#(have had to remind myself of this fact once already D:)

[nostalgia-tblr]

when i finish the Sylki Adultery AU thing THEN i shall allow myself actually make a start on the Loki-rules-Jotunheim AU, where my goal is to top 10k words in a fic that doesn't have even a single baby in it.

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

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

→ summary:

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

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

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

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

It’s worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Painfully and pathetically you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Not anymore.)

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

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

“What’s it about this time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do know, the universe responds. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, and seal your fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[spitdrunken]

i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 21

word count: 966

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

May 17, 1989

Dear Will,

Today started out pretty rough, since one of my tires on my bike popped when I was halfway to your house. And given how quickly Hawkins has become a fucking sauna over the past few weeks (thanks, rural midwest), it was not a blast to push my bike the rest of the way on foot. Again, I could have taken my car to begin with, but I think in some way shape or form, we crave that element of our childhoods, riding bikes through the neighborhood like old times. Plus, Lucas and I are the only ones who have cars right now, so majority rules. Anyway, I still wound up at your house about half an hour early, and we spent that time trying to figure out how to patch up and refill my tire. No dice, unfortunately. But our hands brushed a few times, so it wasn’t too inconvenient.

Jonathan ended up coming into the garage at one point to grab a few tools (he’s been helping Hop out with some home projects, like a new shelving unit for your living room and a deck out back— but you already know that, why am I going on about this?) and suggested I just share your bike with you. You laughed so loudly that I thought I was gonna puke. I forced my anxiety back down and reminded Jon of how tall I am (last time I went to the doctor they said I was 6’3”– no, I’m not kidding), and he insisted that I, “just try and sit on the handlebars, or something.” I thought the idea was insane, but you seemed to be pretty entertained by it, so I shook my head with slight embarrassment before I motioned for you to mount the bike.

You swung your leg over the bar and rested your feet on either side, a huge grin on your face. “Do your worst, Wheeler,” you told me. I was so tempted to dramatically fling myself over the handlebars like a ragdoll, but then again, I didn’t feel like throwing out my back at the ripe age of eighteen. I turned so my back faced you, reached behind me to grip the handlebars, and hoisted myself up as best as I could, while you reached a hand out to hold my side and keep me steady. I must’ve looked like a fucking praying mantis or some shit, with my knees almost hitting my chin because of how I was balancing my toes on the front fender, but I didn’t care, because your reaction was fucking priceless. You were hysterically laughing, and I couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well.

Before I knew what was happening, Jonathan had disappeared and come back within record speed, and a bright flash hit my eyes as he clicked the button on his camera. I glanced back at you, and thankfully, you didn’t look fazed at all. In fact, you said to Jonathan, “please tell me I’ll get a copy of that,” while catching your breath from laughing so hard.

After that whole debacle, we actually tried riding the bike with me in front, but you couldn’t really see on account of the top of your head barely reaching my shoulders. So we eventually gave up on trying and just walked to Dustin’s to meet the rest of the Party, since his house isn’t too far away from yours, and Jon was still busy with his project and couldn’t drive us. Which I was totally fine with, because… duh, time alone with you is time well spent. We played D&D, and I kind of got a little too invested in your campaign. I think I just love seeing you so happy. I don’t think I could ever get tired of watching you in your element.

Once the session ended, Lucas gave us a ride home (I love how I just referred to your house as my home, I might’ve gotten a little emotional just now while writing it). We walked into your living room and saw Jonathan sitting on the couch with a bunch of photos spread out across the surface of the coffee table. Apparently, he’d gone and processed all of his films at Melvald’s while we were at Dustin’s; there were two copies of the photo he’d taken earlier.

He gave me one before asking if I wanted to stay for dinner. As much as I would’ve loved to, I actually did need to take care of Holly tonight, since our parents are in Ohio right now at some conference for my dad’s job. You offered to drive me back to my house, and I tried not to look too excited as I said yes.

Once we arrived in my driveway, I leaned over the center console and hugged you, telling you I had a great time with you today. You hugged me back (you hadn’t for the first few seconds and I nearly had a panic attack) and said you had a great time with me too. I went inside, holding the freshly printed photo of us in my hand.

So… I might have framed it. I know, it’s weird and frankly kind of stalker-y, but… deal with it. You’ll never actually know about this anyway. Not unless I leave the frame sitting in plain sight when you come into my room, or if I recklessly forget to hide these letters detailing where exactly my copy of the photo went, as well as the countless times I’ve talked about wanting to kiss you. For now, I’m keeping it under my pillow. 

Okay, I’m gonna stop writing now in order to stop myself from sounding like even more of a creep than I already am.

Love,

Mike

-

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homepage

[paracosmicparadox]

FFXV headcanons / expanded canons Part The Second, because again, I desire character depth like I need it to breathe and if storebought isn't available, I will make it myself with my own two hands. Find Part The First here.

Ardyn: Listens to music solely in the cabaret genre or heavy metal; you can't change my mind on this (like you're flipping through his playlist and one moment its playing Kabaret Sybarit, then it switches violently and without warning to System of a Down and just about breaks your eardrums)

His closet rivals his living room in terms of size and depth (it's concerning; people get lost in there amongst his innumerable trench coats and ruffled shirts)

No coffee, no tea, only wine. Ravus and Verstael have to listen to his drunken rambling every other night and it is ghastly

Gossips like no other

He's a hoarder. You walk into his home and there are trinkets and baubles on every surface---it's gotten quite extreme

Has breakdowns in the shower

Has journals full of half-finished poetry lying about everywhere (he references the story of Julius Caesar and Marcus Brutus a lot because of the parallels to him and Somnus, and bc at this point he doesn't really care if he digs himself deeper into that rut of grief and anger)

Can't keep a plant alive to save his life; not even a cactus

He was a theater kid once upon a time

Luna: Actually legit super athletic. You can't really see it bc her muscles don't bulge, but she can and will judo flip a man effortlessly

Has the smallest handwriting you've ever seen

She's got mad art skills; there's a work-in-progress painting or pastel piece on her desk constantly

Certified history buff. This chick can recall the most obscure bits and details of Eos's past and will infodump to you if you're willing to listen

Actually works really hard to be a good person---it doesn't come naturally to her; she's no saint and she has to make a conscious effort to be as gentle as she is on a daily basis, and that in itself makes her an excellent human being

Names each and every one of her plants

Loves bugs and takes a thrill in the fact that they kinda gross Noct out

Has the "Hydrate or Dydrate" water bottle bc she forgets and needs to remind herself to imbibe H2O

Her Pinterest account is the stuff of legends

Ravus: He's so awkward in social situations---really, he's just awkward in general, but it's most obvious when someone's trying to talk to him and he's glaring daggers straight into their soul

Before his mother died, he was the kindest child. He was the sweetheart of the family and would make flower crowns with toddler Luna and make breakfast in the mornings for his family. When he withdrew, it pained those who knew him immensely

The Super Smash Bros grandmaster (he's horrible at Mario Kart though, which frustrates him to no end)

Already has some arthritic problems in his knuckles and in his knees. He always had bad joints, but it's getting worse with the years

A pro at calligraphy and fancy lettering

His art skills are just as good if not better than Luna's. He only works in graphite and charcoal, but his drawings are the most heartwrenchingly beautiful things you've ever seen

Can regularly be found in a museum or in a library

Plays D&D on the weekends when he can with an online party (the campaign's been going on for nearly 2 years; he plays a level 8 Drow Warlock)

Aranea: Owns a motorcycle---you can't change my mind.

Mixes grenadine with everything. Champagne? She's adding grenadine. Wine? Grenadine time baby. Tequila? Gimme that sweet pomegranate syrup.

AO3 angst fics are her guilty pleasure

Probably has a pilot's license (in all honesty if it was an irl setting instead of Final Fantasy, she probably would've been in the Airforce)

Wears cologne instead of perfume because it makes her seem more roguish and she likes the scent better

She's always wanted a pet snake (one of those white pythons curious faces and boopable snoots)

Raging bisexual

Knows her way on an aerial silk like nobody's business

Major vulnerability issues (she cares so, SO deeply, but no one can EVER. KNOW. except Prompto. Prompto knows.)

Best buds with Prompto ever since the events in Niflheim at the Magitek Production Facility (they facetime each other every Wednesday)

She's a sucker for a good horror flick

[idealspawn]

hey..... i must say. this has been the best week of my life. and im filled with utter joy. ive had like a.. rebirth? every once in a while i feel like im born again. the transition is really emotional but they are moreso growing pains than destructive pains. im suddenly surrounded by so many great people and possibilities and i finally feel like life is rewarding me, treating me the way i should be treated. in a way im reluctant to owe it to "faith" and see myself as a passive subject rather than an active agent in this but in a way i think i am powerless in some factors regarding this change. next month its my debut in like a culture (?) newspaper! at least they said they are very interested in my analysis but i havent heard back yet about the second version i sent them. i wrote my favourite poem ive ever written. and ive seen so many movies recently that have served as this transitional border. like as this extremely active sphere of both "death" but also birth. like metaphorically. ive been so vulnerable and i love it. ive cried my eyes out like i havent in such a long time and done like... meta analyses about my underlying beliefs to bring change and new energy into my life. you see.. i get really stuck on like.. nominal labels. at first they describe me but it tends to go unnoticed when it no longer fits or serves me and im only living a certain way just because of this nominal structure. but all these nominal structures are made for us. not that we are made to fit them. ive re-evaluated things now.. also out of nowhere people have been reaching out to me. maybe it truly does show up in my energy when im more open. like that it attracts other open, honest, vulnerable people. ive met so many new people and truly felt seen. this is a big thing for me. for the longest time ive struggled to enjoy time with people because ive struggled to find people who i share some kinds of values. i like diverse people but for example people who are open to explore communication on an emotional and relational level rather than only informational. thats important to me. ive been more confident in sharing my opinions too:) and participating in class and in life. going to places where i know id feel a bit uncomfortable and end up surprised. going to places alone is massive for me. it opens me up to new people and experiences because i simply dont have a choice to close myself off with friends im already close with. a woman came to talk to me after a lecture. she said she had been watching how i take notes in class (i write really fast.. i tend to transcribe literally everything the professor says). she said she has studied palaeography and asked to see my notes to analyse my handwriting :) she said its very unusual for people to still write in cursive if they write with the pen very much pointed upwards, however i manage to do so :D. it really made me want to also just reach out to people... like whenever and for whatever reason. and ive noticed people actually like talking to you when youre authentic and awkward. ive restricted my communication with people SO MUCH only due to the fact that i feel like i might not be insanely flawless in my self-expression. the nature too. the season is such that i see birth and death all around me. and its very refreshing. i like seeing change and being reminded of it constantly. it feels liberating. its a season that many people dislike in my country but im in love. i love people. i love physical touch. i love eye contact. i love emotions. i love ideas. i love agency in breaking boundaries. i love feeling seen and important and useful. i love authenticity and vulnerability.

[meimi-haneoka]

Part 1 : Hi! So it is finally revealed that the card Kaito wanted is "Exchange". (1) I can see that “Transfer” is pretty close to it, but how come Kaito also said that “Rewind” is close as well? I couldn't see the connection between Exchange and Rewind 🤔. (2) During the Card's creation, it is weird that Sakura wished to play the Red Queen role to save Akiho. If they never get out of the story, both Alice and Red Queen will have the same fate, so it doesn't matter which role the girls played.

Hiiii, thank you for sending me this extensive ask!! 😁 You raised very interesting points! Let's see them together:

You know, I'm also trying to understand why Kaito said Rewind went close to the Card he wanted Sakura to make, cause it's not immediately understandable like in Transfer's case. We have two options: either Kaito wants to use Exchange in a way that will bring it closer to Rewind's scope, or we should probably look at this "resemblance" as something conceptual. Rewind showed how Syaoran looked in the past, but it didn't reset his conscience and memories. He was still basically his current self in the body of his baby self. Kaito probably needed to rewrite Akiho's story completely, so using a Card like Rewind that only changes the external appearance wouldn't have been enough. (That is also why I had the theory he needed a "Restore" Card). I hope the rest of the climax will shed some light on this matter.

This is a very interesting point. First of all, we have to keep in consideration that Sakura is a selfless girl and also very empathetic, so the pain of her loved ones is her own pain. Reminds me of how she cried her eyes out after that same pool incident that you mentioned, forgetting about what she saw but evidently her body did not forget. If I think back to her lines in the JP version of the infamous scene of chapter 69, you made me realize there might be an added nuance in the ENG version that might (once again) make things confusing for the readers. In the JP text, Sakura literally says: "Akiho-chan..(following) the script of the stage play...she would have stayed in that world forever? Without being able to go back?" See? She doesn't say "what if we never got out of the story" but actually shifts the focus on "following the script of the play": in Naoko's script, probably the Red Queen was destined to stay in that world forever? I have mentioned the "following script" part in my own translation post, but I'm afraid the way I phrased it myself might not have clarified exactly what the Japanese version was implying. Sakura here is stricken with guilt thinking about the script's play, probably because she knows that the Red Queen stays in Clockland forever. As CLAMP purposely hid the rest of the story from the moment Alice meets the Red Queen, we still don't know. But I think, if you consider things from this perspective, it's probably a little bit more clear why she wished for something like that in a moment where her mental state was very weak.

Thank you for empathizing with Kaito and me, too 😁it's nice to know I'm not the only one who's seeing things from both perspectives. I also have a very strong impression that Kaito was driven into a corner, to end up thinking a plan like this. I can't imagine someone like him, aloof and allergic to contact with people, suddenly deciding to mess with other people's life, exposing him to an unwanted amount of interactions and bothersome waste of time. His own reluctance to engage in fights with Sakura and Syaoran themselves shows that he isn't an extreme person per se, but can be driven into that position if he doesn't have other options available. Momo told him, "even with that D-rank magic of yours, you can't stop that book's time". She was referring to the ominous book that resides inside of Akiho. If it was as simple as stopping the book's time, he would've probably done so already. He did, in fact, stop it for a short period of time after the pool incident, but as he said it himself, it was only a "patch" that wasn't meant to last long. Moreover, stopping time would have shaved off his life anyway, leaving Akiho unprotected once he passed away. That was never meant to be a solution. There are things that not even Yuna D. Kaito can do. And removing the book/spell from Akiho is one of those. Despite him being the one who inadvertently caused that ritual to happen. Just imagine how that thought is gnawing at his soul. Therefore, that's why I think when he found Sakura he also found the solution to this problem. Because Sakura is able to create new magics. And among those, maybe a new magic that would be able to remove the spell from Akiho. But alas, as Momo heavily inferred in chapter 50, when he saw what a happy life Sakura lived, surrounded by love, a very powerful emotion got a hold of him and might have changed his plans into something more extreme. I have this impression, we'll see if I was right or not. Seen by Kaito's perspective, if the two girls keep their status quo regarding their magical powers, the exchange would bring the results that you stated above: Sakura would live in the Squid clan, but would not experience any abuse and would be somehow treated decently due to her strong powers. Akiho would still not have powers, but live a life surrounded by love because the Kinomoto family wouldn't care about that. No one would get turned into an artifact and the problem wouldn't even exist to begin with. Maybe, just maybe, Kaito even took into account the fact that Sakura and Syaoran would end up meeting again, seeing the connections between the Squids and the Li clan (and I'm sure hitsuzen would make them meet again alright - only in a "Romeo and Juliet" kind of situation 😅). Of course, this entire reasoning is possible in a state of mind like his, with a past like his, and a view on love and people like his. And completely ignoring that Akiho wants him and her friends to be happy, not someone else's life. I think I am not mad at Kaito's behavior because I still see a wide margin to make things right. He's not unsalvageable, so we'll see how this finale will play things out.

[taegularities]

Hello lovely Rid 💕💕

(I somehow forgot if I already sent you this exact ask earlier today, so if I did feel free to ignore this one lol)

So there's not actually much to the crush situation but I'll still, in my usual style, ramble about it lol.

I think I mentioned to you once or twice about one guy from uni who has long hair and I find really pretty. I hung out with him and a mutual friend of ours once during and after an exam that we had to wait a long time for.

I've basically tentatively started calling him my crush in my head lol. Even though it's a pretty superficial one, which isn't what I usually do since I tend to only develop crushes on people I know well. But it is fun to have a more superficial one once in a while too yk.

Our friendgroups overlap a bit and so I talk to him sometimes in group settings and stuff. He seems like a good guy tbh, the way I would describe him is like good humoured? like quick to smile or laugh at people's jokes if that makes sense? friendly but also quiet and introverted at the same time? Yeah, that kind of vibe.

It's not anything that deep though and knowing myself it won't ever be since I can't make a move on someone to save my life lol. The fear of rejection is so real and it doesn't help that I've felt my social anxiety spiking since I started uni 😬😬😬

Most likely he'll just stay one of those pretty people you just stare at wistfully sometimes lmao. Although I'm not trying to count anything out and I'm open to all possibilities.

(Also I know I keep using the word pretty a million times but it's literally my favourite word in the English language for some reason and I love using it)

Oh yeah, and apparently he's started smoking now which is just a fun fact I found out about yesterday lmao. Can't say I'm a fan of smoking, but I am a fan of people doing whatever the hell they want, so no judgement from me lol.

That's basically the tea, which is lukewarm at best. I hope your day's going/went well and I'm sending you hugs and love as always 💞💞💞

HELLO OMG, apologies, i'm the worst but i'm ready to talk about crushes now :')

oh yes, i remember the maneskin guy :D ahhh, demiromantic/demisexuals ftw !! i understand that crushes can be fun, and i definitely think you should enjoy it as long as it's enjoyable lmao but should he end up breaking your heart in any way, i'll be ready with torches. just so you know :)

also i love how good humoured, quick to smile, friendly but quiet and introverted reminds me of another man... seems like you have a type, don't you? 👀 lol but no these are the best kind of people; i think it'd be nice for you to maintain this friendship, even if it remains just that. bc these days it's truly hard to find friends, especially those who actually care about being your friend? does that make sense? so i'm glad you've been enjoying it; if it develops into something more, i'll be super happy (don't forget us, though >:(), but don't worry about first moves for now !! <3

awh, and your opinion about his smoking habit is so refreshing!! i love all the tea, gimme all of it, even if it's lukewarm lmaooo. also, i'm assuming you're back from your trip? i hope you had the best time and are doing well, love. don't let uni stress you out too much !! love you, always 💕

[thebergeyshow]

transcending the bonds of plastic

I was in the bathroom, organizing, like any other day, putting things away from a recent restock shopping trip, when suddenly, like the fall of Lucifer, my favorite bottle of Jergens Shea Butter lotion tipped from it's perch on my wire shelving, flew through the air and plummeted 3.5 ft to the ground, slamming its head onto the vinyl flooring. I screamed, as you do. Upon its landing my initial expectation was for there to be lotion everywhere, which, while inconvenient, would not have been the end of the world.

However, the truth was much more sinister. It was, in fact, the end of the world.

The scream I originally released was premature. I uttered another as the realization came to light. My lotion bottle had been d e c a p i t a t e d.

The Queen of Hearts could have done no better herself. Severed at it's life-giving artery, my lotion bottle was rendered unalive. Time of death - 8:06pm.

Naturally, my response time was slowed by shock. I stood for a moment contemplating my options, holding the lifeless bottle in my hands, looking about the bathroom for some kind of a solution to jump out at me, much like this Jergens bottle had done just moments before it's untimely demise.

My eyes landed on an ancient glass bottle that once held Bath and Body Works Sensual Aromatherapy (which was amazing but is no longer sold), but now was really only around because I couldn't bare to admit its empty soul had fled, and I thought to myself, "I can save them both yet".

I sprung into action, unscrewing the tops of both bottles, only to discover... the Jergens bottle neck was larger than the Aromatherapy bottle neck. I froze. Where to go from here.

The following sequence of events will haunt me forever.

My first reaction was to find a pump from another bottle of lotion to attempt pumping the lotion from the Jergens bottle into the Aromatherapy bottle. I didn't have a pump that fit perfectly but I had one that could work. After several heart-pounding minutes of attempting this it became clear the subpar pump would never live up to the prowess of the Jergens pump when it was in its glory and would take an eternity to move the lotion through to the new bottle.

My next plan was to find a lesser bottle top which could allow me to turn the bottle upside down to void it of the lotion. The only one I had which might fit was on an underused bottle of Nair.

I don't think I have to tell you how scary it is to try to use something that has been touched by the devil (Nair) to transport lotion. The idea of slathering on lotion only to have my hair removed in the process... I shuddered to think.

Consequently, I spent a fair amount of time and dedication cleaning the bottle top, carefully removing all remnants of Nair so as to provide myself a clean and effective tool to save my precious Jergens.

I would like to take this time to remind you a full-size bottle of Jergens is $8. I was going through all of this to save $8.

But I digress.

I could not get all the Nair out by hand. I dug through a drawer for a tiny bottle brush. I successfully removed all hazardous material from the bottle top. I secured the bottle top on the Jergens bottle.

In a fraction of the time it took me to clean out the Nair from the bottle top, it was already clear it would not be effective in transferring the lotion to the new bottle. The aromatherapy bottle neck was simply too small to sustain that kind of procedure.

My motivation was on life-support.

Of a sudden, an idea occurred to me. One that seemed so simple, so obvious, that I kicked myself for not thinking of it sooner.

An idea that turned out to be so so very wrong.

"A funnel", I thought, "Why didn't I think of that before?"

I didn't think of it before, dear reader, because it is not, in fact, a good idea. I did not factor in the viscosity of the lotion, nor the lack of airflow between the funnel and the bottle neck.

And so we arrived at what you see below. My greatest work and my greatest shame. A failed attempt at saving $8 which resulted in the wasted efforts of 45 minutes of my life. The decapitated and amputated remnants of the Jergens pump, alongside a plastic spoon, both stuck down through a funnel and glass aromatherapy bottle in a final attempt to force the lotion into the bottle.

My efforts failed. My mission was at it's lowest. I abandoned all hope.

At long last I gave up my futile efforts and submitted to defeat. My time was wasted, my energy low, and finally I allowed myself to see the truth of the matter. No bottle could contain the lifeforce that had once been held so ably by that Jergens bottle. Nothing could compare.

With a heavy heart, I gathered the small plastic containers I had saved from my last three vitamin orders (because I can't throw anything away and now we know why), rinsed them, and dejectedly squeezed the remaining lotion from the Jergens bottle, through the Nair bottle top, into the Flo vitamin jars.

"This has been a company teambuilding project," I thought to myself.

But it was just me, in my bathroom, and I was surrounded only by the company of my mistakes.

[kyofsonder]

10, 21, and 47 for writer's ask game :D

Thank you for the ask, and for the chance to talk about how I write! It’s always interesting to actually stop and think about my own writing habits and opinions.

10: Do you set yourself deadlines?

Unfortunately, I have the kind of brain that loves the idea of precise deadlines but suffers so much anxiety when they get close – especially once I start thinking about how much more I could polish my work if I had more time – that it more or less shuts down. I can push through this for things like commissions or promises with friends, but when it’s just for me? When there’s nobody requesting it? For that kind of writing, I actively try to avoid setting myself concrete deadlines and just use rough estimates of when I think I’ll be more or less finished with a story. It frees me up to do the deadline-dependent work. Like a marathon runner who saves stamina for the important parts of the race by taking other sections slowly. If I set deadlines for everything I write, I’d burn out and never make it to the finish line… which has, in fact, happened to me when I’ve tried to be strict about self-set deadlines in the past.

21: Who is/are your favorite character(s) to write?

I hate picking favorites in most contexts, for reasons that I could make a whole post about, but I do tend to have fun writing Micah from my WIP “To Be Honest” and Owen from my WIP “A Place to Return.” They’re both so grumpy but affectionate, it’s easy to keep up a quick pace when writing from their POV and their reactions to plot events are always really interesting to me as their writer. Micah wants so badly to seem dignified but is always at least a little annoyed under the surface – and desperately lonely underneath that. Owen wants to seem reliable so he doesn’t damage others’ reputations, but he knows what people think of him and he won’t hesitate to get angry even when he really should be putting on a calm face. I love my other characters, too, and like I said I have issues picking favorites, but I do have a soft spot for these angry boys.

47: Best way to procrastinate?

When you have ADHD, procrastination kind of happens on its own, and all methods of taking a break have value in their own ways. That said, there’s nothing that I can both get lost in and use to reset my brain quite like video games. I’ll say “Just 1 hour of this game and I’ll start writing,” then look at the time and realize 3 hours have already passed while I was defeating enemies or catching monsters or terraforming islands. In those 3 hours, my brain will ease up on critical media analysis and just work to navigate the setting I’m in. It’s like sitting in the audience at a play as a really engaged viewer, instead of sitting there as an understudy for a role thinking about how you’d deliver lines a certain way or wondering if the costumes would look right on you. Video games reliably let me be in the audience, while books and even comics and shows/anime don’t always allow my brain into that space. It’s a good way to remind myself that the view I have of my own writing isn’t necessarily the view readers will have when I share it, which makes the words come a little easier once I’m done playing my games for 3 hours a day, 4 days straight.

* * * *

Motivated by This Ask: 225 words

Total Written Due to Asks: 14,310 words

[riosongco]

Thoughts Before Going Into Labor

My pregnancy journey is coming to an end and my emotions are overflowing. I am frankly overwhelmed as D-day is nearing. I am feeling everything all at once and I feel the need to get it off my chest because I need to be calm and relaxed once the day comes.

9 months of carrying a child in your womb isn't a joke and while a lot of mothers just want it to end, I am not sure if I am on the same boat. I'm just not ready!

I don't know what scares me most — the pain of childbirth, the cost of raising a child in this economy, or the fact that the time has finally come...I am now responsible for another human being for the rest of my life. (P.S. I have obviously thought and considered all those things when I found out I was pregnant but nothing really prepares you for when the time comes!)

As an only child, I was naturally selfish. I only cared about myself. I never had to think about or take care of anyone else and when you grow up in a dysfunctional environment, you question what family really means and then a mix of doubts, fears, hopes, and longing fill your mind. On the bright side, it makes you aware of what to avoid, what to be, and what you want for your chosen family, should you wish to start one.

I never really dreamed of becoming a mother but I do know I wanted a family eventually and I promised myself that when the time comes, I'll be the parent I never had.

I guess that's where all the pressure roots from.

Will I be a good mother? Am I actually cut out to be one? Will our daughter be proud to have me in her life? Will I be able to give her the life she truly deserves?

I've never been this hard on myself — overthinking each night, already thinking a million steps ahead, waking up in the middle of my sleep cycle, writing every thought that goes in my head at 5 in the morning, and constantly crying, praying, and wishing for everything to fall into place.

Sometimes I question if I ever made the right decision, to bring our innocent child into this fucked up world. Yes, I hear you. I chose to have a child but I'm allowed to feel scared because I know how cruel the world can be and I don't want her to grow up in a toxic environment.

I know I could only do so much as a mother and it's extremely impossible to live a life without obstacles but I just want to protect our little girl from every heartbreak this world has to offer, the way I wished to be protected.

At this point, I am just scared and anxious for what's to come and well, also exhausted of staying strong.

It's a hard pill to swallow but each day just reminds me that most of the time, all we really have is ourselves. The people who are supposed to be there for us turn out to be such disappointments.

However, I remain grateful for everyone who showed up and helped me along the way. I must have done something right in this lifetime to find family among friends and colleagues.

To old friends I've reconnected with and to new ones I've gained along the way, thank you for sharing this journey with me and for checking in on me. I am truly thankful for all the love and support you have shown. Those kept me going.

The uncertainty is killing me inside. I hate that I don't have all the answers I want and need at this time. I don't know how things are gonna be moving forward. I know I won't be a perfect mom but as long as our child is proud to call me her mom and not wish me death then I'm all good.

Here's to a new chapter. To new beginnings, to life, and to love! x

[adepressedartist]

Watch me ex half a bottle of mead, trying to sleep easy today.

Honestly close to relapse, I've been close to crying all day. Today has been really bad. My mental health has been going extremely south, mainly because I'm suspicious and cautious, and had been overthinking a lot lately. Also my hallucinations r fucking up my ass again, and i need to remind myself that I'm still v much capable of seeing the difference between real and unreal. But the fact that i saw a big ass fly in my room with no explanation where tf that came from, plus ferret not being able to see it for quite a while fucked so much with my head that I'm not believing myself now. Childhood trauma, when nobody ever believed you, and all you said was ALWAYS wrong, even when proven right ✨

Untreatable mental illness sucks. I got a terrible headache because i drank almost nothing the whole day, except for the mead now because honestly the voices are so loud right now, and the fact that I got easy access makes it worse. But hey, at least I'm less suicidal then I was at the weekend where i disappeared from my best friends birthday party because a really close friend had died on the second this month. And only one from three persons noticed that something was wrong and that i didn't just use the swings on the playground for almost an hour. Out in the freezing cold. With my whole face covered in tears.

I spent her whole birthday trying not to cry even once, because how the fuck could i tell her "yeah, so, I'm just gonna sit in a corner now because one of my friends died!" When it's her big day, celebrating after over 5 yrs. How could i tell the only one that noticed, ruining the day for him more than everything already did, let alone bc of his knee pain. You know what's the best thing? It reminded me of how perfectly i can mask. Wanting to kill and hurt myself in unspeakable ways, close to losing any control i got left, but not a single second showing any of it, instead celebrating as if I don't have a worry in the world.

But I'd rather be suicidal rn than depressed, bc suicidal means no feelings at all most of the time snd i really don't wanna feel yhe feelings I'm feeling rn because they're painful as fuck. And make me amgry at the same time, because I'm hyper safe aware and know how i could fix it, but can't manage to do it/can't make it work, and I'm just watching myself decay while i screwed up a ton shit of things. Maybe meeting my buddy tomorrow will help me.

Rest in peace D, I hope you'll find happiness. I hope no one can ever hurt you again, and I hope I'll get the chance to apologize to you when it's my time. I'm sorry i didn't get your calls because my number is no longer active. I'm sorry I won't make it to your funeral. I hope you'll find peace, and your girlfriend that left us too soon, just like you. That you may find your cat that ran away 7 years ago, and greet your dad that's been patiently waiting for you.

[zanzibarhamster]

seeing all the star trek stuff reminds me of how in high school me and my gf/then-best friend agreed to be in a close friend's tabletop group despite knowing literally nothing about star trek, essentially because (i say this with all the love in my heart, i flew 2000 miles to go to this man's wedding) he is the world's most Stereotypical Autism Guy and star trek is his #1 special interest so he literally would not stop asking because he really really really wanted to DM.

he somehow assembled a group of 7 players who between us had seen maybe three hours of star trek and we had a great time despite the fact he had to explain literally every worldbuilding detail to all of us, sometimes repeatedly. and he was a great DM, especially for a high schooler.

i really shot myself in the foot really hard by picking 'xenoanthropologist' on impulse off the list of options, realized this was a role-playing game so i should probably actually know that, figured "how many aliens can there possibly be", went to memory alpha with the intent to memorize all the alien articles bc nbd i'm a lore guy, and got halfway through D before getting totally overwhelmed. i tried to skim what i thought looked important past that but mostly he just let me roll for it.

also i maybe should have guessed my gf and i were gonna end up together when he mentioned before starting that it'd be good if some combos of characters had pre-existing relationships and we looked at the pair of characters we had created and went "it would be funny as hell if they were married". to be fair, it was, my anthropologist was a laid back kind of guy that got serious and kept a cool head under pressure (he would in theory have been a great squad leader but had turned down multiple attempts at promotion), and she was an extremely high strung medical researcher that had zero bedside manner despite functionally serving as the ship's doctor because she was here to study exotic alien biology.

the result was basically "[calmly walking into the med bay] hey hon i got bit by some weird lizard thing and nobody knows what it is, can you run a tox screen?" "[door bangs open] what do you MEAN you got bit by something oh my GOD would it KILL you to be careful for once" "i was carefu-- are you taking a sample?" "obviously"

so like with that dynamic it was objectively ten times funnier for them to be married but also i feel like we played it far more convincingly than two people who did not already have lowkey married energy could have lol

[prizmpaws]

🖍️, ❤️, ✖️!! (for the ask game!! your choice of which :D)

(answering all of these for patton [💙🐶], slime [🧪🎰], phantombur [🪶🧿], starlight glimmer [✨🔮], and terezi [⚖️🍒])

🖍️- what hobbies or activities make you think of your kin? 💙🐶: baking! also making bracelets, since we all had lil matching bracelets i made for us :D 🧪🎰: arcades. anything to do with them. i would work the casino on occasion but i mostly worked the arcade bc despite being like thousands of years old i was still a juvenile by slime standards and quackity preferred not to have minors working in the casino if he could help it. and either way my closest friends were fundy and purpled and they were also minors and that way we all got to hang out more :D we would get up to so much silly business while on the clock 🪶🧿: i would do a lot of like hands on, repetitive tasks like organizing things and crafting and enchanting and potion making and whatnot to keep me grounded (bc fun fact being a ghost makes it surprisingly easy to dissociate esp when thats something you already struggle with.) obviously i cant do a lot of those things now irl but like. sometimes little tasks like that remind me of this tl. esp if they fit that pretty romanticized dark academia aesthetic. like i got a wax seal kit for christmas and tried it out and. definitely very phantombur 🔮✨: i very much had a hyperfix/spin/what have you in magic as starlight and now sometimes when i watch clips/episodes of mlp that im not in where they're doing magic ill be like "why did they do it like that, they could have used this spell, and done that in this way, and-" i also instinctively like only ever call the mane six by like nicknames/petnames and im pretty sure its bc of this tl ⚖️🍒: deep diving into certain tags/communities on tumblr. all the trolls were very active on tumblr, that was how we met and talked and everything, and it just makes me nostalgic

❤️ - what's your favorite memory from this kin? 💙🐶: i mean our movie nights where we'd all cuddle on the couch were pretty nice. rlly any of our cute sappy domestic moments could take this spot. but one more distinct memory that jumps to mind is you comforting me after svsr and finishing making the cookies that i tried to stress bake and then getting to share them with u :D 🧪🎰: im torn between a few options that go from less to more sappy. first option is just the shenanigans we'd get up to in las nevadas. mostly me, purpled, and fundy, but sometimes foolish and very rarely even quackity would join in. we invented a card game using a gigantic combined deck of playing cards, uno cards, pokemon cards, etc and had a huge ever changing 3 ring binder with all the rules of the game written out in it. i wish i could remember all the rules but it was so much fun. option two: in hindsight it was definitely bc he got tired of me constantly asking him questions, but q told me that whenever i had a question i should remember it and save it for later and then once a week while we were doing chores and stuff id get to ask him all my questions. a lot of the time it was just silly stuff, but sometimes we'd get real deep. final option, just a tiny little snapshot, but one time q was making like some sort of apple dessert and he was cutting up little apple slices and purpled and fundy and i were all sitting on the opposite side of the counter begging for appy slices and scraps and he'd occasionally throw them to us and at one point fundy caught one in his mouth and we all got so hyped and quackity got all proud of him and called him like some sort of a sweet name in spanish that i do not remember and it was just a rlly nice moment. 🪶🧿: strawberry picking with tommy. i was barely even doing any of the work, i just sat and watched him and chatted with him for a while. it just really sticks out in my head. it was such a nice day out, and i just always loved to see him so happy and excited. i really saw myself in him, he was like the person i never got to be. i never would have told him any of that, and when he realized i wasn't helping we play argued for a while, as siblings do. but still. love that guy 🔮✨: traveling with trixie on her lil traveling magic caravan. sometimes we got on each others nerves bc it was very close quarters but it was also a lot of fun. sometimes for hours it'd just be the two of us with nothing but each other's company and time to kill. we'd have the most silly and pointless conversation, scream-sing, and have an insanely deep 2am thoughts sort of conversation all in the span of an hour. like a sleepover on steroids ⚖️🍒: i think probably just hanging out on the meteor. it was a long ass time but we had a lot of fun. it was rlly cool to finally see some of the beta kids in person! i dont have a whole lot of like solid memories from this tl so i couldnt pinpoint one moment but that whole experience was real fun.

✖️ - what details about this kin, if any, are really different from canon? 💙🐶: this one was generally fairly canon compliant aside from the fact that the sides were all in a polycule (aside from roman and remus dating each other ofc.) little bits of it that align more with fanon than explicit canon as well, but generally not too far off. 🧪🎰: i think not super contradictory to canon, just with a lot of details filled in? i honestly forget a lot of the exact details of canon bc like i watched it a while ago and i probably missed a few streams and things just get muddy between canon and kin memories. but i feel like the friendship between me, purp, and fundy was a lot less focused on if it was really featured at all. also my whole "post canon" storyline that i know happened but try not to think abt bc i know it has a bunch of noncanon characters and if i let myself remember them i will miss them and be sad. oh also i remember a fuckton of info abt like slime biology and culture and whatnot that doesnt go against canon (and in fact sometimes lines up shockingly well) but also wasnt explicitly shown. 🪶🧿: origins is already pretty freeform, but my tl had even less of like a "storyline" or any big plot events and was pretty much just us all hanging out. also the server resets i think were canon? bc i feel like i have memories of buildings/the world from both s1 and s3. i think i was like involved in the reset and then purposefully wiped my memory of it. which would explain why i cant remember jack shit abt it. no clue tho. once again mostly just a lot of added details that arent strictly contradictory to canon. 🔮✨: i was for sure dating trixie and twilight, queerplatonic with sunburst, and maybe queerplatonic with sunset? i was possibly also in some sort of non platonic relationship w the rest of the mane six. idk man those horses got around. also my backstory was a bit different. or like. if i had the same backstory in canon i did a real shit job explaining it. my whole thing with cutie marks was a bit deeper than just "oh no my friend got their cutie mark before me im so sad im gonna go invent communism D:" growing up my mom saw me starting to get an interest in magic and was all like "no dont waste your time with that, that stuffs all frivilous, how would you ever be successful and make a living like that, etc etc" sorta like how ppl are abt ppl who wanna go into art as a career sometimes. and like hearing that and spending all that time trying to get myself to like and be happy in something else and find a better, "normal" passion that my mom would approve of and then turning around and seeing sunburst getting to pursue it and getting his cutie mark for it fucking sucked. and like knowing that if i had been allowed and encouraged to explore my magic from that age i could have been even better at it. not to say i was justified i definitely still went too far but like. still ⚖️🍒: the trolls and the kids were. swapped? like we still had the same personalities and relationships and everything but basically the humans lived on alternia and the trolls lived on earth, with that same sort of societal structure and everything, and the kids played the original session that made earth. and it was neat idk im sure theres more i could name but ive run out of brain juices

[writingwithinwriting]

A Letter to 2024 --

Hello again. 

Its a cliché to begin a blog post on a somewhat abandoned blog by making a joke about blowing off the dust, so I won’t apologise for my absence. I had very few active readers in the past and I have never pretended to be a tidy person. The dust can stay as long as it wishes.

This post is going to be a letter. Last year, I wrote a list of things I wanted to achieve by the end of the year and put it in a little spell jar; it was full of shiny rocks, an acorn nibbled by a hungry weevil and a lock of hair from a new years hair cut. I wanted to do it again this year.

Here’s the letter from last year -- with one blocked out for the faint of heart and my own privacy. In fitting with the theme, I have learnt from my mistakes as a teenager that not everything needs to be publicly posted on tumblr.

A letter is nice, and I’ll popping one in the jar for myself this year. But it did very little sitting in the jar except remind me of the fact that a year is not forever. I’d like to revive this blog a little with a few letters to myself sprinkled through the year, I am not going to promise wonders and miracles. Especially since I’ve got a horrible sore throat at the moment and a lot on my plate already.

I got eleven out of the sixteen of my aims done in the last year from the list I wrote. (So long as you don’t try and quanitify everything, I read a handful of books and about a dozen poetry pamphlets. Not bad.) I fell in love, maybe. I went on holiday. I went outside my house and worked on a new manuscript. I did more than expected, even if I didn’t manage at all. I didn’t even try to enter a slam and ran only a handful of D&D sessions, as I was so focused on launching Good Listeners.

So here goes -- what do I want to try for this year? Will it be vague or direct? Or am I just going to shrug and hope for the best? The latter strategy has worked for me so far, at least.

My only hard and fast law is that I want to finish two manuscripts. I am currently working on three(ish) manuscripts; two poetry manuscripts, one of which is a collaboration. I have some pockets of ideas I am also prodding at on rainy days. I am also twenty thousand words into an occult nonfiction piece, which I am feeling rather wobbly about.  However, that’s perfectly normal for any piece of work. Once you go over three thousand words, your brain starts playing tricks and starts convincing you that you never liked the idea in the first place.

If I can start shopping the occult piece of work around to various publishers, I would be happy enough. If I can finish off a poetry manuscript to boot, I’ll be delighted.

I would also like to publish some of my TTRPG supplements. TTRPGs bring me so much joy, I’ve been a part of a few playtests and even a stream or two in 2022 in the TTRPG community. I had a wonderful time and really want to try my hand at writing something outside of my own indulgent setting.

In fact, I have two 5e supplements almost ready to go and are in the final steps of nitpickery. If I can publish three of them, that would be wonderful.

Following on from that, I want to DM at least a handful of D&D sessions with friends. One is starting up, the other is on the way to a session zero. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up. I find DM’ing really rewarding but also very draining so we’ll see if I’ll make the most of it.

I want to work on Hundreds & Thousands Poetry Podcast and put out at least ten more episodes this year. H&TPP is on episode fifteen, which isn’t bad for something I put out half way through last year. It was never on my new years list in the first place, yet it was a wonderful project that’s been so fulfilling. You can keep up with it here. If you’re a trans or nonbinary poet, you can submit your work here. It will be returning from hiatus exile this month.

I’m not going to be pressuring myself to finish a list of books like I tried to last year. I did keep a notebook full of checklists of books to finish, yet as I was working on my occult manuscript, I came to realise that most of the books I buy and read aren’t meant to be read through like novels. I buy poetry pamphlets and collections to read before bed, usually taking in a few poems a night. 

In big anthologies, I pick out titles or poets that interest me and take them in a few at a time. In my big library of nonfiction books, I use them as references. Reading through a hefty tome of very dry, serious academic work might be my cup of tea some days, but mostly it can be exhausting. I get the most pleasure from discovering them through researching, flicking through them to find what I need.

My only reading based goal is to try not to buy too many books! That’s right, I went a bit mad last year and now I’ve got far too many to catch up on. In fact, I think reducing the amount of luxuries I treat myself too is probably a good idea. I am going to attempt to be more scrupulous in my spending habits, but I am a writer, I won’t blame myself if I falter on this one now and then. There are worse vices to have than spending too much on a lovely book.

As for little goals, I want to sew, cook, walk, laugh, sing and have more fun. There are specificities to those things, though at the heart of it, I want to make the most of wherever I find myself. If I find myself too ill to get out and see the world, I hope I can make more root veg soup or discover a new recipe. I hope if I find myself depressed, I can repot all the plants I need or get back to my sketch book. I hope I can take a week off if I need it and play a silly video game or write a hammy fanfiction. I hope I can make more embroidery to sell in my family’s shop or online, paint and sketch to use up my art supplies or just simply go for a walk down the villages in absence of my late dog Poppy. 

What do I want from this year? I want to be passionate. I want to look back on this year and take a lot of photos, have a lot of memories and perhaps have a few publishing credits to add to the pile. And, of course it goes without saying, I hope I can add a few more posts to this blog!

I hope your list is just as ambitious, or whatever you need it to be. I hope your year is fruitful and very kind to us all. 

[ofgentleresolve-a]

👀 2, 13, 16, 17, 38 and 39! 😄 Have a nice day, Ferre!!!

i'm a writer i swear ( ft. weird questions for writers w/ @theimpalpable )

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

this is where i tell you that i am WEAK and absolutely could NOT do it 😭 tumblr roleplay is how i got good at writing, which means i also accidentally trained myself to focus writing wise only when i'm writing on a screen JFKLSDJFKLDSJ

that being said, even if i am not a wizard, i use exclusive black gel pens to write reminders on post-it notes and in my planner!!

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

i'm really bad at writing physical descriptions and when i say that, i mean i'm bad at incorporating it in my writing without making it sound...clunky. this is the main reason my writing almost never includes descriptions about bodies :D

as for what's easy....hm, i think i'm good at writing just...character analyses?? like observing the mundane and then gleaning some kind of revelation as a sort. that tends to be my bread and butter 😌

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

hmm, well i'm a heathen and i actually don't use bookmarks- i tend to remember page numbers well, but if i need a bookmark, i'll usually use an old receipt!

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

HAHAHA that would be my thesis- okay so you know the history portion in mana's profile. yeah, so that's my thesis 🙃 i mean honestly...i do think that the relationship between her and her grandma is a LOT more complicated than the impression might give on here and the beauty about prose is that well....i get to explore that more :D it’s just not something that gets touched upon a lot in my tumblr writing, just as mana and calum’s romantic relationship isn’t nearly as prominent in my thesis as it is here...

basically, even if i’m using the same characters for writing both on and off tumblr, the subjects of history are pretty different so i don’t have to worry about getting bored of writing the same thing.

other things i wanna write tho....another drabble set for patrick in his main verse...oh! and maybe one between him and suki in the black knight verse- honestly, there’s SO MUCH i wanna write out for all of my characters, just haven’t had a lot of time to write RIP 😭

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

hmmmm well for people here, they wouldn’t think it’s weird, but the fact that i got into writing because of tumblr roleplay is considered strange among the other writers i know from my grad program....actually once i did write a short story about tumblr rp 😂, they found the concept to be absolutely fascinating and niche jsklfjslkdj but i guess i do find it strange how roleplay played such a huge part in well what i want to do in life overall so yeah FJSKFLJ

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

mmm, i’ve become so attached to some of my characters i honestly could never see myself completely abandoning them...this might not be the healthiest answer but honestly, writing in general is basically my addiction....i don’t feel right if i don’t do it for a long time ( so you can see how my hiatus was absolutely terrible...🙃 ) i guess obligation and love for my characters at this point?