin . from there, there were more days you would get home later than usual. while you were still on top of your work, they took your late arrivals as a form of negligence.

all it took was one night for them to demand an explanation. the reappearance of him in the conversation had only caused them to reprimand you—hanbin’s not like you. he’ll only hold you back. 

from that day on, you’ve learned to keep his name out of conversations. you’ll enjoy what you have with hanbin, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.

“how’s training?” you change the subject, trying to keep the attention off of your failed dreams to hanbin’s flourishing ones.

“well, it’s a lot,” he chuckles as he munches a piece. “you already know that it takes how many hours to get to the company, and the hours i spend in the practice room are unlike the trainings i have at school.”

as his eyes meet yours, you only shoot him an apologetic smile. it was never going to be easy; you two knew that before hanbin entered the doors of the company. yet, he still held on.

“you know, i never considered it before, but i like where i’m going,” he admits. “even if i’ve always had dreams to pursue dance, i want to make my family proud if i ever get to debut.” 

hanbin knows how to persevere. regardless of all the bruises he gets from performing complex dance routines or the hours of sleep he longs for, he knows how to hold on. you wish you could say the same for yourself.

“and you will,” you reassure the boy, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “who wouldn’t be proud of you?”

he holds your stare and your smile falters. for a moment, you don’t know if you touched on a sensitive topic. would he shrug your arm off? do you think he’ll shut you off, maybe cut your time together short? will hanbin get mad at you for something you didn’t know was wrong? would he be just like them?

“i want to make you proud.”

that’s enough to answer it all.

you shake your head. “don’t even doubt that for a second.” your arm finds it spot back to your side, and hanbin’s loops his with yours.

although he knows how to persevere, he never knows when to shut his ears from the shadows. 

“i am proud of you,” you tell him. “always have, always will.” he can’t help but smile. all you can hope is that he’ll listen closely to your voice.

“i almost forgot,” he says out of nowhere.

“forgot what?”

as he tugs his arm away, his hand fishes for something in his pocket. “close your eyes.” you furrow your eyebrows. “just do it!” you follow his orders. “and keep them closed, okay?” you let out a hum.

before you know it, something wraps around your index finger. you would’ve opened your eyes, confused over the foreign yet familiar material, but they remain shut. 

“okay, open.”

your gaze rests on your finger wrapped in yellow and blue. it’s a finger trap—and the other end is connected to hanbin. despite your tug, it still holds you two together.

it’s the warmth that fills your cheeks, the heartbeat in your ears, and your starstruck eyes that has him smile. “no matter what happens, we’ll stick together, okay? regardless of what paths we end up pursuing. all that matters is that we have each other.”

he’s filled with hope. hope for his dreams. hope for your relationship. hope for what the future holds for you two. you can’t help but hope as well.

all it takes is a nod from you to solidify the promise to the universe.

you two sit in silence, finishing up the popsicles as people continue to pass by. at one point, you heard mr. kim let out a curse over the drama he’s watching. the sun is about to set, wrapping you two in a golden blanket, and all that matters is the finger trap.

present  -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

it’s no surprise to you that the newsroom is quiet. while your peers are off to gather more information, you’re with lee chaeyeon of news as she tries to meet the deadline for her article’s first close.

“do you think dokyeom will be late?” you ask as you watch her rephrase sentences.

she laughs. “when is he never? minho’s always assigning him coverages.”

“that’s true.” your eyes drift to the hallway. “i’m just hungry. he still owes me food, you know?”

“over another bet? or you saving his ass?”

“over helping him with an article,” you reveal, earning a shocked look from her. “for some odd reason, he needed another writer to help out with a live coverage, and all the sports writers and sports editor were busy handling the other events.”

“holy shit.” chaeyeon continues with her work. “i didn’t expect you to work on anything sports-related.”

“yeah, but it helped that it was a dance competition. at least i know something about dance.” you only know who to thank. “i’m going to make sure i get compensated for that. i’m planning to raise it to minho and namjoon, anyway. that’s if dokyeom would fucking come and help in explaining the situation.”

with the mention of the tardy writer’s name, he’s scrambling through the halls with his backpack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the moment he sees you, he shoots you an apologetic smile.

“speak of the devil,” you say as you stand up straight. “why do you always show up late? i helped you with the article.”

dokyeom finds his spot beside you as he sets down the bag on your desk. “i’ll have you know that wasn’t the only article i had yesterday. i was catching up on other ones that minho assigned me.” before he can plop down on his seat, he spots chaeyeon working. “damn, tough life at news.”

“no need to point out the obvious, doofus.”

“wow, harsh,” he replies to her insult. “just so you know, i bought food for us.”

“thank god,” you exclaim as you open the paper bag filled with takeout containers and sealed cups. as you pull them out one by one, you spot your usual order from the vietnamese restaurant around the corner. “oh my god, thank you for getting me this.” you take a seat before you pass dokyeom his food and utensils.

“yeah, i know. i’m just the best.” his shower of compliments for himself only has you rolling your eyes. “but thank you, by the way, for helping me out with the article. i needed an extra pair of hands and my own editor couldn’t stand in to help out.”

“it’s fine. just make sure you help me get compensated for that article,” you say before you open the container. as the smell of bun bo nam bo fills your nose, you can’t help but let out a quiet moan. “holy fuck, i’ve been craving this.”

“i made sure to get you some vietnamese coffee also.”

“yeah, i saw. thank you.” you split the chopsticks with one hand. you’re about to mix the bowl of your favorite food—

“is y/n here?” your editor calls out, causing you to let out a sigh before you stand up from your seat.

“yes?”

namjoon’s gaze lands on you. “can i talk to you for a bit?”

despite your grumbling stomach, you give him a nod and set your food down. as he retreats to his office, you glare at dokyeom who munches away on goi cuon. “i hate you.”

“hey, what did i do?!” you ignore his attempts to defend himself as you make your way to your editor’s office.

once you swing the door open, you spot namjoon whose eyes are stuck to the screen. “you can take a seat,” he says with no attempt to look at you. you sit across from him, hands folded on your lap, while he types away on his keyboard.

the moment he hits the ‘enter’ key is when he finally looks at you. “sorry about that. i was just replying to minho regarding your compensation for the article you worked with dokyeom. we both appreciate what you did. next time though, make sure to loop in minho or me before you two start working on beats not within your staffs.”

“sorry about that,” you start off. “dokyeom only asked for my help and i thought it would be fine since i’m familiar with dance, anyway.”

namjoon shakes his head with a small smile plastered on his face. “it is fine, just make sure to inform us.” you only nod.

“anyway, i’m sorry to have this meeting with you right now but i have to leave work early today, and i thought that you’d appreciate that i tell this to you now instead of tomorrow,” he says. you hum, curious about what he has to say. “i have a coverage for you, a very, very, long one.”

over the sight of your wide eyes, he can’t help but chuckle. “it’s 12 articles,” he says and your mouth gapes over the number. “well, one main article and 11 profiles with very brief introductory paragraphs.” his attempt to ease your shocked state does nothing.

“namjoon, that’s… a lot.”

“yes, i know. i would love to split the workload but everyone else is handling other articles, and i trust you. i know i’m asking for a lot but i’ll make sure to help you out with them. it’s just that we’re working on a time crunch and i don’t know anyone else i can ask but you.”

the faith that your editor seems to have in you is like no other.

“profiles, like, those q&a transcripts?” you ask.

he nods before saying, “yes, and just a brief introductory paragraph for each profile. i’m just expecting you to put more work into the article about the group. i’ll make sure to help out with the profiles.”

namjoon’s trust should be anxiety inducing, enough to send you complaining, but you find yourself relieved. your mentor became your second-in-command; the mountain of workload transformed into a hill.

“okay.”

a relaxed smile appears on his face at your acceptance. “thank god! i was going to stress about this the whole day if you refused. i’ll make sure to send you the details about this once i’m done with my appointments, and then we can see how we’ll divide the work later on.” he types something. “we’re covering a k-pop group which is why there’s one main article about the whole group and then 11 profiles.”

“yeah, i figured that out.” this isn’t anything out of your usual articles. “can i ask who we’re interviewing? maybe i can do some research on them while you attend your meetings.” you pull out your phone, ready to search up whoever your editor says.

“ah, i’m sure you’ll be familiar with them. it’s zerobaseone.” you still in your seat. “you know, the group formed from boys planet.”

“zerobaseone?”

namjoon looks at you, now met with your features that have transformed from wide eyes to scrunched eyebrows.  “yeah. do you know them?” 

you shake your head without a second thought. “no, i don’t think i do,” you whisper the last sentence to yourself. his narrow eyes look over you, almost dissecting you.

the walls surrounding you are painted in solid colors of pearl, almost untouched. yet, under the paint are cracks that spread like cobwebs. every burst is a testament to the earthquakes they’ve faced; no one should be able to see a single line of black amid the white sea. now, they’re filled with paste, and it should be enough to cover them all.

but for the first time, the paint has chipped and the paste has deteriorated; the different colors of cheonan seep through the cracks.

you clear your throat as you straighten your back. “i’ll be sure to research them.” you wave your phone at him, hoping to divert his attention, but his gaze remains on you.

a sigh leaves him. “okay. expect to receive the documents later in the afternoon.”

he doesn’t push any further. for now, the walls remain intact. (or appear as so.)

it was never going to be easy.

“honestly, i was losing hope as we practiced,” the youngest says through tears. as they huddle, they let out silent wishes for the upcoming years. before they blow the candle, they don’t forget to express their gratitude to the fandom who stuck with them through thick and thin.

a time of celebration turned into a moment to remember their struggles. these were pockets of their time that marked their spot in history.

“oh, everyone behind us is crying!” another member points out as the camera captures the team’s bittersweet cries.

and when you catch sight of the brunette who hides his tears behind his friend, the ache in your chest starts to spread through your veins. the video cuts to his low-hanging head as his members comfort him. they knew all of his hardships—you only know a fraction.

such a tender moment happened a year ago; it’s longer than the amount of time between this achievement and your departure. within those years, what did hanbin undergo? did his trainings waver his passion or did the fire burn just as bright as it did since he first auditioned? was he confident in his skills or was he still critical about every performance he had?

but most of all, what did he face? what did he learn? to hate? to love?

what did he go through without you?

you don’t forget to take note of their first win on your document filled with bullet points of information. while you were going to continue watching, a recommended video caught your attention. it’s a hanbin focus. you don’t hesitate to click it.

the video starts off with him checking up on the fans before the performance starts. as he mimes out eating, they answer his question with reassurance.

and there they come—his dimples appear.

it transitions to their group in their opening formation. as they await for the song to play out, hanbin’s familiar smile shifts into a dominant gaze.

in the same way the first notes draw people to listen, your eyes never leave the boy. his movements are fluid, like water droplets sliding off leaves. he commands the stage regardless of where he’s positioned.

hanbin is meant to be on the stage—no, every stage is made for him. every crowd is meant to cheer his name and remain captive to his talents, and every spotlight is meant to shine on him.

you rest your chin on crossed arms. long gone was the bowl cut and loose school uniform. he’s grown. matured, even. yet, the moments where his smile appears makes you realize one thing: the 16-year-old boy you knew still lives within him.

as their performance comes to an end, you don’t bother to move your cursor, letting the next recommended video play. and when his vlog plays out, you realize that a fragment of his identity is a whole of what you know.

what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.

his voice is a lullaby, the same one you used to fall asleep to, so you allow yourself to close your eyes. you let go of the responsibilities for just this moment, and allow yourself to be transported back into the warmth of his arms.

fall of 2017

out of all the seasons, autumn took its spot in being your favorite. clusters of green slowly morph  into shades of oranges and browns. it’s a symphony of chirps that fills the silence. while the breeze brings you comfort after the heat of summer, it also reminds you of the looming winter.

it’s a shame that autumn does live up to its other name: a season of fall.

“you’re always like this,” your mother comments. you stand in front of your parents, slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, as they hold a sheet of paper they believe dictates your future. “always so sensitive. we’re just asking you what went different. why did your grades drop?” to them, a shift from a to b+ is a threat to your future. 

while your feet stand on wooden floors, a flood starts to form. murky waves crash against your legs, but you do your best to keep your balance.

“answer us when you’re being talked to.” your father snaps you out of your thoughts. “what have you been doing for your grades to drop?” you want to answer but a single sound that leaves you may only lead to blubbers that your parents will scold you for. 

with your silence, your mother sneers. “i knew we shouldn’t have let you do your own things. i told you so.” she shifts her gaze to him. “what did i tell you about y/n? you know they’ll only slack off!”

“i thought we could trust them. clearly, i was wrong.” your father’s glare raises the water levels, reaching your chest. you don’t know how to swim in the foggy ocean.

“i know why.” she crosses her arms. “it’s because of that hanbin boy, isn’t it?” she says his name laced with disgust.

you don’t think twice to defend him. “no, it isn’t!”

“don’t you dare talk back at me!”

“but i’m not! he’s done nothing.”

your father begins to raise his voice. “and that’s what’s wrong! that lazy boy does nothing for his studies. he clearly doesn’t care about his future.”

you always knew it would be a losing battle, but you’ll put up the fight to protect your best friend’s name. “that’s not true! he does care. he’s planning to do early childhood education for college, maybe become a teacher.”

“that job has no money. see, i can already see that you’re being influenced by him,” he argues back.

and as the murky waters rise, filling your lungs, your first instinct is to close your eyes and scream. “stop saying that about him!”

a beat passes.

“i don’t want you hanging out with him.”

“but—”

“shut up.” your mother’s words cause you to look up, meeting your parents’ faces filled with anger.  “go to your room. now.” you’re nothing but a puppet for them.

was it even a battle if you always knew you were going to lose?

despite the safety of your room, you don’t let the tears flow down. you do anything to distract yourself; maybe a book will convince you that your life is only a figment of your imagination.

waves continue to crash against your body. if you let them take your body, would they send you far away from cheonan? from your parents? from the weight you were entrusted to carry since birth?

but would you allow the waves to send you away from hanbin?

your phone buzzes against the mattress. with tear-filled eyes, you see your best friend trying to reach you. you don’t think twice about declining his call and shutting off your phone.

as you curl in your bed, you hope the sea will swallow you whole—the slow, burning pain that comes with drowning won’t compare to the burns that haven’t healed. but you know that the blame rests on your shoulders. if only you had studied harder, cut off hours of rest for your work, then maybe you would be the perfect child your parents wanted.

were you wrong for allowing yourself to enjoy the small breaks between classes? was the time spent in the mart supposed to be for schoolwork? should you have found yourself a tutor? were you in the wrong for not working yourself to the bone? did you not work enough?

are you not enough?

then, a knock. your eyes snap open. like a stroke of light in the middle of the dark, hanbin is by your window.

you get off your bed to open the window. as the glass barrier disappears, he enters your room. “are you okay?” he spots your glassy eyes and his hands find their spot on your shoulders. “what happened?”

you break eye contact. “what do you want, hanbin?”

“you didn’t pick up your phone. and when i tried calling again, i couldn’t reach you,” he starts to explain.

you shrug off his grip on you before you take a seat on your bed. “i’m fine. my phone died.” as you feel the spot beside you dip, you look at your best friend. at the sight of his furrowed eyebrows, you know he doesn’t believe you. “i said i’m fine.”

“i didn’t say anything.” for you are an open book to him.

he opens his arms towards you—it’s your move to make. then, a tight-lipped smile shows on his face, his whiskers appear, and you allow yourself to fall. with his arms wrapped around you, you shut your eyes as you nestle your face into his neck.

breathe in. breathe out.

his hand finds its spot on your back, rubbing it in circles.

breathe in. breathe out.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” he says, and you allow yourself to crumble in front of him for the first time.

the tears hit hanbin’s neck like a light drizzle. your wails bring earthquakes into his world.

yet, his warmth is enough to dry up droplets, and his embrace protects you as you fall into the cracks of the earth and into the depths of the world. the flood starts to subside.

in your time knowing hanbin, how much did he know about you after all? had he always known of your strained relationship with your parents? did he hear about it from others or was he able to connect the dots?

because you didn’t know yourself outside of your parents anymore. did you like science because of your kumon classes? was your interest in writing birthed from a desire for validation from your parents?

are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?

but your parents will never be satisfied; a standard too high is practically nonexistent.

hanbin moves so that you two can lie down. his arms remain wrapped around you as you hide in his neck. “i’m sorry if i wasn’t there for you when you needed it then.” his whispered apology causes you to shake your head.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you blubber out to his neck.

“and you didn’t, as well.” his hand finds its spot behind your head. with every stroke, a tear streams down. “and i want you to know that i’ll be here for you.”

in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you. 

now, your home is hanbin.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

something about the newsroom feels odd to you. there’s nothing out of the ordinary aside from it bustling with journalists. the familiar sounds of printers and chatter from your workmates fill your ears. it’s a typical occurrence for your peers to meet their deadlines on the day itself. the tug in your gut doesn’t resemble ones formed out of your anxiety. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“where is dokyeom? i swear, this guy never shows up to the office.”

you snap out of your thoughts, looking over at chaeyeon who browses through her phone. as you shove a bill into the vending machine, a chuckle leaves you. “when is he never?”

“maybe if he finishes his coverages on time then he’d be getting enough sleep. then, he won’t be late.”

you side-eye your friend before you click on a button. “you know that’s not true.”

she sighs at the same time your bottle of iced tea drops. “yeah. apparently, if you have free time, you’re not a good journalist or some shit which i find stupid.” you grab your drink before facing her. “am i not allowed to do something else that’s not related to my job? i swear, this is why i’m single.”

“then date another journalist.” your joke earns a scowl from her.

“i’m never dating anyone in my field. a journalist dating another journalist is like,” she looks up to the ceiling as she thinks, “a long distance relationship with how much they’ll never see or have time for each other.”

a laugh erupts from you, one that may be too loud for your liking. “true.”

as you walk out of the breakroom with chaeyeon, you notice something in the corner of your eye: a brunette by the restroom. while you can’t see his face, you spot what’s in his hand and you halt in your tracks—a finger trap.

“hey, is there someone there?” your eyes snap back to your friend who looks at you in confusion. when your eyes drift back to where the brunette once was, he’s already gone. you shake your head before walking back to your desk.

the same gut feeling lingers. with a frown, you open up your article only to be met with a few comments that namjoon left last night. maybe your gut knew that you weren’t done with your work. thankfully, it’s nothing too major, and you can have them done within the next few minutes.

“there you are!” chaeyeon exclaims, causing you to look up from your screen to a panting dokyeom. “were you working on your articles again?”

“actually, i went out last night.” while you shake your head at dokyeom’s reveal, chaeyeon gasps. “yeah, i did! i actually had fun for once!”

as he nods proudly at last night’s events, she complains, “are you serious?! how come you have time to go out? i was just talking to y/n that we never have time to ourselves.”

“i’m in sports,” he points out as he shrugs his shoulders. “you’re in news.” at this point, you’re expecting the two to spiral into an argument, so you redirect your focus back to your article.

“hey, did you hear though? there’s a k-pop group in the building.” you glance at chaeyeon.

your other friend leans on the cubicle. “really? who?”

“no clue.”

dokyeom lets out a groan. “what type of journalist are you if you can’t find out?”

“yah!” chaeyeon smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain. “says you who can never submit on time.”

“hey, i’ll have you know that minho has been understanding!”

“whatever.” she rolls her eyes before looking at you. “that means you’ll probably be handling them. i hope they’re cute so that you can finally have something going on with your life outside of work.”

a chuckle leaves you as you get back to work. “i’m never dating an idol. i’d get hunted down by their fans.” 

“yeah, but can’t you dream a little? do you ever imagine what it would be like?”

the past plays in your mind. after school performances and interviews. broken-up popsicles. finger traps. a life you shared with hanbin then—one you still cling onto.

yet, you shake your head as you edit your article. “not even.”

it’s a life you’ll keep to yourself.

“what’s the update?”

the three of you look away from each other, spotting namjoon who comes to you with a smile. long gone were the sweaters that failed to drown out his figure and the boxy glasses that would rest on the bridge of his nose. now, he wears a dress shirt and trousers with hair slicked to the side. there were no frames for him to hide behind.

“ah, namjoon! you’re dressed so nice today.”

with dokyeom’s compliment, he can’t hold back on his smile. “thank you. are you guys done with your articles?”

as your friends nod, you add the finishing touches to the document. “and done! i just finished addressing your comments.”

“great. thanks, y/n.”

“do you have something?” chaeyeon asks your editor, causing you to roll your eyes. one thing about journalists is that they love to know everything.

namjoon nods before saying, “i just had a meeting with some possible interviewees.”

“is this the one with the k-pop group?” as dokyeom asks the question, you can’t help but laugh as chaeyeon looks at him in disbelief for spilling confidential information.

your editor chuckles. “yes.”

“can we know—”

“no, you can’t know.”

chaeyeon pouts at namjoon. “not even a hint?”

namjoon ignores her question and begins to walk off. “good work, y/n!” he calls out before leaving you three alone.

“man, namjoon never tells us shit,” chaeyeon complains as she leans on the table.

“to you guys, at least,” you argue with a small shrug.

still, the gut feeling remains.

something about the newsroom feels odd to hanbin. while he’s had his fair share of paranormal experiences, his gut tells him that there’s something in the office. yet, the tug isn’t one that speaks of danger. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” hanbin is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

although everyone seemed fine with proceeding, he couldn’t shake off the feeling. maybe the leftover curry he had this morning went bad. “i’ll go,” he says as he gets off his seat.

namjoon slowly stands up. “okay, i can bring you there—”

“it’s okay! i saw the washroom on the way here,” hanbin says before walking to the door. “you can discuss the details without me first.”

with his manager’s nods, namjoon settles back into his seat. “okay then, here are some of the dates i have in mind...”

hanbin exits the room. he bites on the inside of the cheek as he thinks of what his gut could be telling him. is it the nerves for the upcoming tour? is he worried about the next comeback they’ve been preparing? or is he scared about what the future has in store for his group?

with his mind on these questions, he doesn’t realize that he arrives in front of the bathroom door. a sigh of frustration leaves him. the worst thing about gut feelings is never knowing what they’re trying to say.

he grips the handle, ready to swing the door open, until a familiar laugh hits his ears. one of the past. one he hasn’t heard in years. his muscles freeze.

when was the last time he heard that chortle? when was the last time he became the cause of it?

his eyes dart around the area for the source but no one else is here. he can’t help but shake his head in disbelief.

it should be stupid for him to think you two would ever reunite. in what world would you be in the same place as he is? it’s been 7 years. you could be anywhere around the world. yet, he fishes for something out of his pocket; the same finger trap he linked you to him rests on the palm of his hand.

he sighs before entering the washroom and shoving it back into his pocket.

maybe he’ll hold out a little longer.

winter of 2017

out of all the seasons, hanbin’s favorite is winter. snowflakes fall, filling the sky with stars that people can touch, and snow piles on sidewalks, letting him throw snowballs at his friends. despite the freezing temperatures, hanbin prefers this over nearly-boiling ones.

he can’t wait to share this season with you.

yet, the familiar, chilly breeze of the season transforms into whispers, and word gets around like thrown snowballs. 

“is y/n really not going to school anymore?” hanbin looks up from his desk to see soojin standing in front of him. he tilts his head in confusion, causing her to roll her eyes. “are they not going here anymore?”

he frowns. “huh? what kind of rumor is that?”

“i don’t know. it’s what people have been saying,” she says as she crosses her arms. “i asked because i wanted to know if my competition’s gone, you know? and you’re the only one here who has an idea about their whereabouts.”

hanbin laughs in disbelief. “no, i was with them last week.”

when hanbin last saw you, you asked for space. with what’s been happening with your family, you needed time to process and cope with your issues, and he respected that. after all, he only knew a fraction of your relationship with your parents, and he didn’t want to intrude in anything you didn’t want him to be a part of. still, hanbin reminded you that he’ll be there if you need him.

“damn, that sucks,” soojin groans as her shoulders slump. “these stupid rumors.” as soon as she leaves hanbin alone, he shakes his head.

the bell rings. students start rushing into classrooms and teachers scold those who aren’t on their seats. ms. jeon enters the room, walking to the desk in front and setting her things down. “lee soojin, you’ll be in charge of attendance today.”

as hanbin’s classmate gets off her seat, he can’t help but look at your desk that still remains empty.

“you have to message us when you land,” your mother says as she fixes the collar of your coat. despite your nod, she clicks her tongue. “answer me properly.”

“yes, i will.”

once your father finishes placing the last luggage in the trunk of the taxi, he stands beside your mother. “don’t forget why we’re sending you there. we expect you to do better with no distractions.”

your phone buzzes in your hand. as you look down, you see a message from hanbin. as he asks about your whereabouts, the weight gets heavier—will you stand or crumble under it?

“who’s that?”

you stash your phone away as you look back at your parents. “nothing. it’s just an email from the school. they sent over the date for the orientation.” at the sight of their satisfied smile, you let out a small sigh of relief.

“well, go on.” your nod at your mother before getting in the car. with the windows still down, she adds, “don’t forget to get endorsement letters from the professors i sent over to you or else you won’t get to study abroad like we planned.” her choice of pronouns is funny; a plan that they crafted which never considered your input.

“okay.”

as your father commands the driver to go, your gaze remains on the two. it should be okay with you to leave cheonan; you’d be far away from your parents and experience an entirely different landscape to explore. it’s time you break away from the chains of this town. learn a life outside of what your parents forced you into.

yet, as the car takes its leave, the figure of your parents slowly shrinks. the distance from them should’ve given you the space to breathe, a relief you’ve longed for, but it only reminds you of your strained relationship. to them, it would be better that you’re out of their sight—and with your farewell, you never heard the three-word phrase.

the window rolls up. you try to hold back the tears, but the scenery of cheonan that you pass by births a storm within you. you didn’t want to say goodbye to home, regardless of how much you say you didn’t have a home in this town. every corner holds a piece of you in the same way you hold a piece of them.

the car approaches a safe haven you share. despite the snow that piles at the front, mr. kim’s convenience store is still open. you’ll never get to have his hotteok again or hear his favorite dramas play in the background. worst of all, you never got to say goodbye.

then, the familiar figure of your best friend exits the mart, and the storm transforms into a typhoon. the plastic bag he holds is filled with your favorite snacks, from the grape-flavored twin bar to a bottle of mr. kim’s homemade peach iced tea.

and in that moment that your car passes him, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you spot the familiar trap wrapped around his finger—the other end holds no one.

as quickly as you came into hanbin’s life, he disappears from your view.

finger traps were fascinating. if you tug hard, the contraption won’t let your fingers go. yet, if you allow the two fingers to meet, allowing the toy to loosen, it’ll let you go with no harm.

but your finger trap with hanbin was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.

interview

q: what made you decide on becoming an idol?

a: i’ve always loved dancing. growing up in cheonan, i always made time [for dance] whether it be [for] school competitions, talent shows, or even [choreographies] i wanted to try out. but i never considered becoming [an idol] until high school. a lot of my friends and family thought i was capable, and i’m glad they trusted me. it feels good to give back to them with every performance.

q: compared to your other members, you’ve spent a lot of years dancing and training to become an idol. what kept you going throughout your years of training?

a: my family’s support was one big thing that helped me [during my training.] every trip from my house to the company would last hours, and it drained me physically. so as the years went by, i started to question if all the time, money, [and] effort i was putting into an unpromised debut would be worth it, but my parents and sisters were always there to support and [take] care of me. but i’d also like to think my best friend was a major support in training years. i think they were the first one to [tell me that they saw me as an idol,] and at the time i brushed off the idea. but, look where i am now? so i think i owe a lot to them.

q: is there anything you’d like to say to those who’ve supported you as zerobaseone’s hanbin?

a: mom and dad, thank you for believing in me. i know it wasn’t easy to wait until midnight for me to come home or take care of me whenever i got sick from training. thank you for always supporting me in every performance. to my sister, thank you for helping mom and dad out at home. every day, i remind myself that you gave up so much just so i can pursue my dreams, and i want you know that i’m forever grateful for your sacrifices. to the rest of [zerobaseone], thank you for always allowing me to rely on you. i’m glad i can say i have brothers who i get to achieve my dreams with. zerose, thank you for your love and support over the years. i wouldn’t be zerobaseone’s leader or sung hanbin if it weren’t for you. and lastly, thank you to my best friend. i hope you’ll always be proud of me the same way i’ll forever be proud of you.

tag list: @kflixnet @blankjournal @somber-reads

#works of moni #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #zerobaseone #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zb1 angst #zb1 fluff #sung hanbin #sung hanbin fluff #sung hanbin angst #sung hanbin x reader #sung hanbin imagines

[triforce-of-mischief]

Ask and Try Again

Summary: Link and Ravio are still learning each other's boundaries and desires, and a mid-cuddle mishap serves as a reminder for consent.

Relationship: QPR Legend/Ravio, pre-relationship and pre-LU

Words: 750

AO3

Please reblog to show your support! Likes do nothing.

Whenever Link spent the night at his own house, Ravio insisted that they cuddle. It was for warmth, he said, since Lorule was so cold and lonely. The merchant swore up and down that it didn’t mean anything, and Link had believed him… at first. As Link’s quest reached its end, it was clear that Ravio did feel something for him, and Link felt the same. They felt content in each other’s company, and Ravio stopped making excuses when he crawled into Link’s bed each night.

Soon after everything was over, Ravio grew less reserved. He touched Link more often, grabbing his arm as they walked around Kakariko or propping his elbow on Link’s shoulder as he wrote. Link enjoyed it, even if he was more hesitant about reciprocating. Ravio just… did everything without asking, and Link didn’t know where he was supposed to start. At least cuddling was always simple; they held each other close then they went to sleep. Link could go to bed without expecting anything new or feeling like he should do something more, so he did.

Ravio was fidgety tonight. His fingers wandered over Link’s arm, squeezing his hand for a minute before reaching back up to touch Link’s face. Link forgot to breathe, frozen as Ravio found the magic-dyed pink streak of hair. It felt nice, and Link almost wanted to lean into the touch but if Ravio-

He couldn’t help but make a happy sound, almost like a squeak, as he felt gentle fingers tuck his hair behind his ear. Ravio giggled, acknowledging it before he placed a hand on the crown of Link’s head and stroked his hair. Immediately, Link froze again. This was Ravio, he wasn’t hurting him and there was nothing wrong with somebody just touching his hair so why did it feel bad, like it was taking everything Link had to not push Ravio away?

Ravio made a worried noise, pulling his hand away from Link’s hair. “Link?” he said, soft and gentle. “What is it?”

Link shook his head, flinching at the ghost sensation of something touching his scalp. “It- it’s nothing,” he whispered, knowing that Ravio wouldn’t believe him.

“You’re shivering, bun. This isn’t nothing,” Ravio said sadly, and Link tried for a distraction.

“You’re m-more of a bunny than I am,” he argued weakly. “Not like I wear that hood…”

“Link. You have to tell me what happened,” Ravio insisted.

He didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t know why his mind had betrayed him, turning Ravio’s touch into something he couldn’t stand. He just wanted to feel safe again, and he wordlessly shoved his face against Ravio’s chest.

“Link, I don’t know what I did wrong,” Ravio begged. “Did you panic when I touched your hair?”

Link wanted to scoff. He hadn’t panicked, but… he had reacted badly, and he had been fine until Ravio had touched his hair. But he didn’t want Ravio to think that he couldn’t touch him all… Hating himself, he whined and nodded.

“I’m sorry. I should know better than to try something new before asking,” Ravio said. “It seemed like you were fine when I touched your ear, so may I try that again? I won’t touch your hair, I promise.”

Link still hadn’t processed that this wasn’t his fault, and he heard himself whisper, “Yes.”

Ravio made a soft sound, soothing Link even as he felt his fingers brush over the pointed edge of his ear. Link didn’t panic, this time, and he let the gentle touch lull him to sleep.

Ravio was in Link’s own arms by morning, awake and smiling up at Link as he blinked his eyes open. Link gave him a shy smile in return and gathered the courage to ask something he had been afraid to for a while now.

“Do you- should I- um,” Link stammered, and swallowed as Ravio waited patiently. “Would you like me to play with your hair?”

Ravio’s eyes widened, a bright grin spreading over his face. “Yes, I would love that, bun.”

Link blushed but ignored the nickname, cautiously weaving his fingers through Ravio’s hair. It was so much like his, silky and wavy, and Ravio clearly enjoyed the attention just as Link had felt content with patterns traced lightly behind his ear. Link felt almost overwhelmed with affection, seeing how happy Ravio was simply from Link touching his hair. If all they had to do was ask… nothing sounded better than learning how to help each other feel safe.

#linked universe #lu #linked universe legend #lu legend #linked universe ravio #lu ravio #legend/ravio #overcome #fable writes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 54

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I am back to work tmrw.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You choose a simple dress. You like the shade of peach even as Loki eyes you archly. It might not be the choice that offends him but the state of yourself. Your nose is still healing, bandaged but not as heavily, and you have much left to recover. His own injuries remain tinged on his pale skin.

You shimmy the dress on and turn your back to him as he drones cynically. His fingers creep up along your bottom to meet the zipper and he tugs it up slowly. He’s reluctant. 

“What is it? You don’t like the dress?” You face him.

“I’d rather prefer you naked,” he purrs with a wink, “but I am not overly fond of the colour, no.” 

“Oh, but... you bought it?” 

“Yes, my sister did have it included in the purchase but... it is rather bright.” 

“I like it,” you run your hands over your stomach and hips, “it fits nicely but if you want me to change...” 

“No, darling, do what you wish,” he crosses his arms, “I must learn to let you do so.” 

You narrow your eyes. His malleability does not come without resentment. You shrug. You don’t have all day to be sussing out his preference. 

“What is it you and my mother have planned?” He asks. 

“I’m not certain,” you say as you search for your phone. The one he gave you. 

“No? Hm, darling, what about a necklace?” He goes to the jewellery box and plucks out a golden chain with a peridot emblem.  

“I guess,” you dig around in your work bag, most of your luggage still unpacked. 

“You guess? It is a pretty necklace. What about amethyst?” 

“Loki,” you fish out your phone but not the one you meant to. Your old flip.  

You put it down on the nightstand stiffly and return to your search. It feels so long ago that you were that person. That sad girl living with your father and flitting through a meandering existence. You won’t say you’ve moved up very much, still at the whim of a man, but you feel distant from that person. 

Perhaps Walpurgisnacht was more a rebirth than you could know. 

“Pet...” Loki comes closer as you retrieve your work phone. It’s dead.  

“I need to charge it,” you show him the device. 

“You should toss the old one. Doubt it even works.” 

“I know, I will. I have to back it up,” you say evasively. There’s not much on it but it’s the only connection you still have to your previous life. You’re not ready to slice through that last strand. 

“Mm, right then, well, another to do for the list,” he steps nearer and tickles your waist, “suppose you delay your little outing with my mother and I take you to lunch--” 

“She’s a guest, and your mother,” you rebuke. “Loki, I’m only doing what I need to do. Isn’t that what you want?” 

He sighs, “yes, but... it is still my house. I would like more than my leave. I should say when you need go pick out flowers or tablecloths or whatnot.” 

“Proposals typically lead to all that,” you say, “at least from what I know.” 

“What you know?” He muses. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few Kate Hudson movies,” you quip and give a goofy smile but quickly repress it. “Sorry, that wasn’t... funny.” 

His cheeks dimple and his nostrils flair, his lips slightly curved, “is that... humour? From you?” 

“Well, I... yeah, why not?” 

“Hm, it isn’t a slight but you are not one for laughter.” 

“Or maybe you’ve never made me laugh,” you blurt out and quickly snap your mouth shut. 

His brows drop and his smile too. You stare at him. Oops. You are getting to comfortable. Even if you are to be his wife, you aren’t his equal. You don’t know that you could ever be. 

He chuckles, “darling, how very sharp.” He reaches to frame your chin and turns you to him completely, “I should try harder then, to hear your sweet laughs.” 

You smile, a flutter in your chest, “that’s sweet.” 

“I am sweet,” he says, offended. “What do you mean?” 

You just stare at him. Is he kidding? 

“Don’t,” he warns with a frown. “Very well, go, have fun. Should I need anything, I will be certain to let mother know since you will be without tether...” he keeps his hand on you, squeezing, “you will be safe with her, I know.” 

“Loki,” you murmur, “he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t.” 

He stares at you solemnly, “no, he shouldn’t.” 

It seems as if he doubts his own words. For a moment, you do too. He knows his brother much better. Yet, how can Thor return when all have turned their backs on him? 

“There is no hurry, mother can wait...” 

“Loki, she’s only visiting,” you remind him, “the sooner it’s done, the sooner they go, right?” 

“Mm, you are clever,” he looks past you with apprehension, “suppose so. And I should speak with father about some things...” he leans in and kisses your forehead, withdrawing absently as he taps his fingertips together, “weddings and such...” 

You give him a look but he’s too distracted to notice. This whole affair is his idea and yet he is uncertain. You watch him placidly. 

“We don’t have to... marry--” 

“No, no,” he returns his attention to you, “of course we must. We will—how could you—oh, I know it is all very new to you, pet, but trust in me. It isn’t my first rodeo. Regrettably.” 

You feel a pang at the allusion to his previous marriage. You remember Sif with her sleek figure and her perfect smile and her sparkling eyes. You are second in all ways to her. 

“I should go,” you insist with a sniff. 

“Mm, yes, you should,” he grabs your shoulders and lays another kiss, this time on your lips. “I have told mother very strictly not to dawdle so you shouldn’t either.” 

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. 

“When did you get so confident,” he teases as he retracts from you. 

You offer a sheepish smile. Not confident, but hopeful. A change nonetheless. 

✨

Frigga insists on lunch before you do anything. You’re struck with deja vu as she returns to that same place you went to with her sons. That day feels like eons ago but it’s been just over a month. 

The change feels all the more sudden after a lifetime of stagnancy. With your dad, every day blurred together, the constancy was as dull as it was oppressive. Yet, you mourn it all the same. The spontaneity and turbulence of your new existence proves just as paralysing at times. 

You may have gone from maid to fiancee, but it doesn’t dissolve your expected deference. You are marrying into the Odinsons, they have no need to ingratiate themselves to you. Even as the reminder of her elder son troubles you, you will not mention your worries aloud to the matriarch. 

Frigga orders a sparkling water with fruit, you ask for the same. The waitress is not subtle as she eyes your bandaged nose. Just another reason for you to feel out of place. It's tender but feels much better.

You peer up at the sky as you sit in the open patio and the scent of the curated flowers around the space wafts in the air. Your dress rustles and tickles your leg, causing you to flinch. Another flash of before. That day you ate with Thor at your side, his hand under the table... 

You shudder and blow away the memory. You reach for your water and sip as you look over the entrees. Your appetite is erratic. One second you’re ravenous, the next, nauseous. The tuna sounds good but sickening at once. You’ll get a salad. 

“We will have to plan an engagement party first. Perhaps a local venue for that,” she looks at her phone and turns it on its screen as you hear it buzzing. 

“Or the house? I thought... the gazebo...” 

“Mm, yes, I recall, what was the name of that contractor you hired? I wouldn’t mind a similar build back at our house. Oh, and perhaps if you did want to do the wedding at home as well, a wedding arch might be a thought. I’m certain a carpenter might be up to that task,” she continues, ignoring how her phone rattles her glass. “So, we’ll skip over venues then. But invitations, perhaps? Oo, do you have a dress in mind? A brunch or something in the evening?” 

You can hardly keep up with her questions. At least she offers distraction from the shadow looming over your shoulder. Both of them. If it isn’t one son, it’s the other. 

The waitress returns and you order. Frigga eyes you as she puts in for a monte cristo with the soup du jour. You try to smile. You’re tired. 

“Are you okay, dear? You’ve not been eating very much.” 

“Oh, haven’t I?” You squirm evasively. “I’m... fine, I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Oh, darling, forgive me if I am overloading you,” she fans herself with her hand, “I apologise. I’ve a bad habit of getting head over feet about these things. I have so many ideas all at once but if I sit still, I feel I might burst.” 

Her words call you back to Loki pacing and circling at the hotel, then at home, he manic muttering. 

“It’s alright. I don’t think of any of it. I don’t know where to begin,” you assure her. 

“Ah, well, yes, but I’ve had a wedding and my son’s had a wedding already,” she chuckles, “so I do have a bit more experience. You shouldn’t worry terribly if you have questions. I am simply here to guide you.” 

“I know--” 

Her phone shakes again and she sighs.  

“Pardon,” she tilts the phone up and you see the incoming call; Loki. She quickly turns off the ringer. “My, he is a pest. It cannot be that important--” 

“I don’t have my phone,” you say, “maybe he needs something.” 

“My son can wait. He is so selfish. Especially about you. Surely, he trusts his own mother,” she scoffs, “anyhow, I think a luncheon might be pleasant enough. Perhaps with a theme. Summer is here and the flowers will be lovely this time of season.” 

“Excuse me, miss,” the waitress comes up to the table, a cordless phone in her hand, “there’s a gentleman on the phone asking for you.” 

You frown at Frigga then glance up, realising the woman is speaking to you. You blink and take the phone from her. You put it to your ear, staring at Frigga. 

“Hello?” 

“Pet,” Loki bursts eagerly, “oh, I knew you’d be there. Yes, I only wanted to check in, hear your voice, but I couldn’t get through to mother.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, we were just ordering--” 

‘Give me the phone’ Frigga mouths and gestures. 

“I...” you begin and her green eyes flare. You hand over the phone. 

“Loki, this is not your time. You can wait. We are busy. You have a lovely day and we will be home in a few hours,” she says tritely, “certainly, you might find something to keep yourself busy.” 

She doesn’t wait for his response as she hits the end button and hands the phone back to the server, thanking her with a smile. The brunette flits away and you tap your fingers on the table top. Frigga plays with a wave and pushes it behind her ear, “darling, don’t even worry about my son. You just focus on yourself.” 

“Thank you, I just...” 

“You just don’t worry,” she repeats, “if my son has issue with us doing exactly as we told him we would, then he may take it up with me. Uh, he always was a needy little boy.” 

You almost laugh. You might agree with part of her sentiment but you could never imagine Loki as a little boy. In your mind, he just seems as if he’s always been grown. Not like you.  

You’ve always felt clueless and inadequate. As if you never moved past childhood, that you got caught behind some wall and watched the adults from afar. Yet, now that you’re on the other side, you still feel a barrier. Like them, but not the same. 

Not like the Odinsons especially. A family. You don’t have any of that. The more you think of the wedding, the more you see empty seats. No bridesmaids, not father-daughter dance, no one on your side. 

“Dear, have I upset you?” Frigga cuts the silence and you catch yourself staring at the table. 

You shake your head and sit up, “no, sorry, just thinking...” you scramble for a lie. You hate that you do that so often now, “what about a tea party?” 

“A tea party? Marvelous, I love it,” she trills, “oh, yes, we will have to find some fine porcelain for the event.” 

“Loki has lots--” 

“Yes, but this is special, dear. You’ll need a special set so you can always remember the party. Oh, and teas. There is a tea shop nearby. They sell loose leaf. We can have a whole array. Ooh, and biscuits, pastries...” she begins to list off. You let her, thankful to forget everything else for the minutest of details. Tea is easy. 

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #series

[megatronsimp]

I haven't really been naming my chapters, but I wanna name this one, "God has a chat with Percy" so bad.

Also please if you like this post reblog it too.

#transformers #maccadams #maccadam #tfa #transformers animated #tfa rung #tfa perceptor #alternatively “God has a talk with Perceptor about privacy” #earlier I wanted to name a chapter “A minor god goes for a drink.” #it’s really starting to piss me off #the likes are nice but the reblogs are better

[the-kipsabian]

saw a take so fucking rancid on twitter i almost deleted the entire app from my phone jesus fucking christ

first of all ao3 is an archive site. this is like going to the library and saying "oh i dont like this" on every piece of media you find that you dislike and thinking they should be stamped with some sort of a marker just cause you didnt like it

you can always click back and leave. fic writers owe you nothing to explain themselves and their creations. if they have mistagged or miscategorized fics, then i understand, however there are report tools for that instead of yelling at the artist tbh

im not saying free works arent necessarily above criticism. but this is just. fucking wild. its common courtesy to just enjoy stuff (or fucking leave if you dont, the back button is free) and if the artist specifically asks for critiques, then give one - constructive that is, shitting all over someones work is not proper criticism, mind you

i just find it fucking wild people are treating art and archive sites as social media these days like this and everything needs to be policed and ~catered to the algorithm~ like. no. ao3 doesnt have an algorithm. you should be able to fucking tell what you like and what you dont like and steer away from that kind of content and let people fucking be with their art. they dont owe you anything (except trigger warnings i'd argue, but i know some people disagree with that as well for some reason), and imagine how much more energy you'd have if you only engaged with things you liked and spent time looking at instead of going to places where you dont enjoy yourself. let alone spending time telling other people you dont enjoy what they enjoy. what a fucking life

#like what the fuck #where is the common courtesy of fandoms these days im just fucking asking. its ridiculous #the back button is free. shutting your fucking mouth is free. constructive criticism when people ask for it is nice but only then #these are fucking basic level fandom engagement things #am i old or are people just this fucking awful now that these guidelines dont exist anymore #im just. ough #sorry i had to get this out. idk as someone who has never left unsolicited advice for anyone and never gotten it back it just #it fucking grinds me that people are like this now. like fucking wow #ive been here for almost two decades soon and i still know how to behave. yall better fucking learn #im gonna go back to video game sorry i really needed to yell for a hot fucking second #if you choose to reblog this dont fucking clown on it okay. god #night is an absolute mess on main

[franky-y]

another painting

#because i have no self control lmao #käärijä #jere pöyhönen #digital art #this was surprisingly fun to paint #i usually prefer working in black and white because it's easier for me #but this one was fine lol #also #i just wanted to say #thank you to everyone who leaves nice comments in the tags of my posts #i read all of them and seriously i appreciate this so much you have no idea #i've been absolutely miserable recently #and reading all the nice things you guys wrote #really made me feel better #so yeah... thank you! #(i do appreciate all likes and reblogs btw and i don't want anyone to feel pressured into leaving a comment or smth) #(i just really had to say thanks lol)

[front-facing-pokemon]

#absol #they look happier than umbreon which is strange to me. umbreon being all sad and angry while absol #known widely as The Edgy pokémon‚ is like. smiling a little bit. they're vibing they're totally fine #they're glad they got to be in rescue team #you go girl. go off‚ absol. even in rescue team they didn't feel like they had a Super cohesive tie to the story besides Being There and #helping and whatever but maybe that's just rescue team being my least favorite pmd game. but maybe that's part of *why* #if i'm right. i might not be right. maybe i just didn't pay enough fuckin attention in rescue team. there's *two of them*. someone out there #must like them enough for there to be a remake. and i know the general pmd community considers rescue team better than the 3ds games bc they #'re all nostalgia-driven like all pokémon fans and think that the older games are OBVIOUSly better even though the 3ds titles are #total masterpieces just like the rest of pmd. i'm not gonna complain abt this here bc i think the general pmd fanbase on tumblr are like #generally pretty nice and appreciate the 3ds games. y'all are nice here. elsewhere it gets scary. luckily everywhere else is crashing and #burning before our eyes. score. although apparently tumblr is also trying to given the whole “collapse reblogs” thing they're doing?? #big yikes. hope that doesn't happen. anyway

[originalartblog]

CAN I BORROW THE TINYFICATION BEAM I WANNA DRAW THEM TOO

fanart is always welcome I believe in the sharing of ideas and art and the dialogue it creates we love a fandom community

And if you post anything tag me I wanna see 👀

#once again i like/reply/reblog on my main blog @originalaccountname linked in my description #ask answered #not art #my stance on drawing other's ideas is that it's always better/more fun to cite your inspiration #for the same reason i mentionned in the post #when we participate as a group to create something it's so much more fun and nice

[focsle]

I do not understand how some people have no concept of what a wild animal is or any sense of self preservation in approaching them. Like, it’s nice that humans can be well meaning and want to help or be kind but in addition to the fact that human help or kindness is sometimes the exact opposite of what that animal needs, nothing about that animal is going to behave the way a pet does and it’s unsafe to think otherwise. When I see videos of people picking up wild animals with their bare hands, or transporting them somewhere in their car—additionally—without having them in a secure and solid container….or hand feeding them or kissing them I’m just like……..this is how you get diseases and parasites. This is how you get bit. This is how you kill that animal. Maybe a combo of the three.

Once I saw a lady pull her car off to the side of the road and approach a moose trying to pet it. A MOOSE. It won’t eat you but it’ll absolutely kill you. Don’t walk up behind a moose with your hand outstretched to it. Oh my god.

Idk man I just see too many ‘cute heartwarming animal videos’ that have SOMETHING in them that’s ultimately dangerous to the animal and/or the person. I feel like I make this post (and the other that’s ‘stop being an asshole to your cat for fun’) all the time lol.

#not turning on reblogs because I don’t want people yelling at me about like #criticizing people for ‘not knowing any better’ or some shit #it’s the same as someone just walking around and eating random plants without knowing what they are #tho im sure there are people who do that too #but yeah…any time there’s an animal video that seems nice I watch being like ‘when will something fucked up happen’ AND ALMOST ALWAYS……