#THIS HAS JUST BEEN A CONCEPT FLOATING IN MY MIND FOR AGES

[sunny-knight]

Decided to visualize a bit of my AU ideas…

thank ya @tinybrainboy for giving me the motivation/inspiration to visualize more of this idea :333333

[arolesbianism]

Some more team captain ids! This time with the middle layer gang 👍

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ You all know what time it is! This is inspired by This Post and ask from dcxdpdabbles! But of course I but my own stuff on it but I don’t take the OG idea just my stuff to add now onto the post! }~

Doll Danny

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Danny was just talking with his parents, after finding out about him they started to change their views on ghost as a hole and they changed their weapons to not fire at him and with a bit less stress of having to worry if he’s going to get shot at in his sleep his grads have gone up a bit not to where they were before but a good start so right now Danny life is good

Until the G.I.W breaks down the door and starts shouting and shooting at them his parents immediately start to shoot back to protect their kids even if it cost them their life’s while this is happening jazz and Danny hit the deck before Jazz grabs him and runs down stairs while trying to not get shot at as they get down the stairs Jazz starts up the portal to get out of there but a couple of the attackers follow them and badly wound Danny and kill Jazz but not before she pushes Danny into the portal and destroys it on both sides

He falls into ally..? Never mind that he needs to find something to help his core, one of G.I.W got a lucky shot before he went through the portal and his body is literally about to give out if he can’t find something soon and fast ~{ Think of it like the Gems from Steven universe but for ghost I don’t like the show but the concept i’m chill with }~

Thats when he sees it, A Porcelain doll it has mid length slightly wavy black hair and painted icy blue eyes, the doll’s sculpted face is a mix between sad and calm and the little black dress on it is a bit dirty and has been ripped up mostly likely due to a kid finding scissors and with some of the cracks in the legs ( conveniently where he was injured :) ) but one of the best parts of it is the hollow chest cavity that has some fluffing inside but has enough space for his core to be properly protected and secure

So Danny puts his core inside and takes over the doll a the first week it is a bit difficult to get used to being so small ( oh how lucky he is that he can float the himself places ) and not being seen by people, he still hasn’t found anything to cover up the bit of his core showing from though the ripped up clothes but it would make sense since it’s a doll outside and stuff

But while Danny was sitting on a roof just enjoying the cold weather is when he hears it a child’s voice coming from behind him so he looks back [ Not turning his head not really wanting a child to start yelling about a moving doll thank you very much ]

He sees a tall man…bat? Whatever and a child who looks to be about 11-10 in age and wearing one of the ugliest clothes he has ever seen and… is the child wearing short-shorts?!? In Gotham while Danny is thinking of ways to get the child at least pants the child sees him first and walk over and picks him up and starts talk to the bat-man about taking him with them and things like that and eventually the bat-man says yes and the child smiles at him and hugs him close to them.

****************************************

Jason is very glad that night he found Danny happen if not he’s live would have been very different.

When he took Danny home the first thing he did was clean him up with Alf’s help and put cut up to the dolls size bandages on the cracks and got rid of the ripped and cut dress the doll was wearing and Alf found a box of doll clothes from one of B’s old family members in the attic and now that the doll was all cleaned up Jason walked around the manner to show him everything around the manner

The doll was there for him when Bruce and Dick would fight so loud he could sleep.

The doll was there for him when he found out about his real mom.

The one time the doll wasn’t there was when he went to see his real mother.

The doll was there when he was in the grave and dig himself out with his belt buckle out of said grave.

The doll was there when he got out of the league of assassins and when he started his work as Red hood.

And even now he and the Doll where never far away from the other, Jason never left the Doll far from him and not like Danny would leave his side for long

The point still stands that if you have Jason the Doll is not far behind.

==========================

*Danny’s Dress and appearance *

*Danny’s Face*

*Danny’s dress* ~{ yes it is in Jason colors }~

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~{ And that’s it for this post! I hope you guys like it, this come from seeing this dress and the post in the beginning anyway see you gremlins soon byeeee }~

[yukurie]

So I had an idea about haunts and ghost territories. Ghosts have haunts and are fairly territorial over them. Danny’s haunt is Amity Park obviously but it extends to more than that: every square inch of the town and every resident that lives in it whether they currently live it in or were born there and moved elsewhere are his and he is very protective, it’s his nature after all, his very obsession is to protect.

Normally multiple ghosts haunting a location is normal, there is a hierarchy and internal logic to how a ghost goes about joining a location to haunt however: when a new ghost is formed or finds a location that calls to them to be their haunt and it’s already haunted the new ghost must find the ghost with the original claim to the location and request to co-haunt it. Usually this is accepted and allowed with a few exceptions of greedy ghosts.

Danny isn’t fully aware of all this however, his living side has been blocking out certain instincts of his ghost half in a mental block he’s unconsciously made to continue having a sense of “normalcy” in his living half of his life. One day a particularly rude and aggressive ghost come through the portal and states that they will take this haunt as their own, Danny as usual excuses himself from the class though those few looking at him (Tucker, Sam, maybe Dash) notice he looked particularly angry (what was that crunch? Why does the corner of his desk look cracked?). As he fights the ghost onlookers notice Phantom is particularly aggressive while fighting this ghost: there’s no quips, every time he talks to the ghost he seems enraged, and he seems to be doing as much as he can to hurt the ghost instead of capturing him as usual. After the fight is over and he disappears (to release the ghost back i to the infinite realms) instead of being gone till another ghost appears (Danny never returned to class), Phantom can be seen floating above one of the tallest buildings for hours observing the town quietly.

Ghosts are ageless, once they pass a small impassable mental barrier is created to separate them from their mortal age to protect their mind from the passage of time, now that more of hi instincts as ghost are no longer being blocked by his living half he is starting to see everyone around him as what they are: children (they will pass on eventually and he’ll be here to guide them gently through it).

Depending on if this is a no one knows au or if Tucker and Sam know it changes from here. If they don’t know: they notice Danny seems to quiet drastically from here, his eyes seem both duller and almost older, he seems to watch everyone almost like an old man would watch a child taking their first steps before snapping back to his normal self. If they do know well they go looking for him and when they find him he’s draped along a balcony of the tallest building in the town in his ghost form watching the town quietly, when they try to question why he didn’t come back and why they heard he was so violent with this ghost he answers vaguely and says something along the lines of “He tried to take whats mine”.

Basically my idea is that some random rude ghost claims they intend to steal his haunt and that breaks down the mental block his living side has created to keep him balanced, now his mind is flickering back and forth between the 14 year old boy who happens to be half dead and the practically immortal ghost who happens to be half alive and who practically reigns over the concept of protection. It also releases just how truly protective he is over his town and everyone connected to it.

Heck if you wanted to you could potentially extend this to dpxdc by making it so that since he practically reigns over the concept of protecting people that everyone who would fall under the titles of “hero, vigilante, or antihero” (basically anyone who does what he does for Amity) and focuses on saving people fall under his banner. A hero saves someone somehow despite being sure they shouldn’t have been able to run that fast or be that strong or stay standing after the damage they took? Danny subconsciously grants them that additional little help they needed to save that person. Maybe batman could notice that occasionally in extremely dire circumstances heroes at seemingly random are able to do things not in their limits that can’t be explained via adrenaline: maybe flash manages to hold up something he isn’t nearly strong enough to even lift an inch, maybe Batman manages to run at a speed just barely under super-speed but definitely over what he knows he’s capable of to save a child from being shot in the head, etc etc

[ckret2]

Ages ago I made a post about what Ford thinks about Bill (in a billford context), and I've had an infodump on what Bill thinks about Ford floating on discord for months, and an ask finally prompted me to post it, so here ya go:

If asked why he likes Ford, Bill himself claims that Ford overthinks everything, but in such fun, interesting ways, and Bill likes the way Ford thinks about things.

But really, Bill overthinks everything too; it's just he overthinks social things. He's always calculating how to persuade, control, manipulate people. He never has a conversation that isn't a chess game, it's exhausting and he won't even admit it's exhausting. When's the last time his top priorities weren't either "how do I convince some sucker to make a portal" or "ugggh I'm so SICK of the PORTAL I'm gonna THROW A PARTY and NOT THINK AT ALL"

Whereas Ford is guy who'd hear someone say something incorrect and bluntly go "no you're wrong" and accidentally offend the hell out of them because he's SO excited to share this fantastic information they don't know. The social world DOES NOT EXIST for him until he's reminded of it.

And so he's free to turn all his brainpower instead to. Like. The environmental impact of barf fairies on fern fertilizer or whatever.

Bill knows Everything™ but he's gotten tired of doing anything with that knowledge. They're all discrete points of information to him. He doesn't have time to muse over things, he's got an inventor to manipulate at 11pm and then a party to get to at midnight. He's never once in his life thought about the impact of barf fairies on the local flora. But he does happen to know the plants in that part of the woods are more acid-resistant and wow is that why???? He's never even thought to think about that before. Thousand year mystery that Bill didn't even notice has been solved.

(On the other hand "Ford doesn't think to think about the intricacies of social interaction" is also part of what makes him so easy to manipulate, he's so much more inclined to just accept at face value a friendly offer of assistance on a big academic project. Sure Bill's helping for the sake of scientific advancement in and of itself, why wouldn't he?)

Bill wants to just, fling random facts at Ford and see if he can think up connections between them. Go nerd boy go nerd boy go

"... So there you have it Ford, that's the problem you'll have to overcome with adapting alien machinery to human fuel sources, now I wanna hear YOUR thoughts on how to overcome that problem." "Well—" talks in an uninterrupted stream that by thirty minutes in has drifted over to the history of kerosene production, which he read an interesting book about between semesters in college— "... I've gotten off topic, haven't I?" "No no, I think you're on to something. This is how brainstorming works, free association of concepts. Keep going."

Ford in the morning: "... oh no I didn't let my muse get a word in edgewise for the rest of the dream, i didn't bore him did I?" Bill: "damn, I never noticed the patent process for hurricane lamps was so contentious. There's little dramas everywhere"

When things are going well, their relationship is,

Ford: "I just wanna hear Bill teach me things about the multiverse forever."

Bill: "I just wanna hear Ford think deeply on any topic that crosses his mind forever."

Both of them when they're in peak harmony: excitedly jabbering at each other at 200 words per minute about the stupidest topic you've ever heard, but you'd need a phd in at least two fields to comprehend it

That's love!!!

Ford, having historically been socially shamed: "... am I being weird?"

Bill: "💕❤️💓yeah❣️💖❤️‍🔥"

Sometimes I think about Bill watching Ford in his sleep and being in awe at this human-shaped genius: you with your beautiful electric mind, packed into this soft flawed uneven body. one would never know it from the outside—but you're in there. This genius with a mind like a galaxy. ... and he's like, growing hair and stuff. wild.

[agustdiv1ne]

ticket to nowhere (but your heart) (m) — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, photographer!yeonjun, artist!reader, fluff, angst, smսt

wc: 22.3k

synopsis: twelve days. twelve days is all you have on this godforsaken train to find the spark that will save your dying art career — but you never thought that you would find it in the enigmatic stranger that you can’t seem to stop running into.

warnings: mdni!! ageless + blank blogs dni!!!, mc is bad with feelings, is alluded to have anxiety, and is written as shorter than jjun (i'm sorry to my taller friends, i love you) + the same age as him (24), this takes place in various places across the u.s. (sorry in advance), mentions of food + alcohol, vvvvv brief depiction of potential self-injury when describing a painting, beomgyu + le sserafim's sakura, chaewon, and yunjin (called jennifer here just bc i felt like it) are featured, dom!jjun, sub!mc, soft sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), light begging, multiple orgasms, protected sex (hooray!), missionary, praise

note: part of @majestyjun's yeonjun bday event!! REPOSTED bc tumblr decided to not let this show up in the tags (edit: it's now showing up!!) </3 also my longest fic to date, so that's something

*:･playlist･:*

(cross-posted to ao3 here!)

masterlist

everything in your life is bland. gray.

the food that you eat, the people that you become acquainted with, the skyscrapers above you that grasp for the sky and fail to reach it — they have all become so monotone and somber and utterly lifeless. something within you gnaws at itself, aching with pain — though the sharpness of the feeling has been blunted by the passing of time — because you used to adore the city that you call home. you used to find unrivaled beauty in the skyscrapers that spread across manhattan, in the lush green parks scattered amongst the urban landscape that would turn warm and golden as summer metamorphosed into autumn, in the people that would walk by you with their unapologetic, unique fashion and confidence. the very things you used to love have dulled in hue, washes of the vibrancy you once appreciated and took significant inspiration from. 

throughout your apartment lay half-baked paintings and charcoal drawings and pieces with odd compositions from that one month where you went through a mixed media phase, staring at you with their paint-streaked eyes, mocking you. finish us, their fragmentary faces scream. they beg for you to provide them with souls, to be their maker, their creator — but not quite their god. you are not pretentious enough to go that far, to paint yourself as that self-important, that narcissistic. you are far from a god. if you were, you would be in a larger apartment, a penthouse worth millions of dollars in soho or maybe the upper east side. if you were a god, you would purchase the finest art supplies in the world, have your pieces be displayed in major galleries to be auctioned off for hundreds of thousands — no, millions of dollars by pretentious art collectors to be hung up in their gaudy mansions, their own slices of heaven. however, in reality, you fall exceptionally short of a higher being; in truth, you are a rather simple woman who had transplanted herself from her suffocating hometown to brooklyn as soon as you completed your undergraduate degree. a tiny little apartment in brooklyn, new york city, new york — an adumbration of purgatory, floating somewhere between heaven and hell. trapped, trapped, trapped. nowhere to go. 

sitting on your bed, the balls of your feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, you ponder if these thoughts, this density of emotions burrowing into your stomach, are a symptom of burnout. maybe even artist’s block, though in the past you’ve often remarked that the concept doesn’t exist. you had never experienced it, so in your sorely narrow-minded view, it simply couldn’t be possible, and other artists were simply blaming their laziness on this elusive concept. what a fool you were for ever thinking that. shame hangs like a heavy weight within your chest; who are you to criticize the experiences of other artists when you know how difficult a creative’s life can be? how could you be so insolent? 

a raging hypocrite, really, is what you think you must be. a blank, blurry stare scans over your space, the coolness of the floor spreading up into your toes. an easel in the corner, near one of the small windows that allows for a view of mostly red brick, a sliver of blue-brown water where the hudson and east rivers meet, and a few lower manhattan skyscrapers that tower high in the air across the watery expanse. it’s not that far from your bed, which sits on the wall opposite below a second window, the slightest bit larger than the other one. most of your apartment is taken up by supplies rather than actual decor, a jar of paintbrushes on your small, round dining table in the corner near your kitchen instead of a vase of flowers, works-in-progress on the walls rather than posters, pictures. 

you live and breathe art, and your entire apartment reflects that, but the oxygen is getting thinner and thinner.

even then, you’re not quite sure how long you have felt this way — it’s not as if you woke up one day and noticed the change. it wasn’t sudden like a car accident, slamming into you one second and leaving you to cope with the aftermath the next. quite the opposite, really, more akin to the tide slowly coming to shore, washing over more of your body with each incoming wave. soothing, flowing along with each ebb and flow, pulling you further and further away from the beach until you have nowhere else to go but down. 

weak fingers dig into the white comforter below you, curling into the fabric with a surging desperation — for what, you are unsure. comfort? someone to hold you? you haven’t felt the embrace of another, the warm sensation of lips pressed against your own, in an embarrassingly long time. the dating world had slipped from your hands long ago, shattering on the floor like a snow globe, your wants and hopes and desires to love and be loved soaking your lacerated feet and stinging as it enters your wounds. your mind trails to beomgyu, a fellow artist who you had met when you could afford a private studio in a warehouse one burrow over. he was fun, a sappy romantic, and he made you laugh to no end — but he ruined you. he moved across the country without warning and you’d never heard from him again, leaving you heartbroken and with questions you’d never get answers to. you wonder how he’s doing now, if san francisco is treating him well. his number is still in your phone. you should delete it. you need to delete it. you need to make dinner. you need to finish that commission. you need to do a lot of things.

you need to get out of here. 

fuck, you do. the desperation surging within your veins takes the new form of a beast, clawing its way up your throat. you need to leave the city and experience new places and see new things and—

finally, you wrench yourself off of your bed after hours of sitting there. snatching your laptop from the floor, you search. you search and search and search for something that will get you out of this city, albeit temporarily. several different trips to italy — too expensive, and too far away from here. an airbnb in florida — you’ve never been a fan of humidity, and you don’t think only seeing one city will be enough to sate you. come on, come on, there has to be something. 

and then you find it: twelve days on a train, across the country. stops in chicago, denver, san francisco, seattle, and even a national park for half a day before looping back through chicago and back to new york. this sounds…perfect. your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the price as you scroll down. for you, it’s expensive, so fucking expensive, but…

“you need to let go and enjoy life for once,” one of your friends told you at a party a few months ago, when you were experiencing a less incapacitating version of the burnout you currently face, when you had thought it was a mere blip in your unending motivation. of course, you hadn’t listened to jennifer and her sound (and moscato-induced) advice, opting to throw yourself further into your art and ultimately fail at creating anything worthwhile. you regret it now, because you feel stuck. terribly, utterly stuck — but this is your chance to change that. 

you need this; you can make the sacrifice to your already thinning bank account, you think. let go, enjoy life. let go, enjoy life — you repeat those four words over and over again as you type in your card information, as you click the button to book the trip, as you read over the confirmation email that outlines the steps you need to take before you leave. let go, enjoy life, and you will. you will, and you will relight that dimming, nearly extinguished fire within you while you’re at it. you’ll make damn sure of it. 

day one. 

your heart is pounding. the rapid ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump roars in your ears like thunder as people upon people walk past, shoving against both of your shoulders as you stand in front of a board full of green and yellow and red. the sounds of voices and rolling luggage echo across the high, transparent ceilings of the station which allow for a view of the sky above. early mornings and you do not agree with each other, and today is no exception; poorly-veiled dark circles sit beneath your eyes, illuminated by the soft, warm light streaming in from above. looking down at your phone and back up at the screen again, you find that your train is thankfully on time, the bright green letters helping loosen the tightness gathered in your shoulders as you roll them back once, twice. your teeth skirt your bottom lip while you nod to yourself, then scan the spacious building for the escalator that will take you down to the correct platform. 

you hate that you’re nervous. the feeling twists your stomach into knots and flushes your face, cheeks hot as you stand there and wait out the remaining minutes before you can board. it doesn’t even make sense — you should be happy to get out of town, to go places you’ve never been to before, but all you can focus on is the unease creeping up your throat and blooming sour on your tongue. perhaps this is actually excitement that you are feeling. maybe you’re reading it all wrong — jennifer was more than ecstatic when you told her of your impromptu trip, saying “this is what you need! this might be your breakthrough!” 

ever since you met the her, she was always a degree more optimistic than you. looking on the bright side of things, no matter what dire circumstances lay splayed out across the dealer’s table. what’s stopping you from being the same way? several things, but at the same time, jennifer is right: you need this. your hands jitter with an odd combination of excitement and fear — maybe it’s simply the thought of solo travel that is so intimidating. yeah, it has to be. it will pass soon enough — hopefully. you roughly shove your set of headphones onto your head, slipping them over your ears. music will have to do for now, if only to prevent thoughts from racing through your head. 

once you board, you learn that your quarters are…small, though that was expected. it reminds you of your studio apartment, almost; cramped, but lacking the scattered paint tubes and canvases and miscellaneous mediums that you have not laid a single finger upon in months now. the small, travel-size tubes of paint sitting in your backpack weigh your shoulders down, begging to be taken out and spread across the small, flat canvases that are tucked snugly beside them. you muffle their pleas by turning up the music streaming through your headphones. closing the door behind you, you softly hum to the current song in your ears, shoving your suitcase in the corner of the room. 

once the attendant checks your ticket, you decide to take a nap — who cares if it’s early? you barely got enough sleep last night in the first place, too nervous to allow your eyes to shut. collapsing onto your bed, you pull the curtains next to it shut and allow yourself to drift off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

*:･

you awake around noon with a growling stomach. with a sigh, you rub your tired eyes and sit up, smoothing out your rumpled shirt. after a quick look on your camera to make sure none of your mascara has transferred below your eyes, you make your way to the dining car that’s not too far from your own.

it’s nice, quaint; simply decorated like the rest, with large, square windows divided by thin pieces of wood lining each side. smaller tables line the wall to your right, two seats at each, while larger, four-person tables sit to your left. you opt for a two-seater towards the middle, tunnel vision blocking out the rest of the people present. you stare out at the greenery that blurs outside the window, listening to the low rumble of the train, mindlessly thumbing the laminated menu laying on the table. while you wait for the waitress to get to your table, a light, feminine voice knocks you from your own little world.

“excuse me?” the voice asks. you flinch in response, blinking hard as you look to your left and find two women sitting at the four-seater next to you. they’re both pretty, brown-eyed with full lips curved into twin smiles. they don’t look like sisters, though — more so friends. 

“yes?” you politely say, wondering what they could want with you. the shorter-haired one’s smile grows wider once you speak. she has a rounder face than the other girl, her black bangs ending above her eyes that are currently crinkled at the corners. 

“are you waiting for anyone?” the other girl asks, the one with a long wolfcut and wide, hypnotizing eyes. definitely not sisters, you think, they look nothing alike. 

shaking your head, you softly murmur, “i’m not.”

“would you like to join us, then?” the wide-eyed one asks, a hopeful glint shining in her eyes. 

“i...i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you reply. your mouth curls into something apologetic, as if you’re the one burdening them despite them being the ones to ask you. this interaction feels weird, awkward, and a very large part of you wishes you could melt through the floor and disappear forever. 

“you wouldn’t!” straight black bob chimes in, hands clasped together on top of the table as she leans towards you. cheery, excitable. “we wouldn’t mind at all, really.”

you nod with a tiny, somewhat nervous grin as you take the seat closest to you, right next to wide-eyed wolfcut. you offer them your name, unsure what else to give them. your age? your profession? your deep-seated trauma? okay, definitely not that last one. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” straight black bob says, while the other chimes in with a soft hum of affirmation. “i’m chaewon.”

“and i’m sakura,” wolfcut adds with a dip of her chin.

hands placed snugly in your lap, you pick at your thumb nail. your back is stiff in the chair, and you hope they won’t notice. “it’s nice to meet you guys too. are you traveling together?” 

both of them giggle, glancing at each other for a moment before swiveling their eyes back to you. for a moment, you’re confused. why was that so funny? they look to be decent friends, at least from your limited interactions with them thus far.

“we actually just met a few minutes ago,” wolfcut — no, sakura claims. oh, so they’re not friends, then. “we ran into each other— like, quite literally ran into each other.”

“it was…kinda bad,” chaewon laughs before she takes a sip of water. “my ass is still sore.”

you huff a laugh at that, all air and no sound, and the conversation continues with a light-hearted air to it. as the minutes tick by, you learn that chaewon is a graduate student taking a gap semester, while sakura owns her own makeup line, a small business that is beginning to pick up speed thanks to social media. one lives in brooklyn—

“no way,” you gasp at chaewon. “where at?” 

sakura, meanwhile, resides in upper manhattan. even more information about them bombards your brain as all of you begin to eat, but you doubt you’ll remember most of it by tomorrow, even later today — it’s alright, though. the three of you have exchanged numbers (to create a group chat) and have basically promised to be travel buddies for the coming days. your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, grateful to find kind, welcoming people on this train — you’d think that jennifer would like them. the way they interact with each other is somewhat reminiscent of your and jennifer’s friendship. friends…yeah, you can see the three of you becoming good friends. 

“can we see some of your art?” chaewon asks, bob shifting like a wave around her head as she shakes it. oh, yeah. you had briefly mentioned your profession, though shame barred you from sharing your reasons that led you to this train in the first place. 

you cringe. “oh, well—”

“i’m sure it’s great!” she continues. “c’mon, pleaseee?”

with sparkling doe eyes and hands clasped tightly together, it’s difficult to say no — and you don’t, shaking your head a little as you pull up your instagram account. while you’re proud of the pieces you’ve posted on there, they aren’t your most emotional. those ones are saved in your camera roll, and that is where they will stay, only for your eyes (and a very few select others) to see. they coo and aw as they swipe through, your phone placed on the table between them. heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to pick at the remnants of your lunch sitting on your plate. deep down, their kind comments cause an unusual sense of guilt to invade your heart. why couldn’t you produce shit like that now? what the hell is wrong with you?

with a polite smile, you thank them and move to excuse yourself before your pathetic sense of self-pity can consume you. they seem a bit surprised by your abrupt exit, but they also take it in stride, offering to text you later for dinner. slipping from your seat, you send them a wave before setting off towards the door from which you initially came. 

*:･

you don’t know what spurred you to make a stop at your room and snatch your sketchbook from your backpack before heading to the observation car, but after a whole lot of sitting and not one speck of sketching, you kind of, sort of have started to hate yourself for that decision. 

the open page in your lap is abysmally blank. no marks, no little trees or lush fields or flowers or anything that you see speeding by outside the window. your pencil has been poised against the page for the longest time, dark gray dots scattered across the page where you would press the point of the pencil to start making a mark and subsequently give up. another hour with no progress ticks by, but you still can’t make it move. move, why won’t your hand just move? 

flipping it shut, you lean back in your seat with a deep sigh. you can’t force these things, you know that much, but that won’t stop you from trying — and failing — to produce something. you’d rather not dwell on that for too long, though. those thoughts are what got you here in the first place. instead, you allow your tense muscles to relax, your eyes to lose focus and blur, blobs of green and blue passing by your vision. soft murmurs from other passengers meld together into a wall of droning noise, soft and soothing. 

that is, until the sound of someone settling into a seat a couple away from your own pops your little bubble like a sharp, pointed pin pressing into the skin of a balloon. blinking your vision back into focus, you take a quick glance to your right and—

holy shit, he’s beautiful. a sloping nose and pink, plush lips, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model of some sort with a face like that. his dark, slightly outgrown hair frames his side profile perfectly, sweeping back towards the back of his head where it begins to curl down the back of his neck. there’s this sort of dreamy, ethereal quality to his looks, like the universe took it’s sweet time creating him, lovingly placed tiny little stars in his sable, fox-like eyes and kissed his skin with the sun’s gentle rays, a light pink dusted across his cheeks — or, at least, the one cheek that you can see. bulky headphones sit snugly over his ears as he simply watches the landscapes pass by, one long leg crossed over the other. before you register the movement of your hands, your sketchbook is flipped back open to that very same blank page you’d given up on mere moments ago, fingers gripping your pencil once more. fluid like water is how your hand moves across the page, capturing the unique shape of his eyes, his soft yet defined jawline, the slope of his neck…

for the first time in months, you lose yourself in your work, yet you don’t even register this small breakthrough. peeking back up at the beautiful stranger every once in a while, you slowly carve out his likeness on the page in front of you, begin to add his surroundings and even a background, shading with light, circular strokes as you go, building up the deposit of graphite where it is needed most, defining the shape of his pouty lips and the strong cupid’s bow that connects his top lip to his nose, mapping out the flow and shape of locks of hair with dark, daring strokes, graphite pressing hard into the page. you even add some flyways for good measure. in your frenzied bout of drawing, you have hunched over in your chair, an old habit that is rearing its ugly head now that you don’t have a standing easel to work with. straightening your aching spine, you sit back and observe your sketch, wondering if you have missed any defining details—

and when you move to look up and take in his features again, he is staring right back at you. 

oh.

oh, fuck. 

frozen in your seat, you can’t tear your gaze away from his own, a hint of concern swirling in his irises. his eyebrows raise, eyes slightly wide as he tilts his head. the corners of his pretty lips raise, parting as if about to speak — and he does.

“are you okay?”

his deep voice snaps you out of your stupor, flinching before you quickly flip your notebook shut and sent him a tight smile paired with a nod, eyes darting around to look everywhere but him. your heart just might leap out of your chest at this rate, tear open your sternum and collide with the floor. you almost wish it would. 

he’s frowning now, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “uh, are you sure—”

without another glance at him, you stand, clutch your notebook and pencil tight enough that it presses marks into your skin, and book it straight out of there with swift and featherlight steps. you don’t look back, far too embarrassed to even consider it, not stopping until you reach your room. the door is slammed shut behind you, but the nerves-induced ache in your chest won’t fade. pressing the cool backs of your hands against your fiery cheeks, you resist the urge to slap yourself. what the fuck is wrong with you? you should’ve just answered him and apologized for staring. he probably thinks you’re some creep now, with your weird little notebook and lack of verbal response — and the way you left. god, if a hole opened up and swallowed you whole, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“you are so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss, venemous words aimed straight at yourself, your head buried in your hands as you curl up on the bed. day one, day fucking one, and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of someone.

maybe you should stay in here for the rest of your trip.

day two.

“...why is it so big?”

chaewon is referring to cloud gate — or, rather, what is more popularly known as the bean — a terribly ugly, silver, oversized, bean-shaped art installation that sits in chicago’s millennium park. an art installation that you, quite frankly, despise mostly due to the artist behind the work. given that anish kapoor is an elitist prick who has shit on the art world with his wealth and hates when people call his piece the bean, you take great, overwhelming satisfaction in calling it that. 

her question — paired with her furrowed eyebrows — causes you and sakura to snicker to yourselves. you’re grateful that they texted you this morning, had forced you out of your room because you actually were going to go through with your staying-in-your-room-forever plan (for today, at least). this park is your first stop of many, but you really want to get this part over with so that you don’t have to see this gargantuan, chrome bean ever again. despite its ugliness, you can admit that the slightly warped, mirrored reflection of the city that it provides is kind of interesting to look at, and it makes for some cool pictures. 

(still, fuck anish kapoor. you refuse to give that man any credit.)

you end up taking a photo of you flipping it off from afar, sending it to jennifer with a smirk before helping the other two girls with some of their own photos. here, there’s no pressure to create, only to enjoy and experience what surrounds you, no matter how tourist-y it may be. 

sakura slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to her, arm extended out to take a selfie. your hand raises in a peace sign at the camera, smile bright and wide like the sun above. there’s not an inkling of worry in your expression — until you see him. 

the guy from yesterday, standing maybe ten feet away. he dons an unbuttoned striped shirt layered over a tank top which is tucked into baggy, dark wash jeans. a thin, black belt wraps around his waist, a small camera hanging from his neck, and his hair looks as perfect as yesterday, shiny and smooth under the unobstructed sunlight. thankfully, he hasn’t noticed you, but that doesn’t stop your smile from fading, your heart from hammering within your chest as your brain cruelly replays the events of yesterday afternoon in slow motion. you can’t face him right now. what if he comes up to you? what if he confronts you for your odd behavior in front of this crowd? these are worst case scenarios, sure, but they are potential outcomes nonetheless. as he begins to turn in your direction, you whip around, slipping from under sakura’s arm as you face the two girls. 

“you guys ready to go?” you ask, masking your worry with a tight grin. don’t ask why, don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.

“yeah, sure,” chaewon nods. “i think i’ve had enough of the bean.”

“same,” sakura laughs.

“we could grab lunch, then go to the aquarium and planetarium?” you suggest, one foot beginning to tap against the concrete as you look back and forth between them. are there eyes burning into the back of your head right now? you can’t tell, but the prickling on the back of your neck is not a promising sign. they look at each other, then back to you — a phenomenon that has rapidly become a habit for them — and agree. surging forward, your hands loop around their wrists closest to you, and begin to speed walk away. far away.

“uh, girl? this is the wrong way, we’re going deeper into the park,” sakura notes, heels digging into the concrete to slow you down. she’s right, you know she’s right, but you’re not particularly keen on turning around. 

with a sheepish grin, you say, “maybe we could take a walk through the park first?”

as if on cue, chaewon’s stomach emits an audible growl. 

“nevermind, then.”

turning around, you find the stranger facing your way, and for some reason, he’s already looking at you. his eyebrows raise in recognition the moment you make eye contact. all of a sudden, you wish that you could shrivel up and die. despite this, you rip your gaze from his and push forward, turning to speak to sakura so that you aren’t forced to glance in his direction. mission: avoid the stranger who now haunts your life — success!

goodbye, the bean and the guy who you embarrassed yourself in front of. hello, chicago-style pizza. 

*:･

you’re tired.

you’re tired and slightly more broke and your legs and feet ache to hell after the copious amount of walking you’ve done, but your day still isn’t over. no, despite the setting sun and rising moon, you still have one more activity on your itinerary — clubbing, by request of your newfound friends, though even they claim that they don’t often partake in the activity. similar to them, you’re more inclined to small get-togethers with wine, food from that thai place down the street from your apartment, and a good movie, but hey, this trip is all about experiencing new things. hell, maybe you’ll even enjoy it, who knows? at least, you’re going to try to, but the pain radiating in the soles of your feet and calves has worsened due to your high heels. the dress wrapped around your body is tight and flattering in all the right places, yet the hem rides up every few minutes as you walk. 

“the pessimism isn’t cute. quit it,” you hear jennifer’s voice echo inside your head, yet another phrase she’s uttered to you in the past. fine — on the bright side, you haven’t seen that good-looking stranger since the park. bam, positivity, go you.

sakura’s arm loops around yours as you reach the club that you collectively decided on earlier. her excited squeals at the prospect of alcohol (or, rather, more alcohol, since she pregramed a bit prior to leaving the station) and dancing are enough to bring on a weak headache that spreads across your temples. ibuprofen. you desperately need ibuprofen, but vodka will do just fine too — it’s the first thing you order at the bar, a straight shot with no chaser because at this point, you don’t care. let go, enjoy life, you internalize as you toss the sharp liquor down your throat, fatigue melting away as the alcohol enters your veins. 

cheers, jennifer. you still need to text her back.

one more downed shot later, and chaewon is dragging you to the dance floor. the bass pounds in your ears and vibrates the floor as the three of you sway to the upbeat songs. droplets of sweat begin to bead along your hairline, bodies packed so close together that it’s virtually impossible not to be jostled by a stray elbow or shoulder as you dance. if you were completely sober, it would be uncomfortable, but your hazy senses allow for you to overlook the sardine can that is called a club. it’s easy to lose yourself in the warm, heady air, in the way your hips bump between chaewon’s and sakura’s. inhibitions melt away — you’re free; no expectations weighing you down, nowhere to be, no one to be. only music, flashing lights, and the new, fruity drink in your hand, courtesy of sakura. 

“gonna take a breather!” you yell into chaewon’s ear, the alcohol finally catching up to you. she nods, yells words you can’t make out into sakura’s ear, and both of them begin to follow you out of the crowd. you sip at your drink as you push your way through, ducking under swinging arms and avoiding splashing drinks. the crowd thins as you grow closer to the edge of the dance floor until only scattered groups of friends remain.

“you didn’t have to come with me, y’know,” you say as soon as you reach a slightly quieter part of the club, taking a seat in an empty booth. “i can handle myself.”

“it’s better to stick together. less dangerous,” sakura refutes. some of the glitter that sits above her eyes had drafted down to her cheeks, glinting as a beam of bright light travels over the lower half of her face. “you never know what could happen in a club.”

chewing at the neon pink straw in your drink, you nod, “that’s true.” 

as chaewon and sakura fall into conversation, their words not quite reaching your ears, you silently scan the club. the darkness is cut by wild lasers and spotlights that whirl around and catch on the faces of countless strangers, their pearly, grinning teeth glinting and disappearing back into obscurity in a flash. you continue to nibble at your straw, vision hazy around the edges and an airy sensation in your limbs, as if you could float up to the ceiling. you look up at the multicolored lights, flashes of red and green and blue bombarding your vision, then back down towards the crowd.

and yet again, you find him in your sights. 

suddenly, your vision has a crystal clear clarity to it. button-down shirt wide open to reveal his toned torso, he smoothly moves to the beat with an intoxicated smirk painted on his lips, a small glass of amber liquor in his left hand. dark, outgrown hair, plush lips, those dark, dreamy eyes — that’s him. shit, that’s definitely him. 

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmur, head collapsing into your arms on top of the cool wooden table. sakura jumps in her seat next to you, before scrambling to place a hand on your shoulder.

“are you okay?” she squeals near your ear, tacking on a worried call of your name when you don’t respond right away. honestly? you’re kind of not okay. you’re tired of encountering him at every turn and being reminded of your humiliating escape from him yesterday. you’re tired of him spotting you and sending you odd looks as if you’re the weirdest person he’s ever crossed paths with. you’re tired, you’re tired, you’re just so tired. 

you decided to go on this trip to get away from the mundanity of your day-to-day routine, to get over your spell of artist’s block and see new things, but maybe you bit off more than you can chew if you were going to allow one random person to ruin that goal for you. a random stranger shouldn’t have this much power over you. 

raising your head, you send them a half-hearted nod. “i’m fine. sorry.”

chaewon frowns, “are you about to throw up? ‘cause you look like you are.”

“you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” sakura chimes in.

sighing, you shake your head. “i think— i think i need to use the bathroom.”

as you move to get up, they do as well — though you decide not to protest this time. there’s no point, really. your legs wobble a bit as you walk, face dropping once you notice that he is near the men’s restroom now, waiting outside right across from where you aim to go. head down, you scurry past him, ignoring how his eyes widen and his knuckles pale as he grips his drink tighter. chaewon and sakura are hot on your heels as you slip into the quiet bathroom. with the music from outside now muffled, you realize your ears are ringing. reaching a sink, you turn on the faucet and splash some water onto your face. hunched over the sink, your fingers grip the edge of the counter. deep breaths, now. deep breaths. this is likely the quickest you have ever sobered up, and the sensation is rendering you dizzy.

behind you, your friends exchange concerned looks through the mirror. sakura jumps into action first, coming up behind you and placing her hands onto your shoulders. with a gentle squeeze, she murmurs, “let’s get you back to the station.”

day three.

today, the observation car is devoid of life — and so is your body after yesterday. can you overdose by taking too much ibuprofen? you’re pretty sure that you can. 

last night is but a blur in your memory with few spots of clarity, but you do vividly remember panicking in the dimly lit bathroom as the girls fretted over whether you were going to vomit all over the floor or not. you hadn’t slept much once you returned to your room after exchanging drunken hugs with your friends, assuring them that you were, indeed, not going to throw up. after a few hours of restless sleep, you’d completely given up on proper rest — you have never slept all that well with alcohol in your system, so you’re not sure why you thought this time would be any different. 

you take a seat far away from the one you took last time. clad in your pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, you’re grateful that no one else is here to see you at your worst: slightly hungover with dark circles the size of dinner plates. your legs fold up onto the chair so that your knees sit near your chest, your arms looping around your shins, fingers laced together. a deep sigh. a long blink. though the rest of the sky remains an inky black, the horizon morphs into a deep purple, the color of eggplant, almost. perhaps a smidge lighter. 

a door opens, its hinges faintly squeaking, before subsequently clicking shut. figuring it must be someone older, you do not bother with checking who entered; most people your age aren’t up this early, especially not willingly. instead, you keep your eyes trained on the ever-changing sky, chin resting upon your knees.

footsteps near you, and you assume that they will pass, but then they don’t. rather, they stand right in front of you.

“may i sit here?”

you have heard this voice before, just two days ago. unsurprisingly, he stands a mere few feet away, clad in a black tank top and gray sweatpants, a long finger pointed towards a seat. similar to you, small dark circles sit beneath his eyes, but he somehow makes them work. once you nod, one corner of his lips twitches upward before he sits down, a singular seat separating your bodies. his gaze burns the side of your face; your arms wrap around your legs tighter, your unwavering stare pointed out the window. silence envelopes the train car, tense and suffocating. your lungs tighten, prickly thorns sprouting within the thin membranes. your bottom lip may begin to bleed if you keep chewing at it so carelessly.

he breaks it first, shatters it like glass colliding with the floor, with five words:

“i’m really hungover right now.”

your brows furrow. why is he trying to strike up a conversation with you? why do you want to answer him? 

he continues before you can formulate a response, “i saw you at that club last night — you looked a little sick. are you okay?”

“peachy,” you curtly mumble, lips pursing. of course he remembers you; you did pass by him, after all, basically sprinted into the bathroom with the grace of a bull in a china shop. he hasn’t mentioned the park, but you know damn well he remembers that too.

you can sense the frown from his tone, confusion lacing the edges like delicate lace. his question is careful, slowly intonated as if he’s scared of pissing you off. “uh, did i do something wrong?”

you shake your head, not a single glance spared in his direction thus far. he hasn’t. your attitude is a direct result of your own actions, your own rampant anxieties. a pang of guilt punches you in the gut — he does not deserve your bitchiness when he, quite frankly, has done nothing but exist in relative proximity to you. 

“you haven’t,” you reply, voice meek. your eyes trace over the short fibers of the plain carpet below your seat. “i’m just— i’m sorry.”

the low rumble of the train fills the air again, no further words spoken between the two of you. there’s no clear way to explain yourself further, but your apology is sincere; with a brief peek, you find him staring out the window.

“can i ask why you keep running away whenever you see me?” the query lacks an accusatory edge. rather, curiosity and interest cushion his voice. maybe…maybe he doesn’t find you that strange, after all.

and finally, after two days of avoiding his gaze, you swivel your head to face him. you find a tilted head, a single humorous, raised eyebrow. despite yourself, you begin to smile. “honestly?”

“i’d prefer honesty, yes,” he grins.

“i—” you hesitate for a moment, then continue, “i was embarrassed.” a grimace paints your face, dragging your brows down and twisting your lips. “after, y’know…”

“running away the first time?” he supplies.

your mouth flattens into a thin line, a hand moving up to scratch your cheek. “yeah, that.”

laughter reaches your ears, partially nasally. rolling your eyes, your mouth splits into a grin. 

“i get it. i feel like i definitely startled you, so no hard feelings.” he pauses, starry eyes widening in what you believe is realization, “i never got your name.”

easily, you supply it, cheeks flushing with heat when he offhandedly comments that it’s pretty. if he notices your sudden flustered state, he doesn’t comment on it, and despite the warmth now slithering down your neck, you feel yourself relax back into your seat, legs leaving their curled up position to cross at the ankle in front of you. then, he offers his own. yeonjun — at long last, you have put a name to his handsome face. 

out of nowhere, he asks, “have you had breakfast?” 

shaking your head, you gesture to your pajama bottoms. “not yet, i was going to grab some after i changed.”

“i don’t know, i think the plaid pants are pretty fashionable,” he chuckles. you join him. “c’mon, i saw an old guy wearing boxers and a shirt in there yesterday. i’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

you giggle, “that’s kinda gross, but alright. let’s go.”

peering out the window again, you find that the sun has just peeked above the horizon, a wash of orange fading into blue, melting together like watercolor. smiling to yourself, you stand and begin to follow yeonjun towards the dining car.

*:･

you and yeonjun had gone your separate ways hours ago, but not without exchanging contact information. since then, he hasn’t stopped texting you, his talent at keeping any conversation going shining in direct contrast to your, well, lack of said talent. however, you do find yourself replying to him with ease — he makes it so easy to do so, mostly due to the fairly unorthodox topics he likes to bring up. currently, you’re talking about the animals that scare you the most. why? because that’s the nature of yeonjun’s conversation skills, you suppose.

another voice message pops up in your chat, about ten seconds long — one of his more obvious quirks. most of his messages are sent in this form, not that you mind. his voice is as pretty as the rest of him. heart-fluttering. okay, stop. you just met this guy. 

(jennifer always does say that you fall too easily. maybe she’s right.)

pressing play, his voice enters your left ear via your single earbud. “no because hear me out: dolphins have fooled you into thinking they’re nice. manipulated you. they literally torture their prey— and they use puffer fishes to get high! i can’t make this shit up. my fear is justified, i swear.”

under your breath, you chuckle, an elbow leaned against the dining table. after a long nap, you had texted the girls to see if they’d like to get dinner with you. of course, they said yes, but you decided to get here a bit early to grab an open table. the car is already packed as it is.

“what’re you laughing at?” unexpectedly, sakura’s head appears over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. out of habit, you lock it, your reflections staring back at you through the black screen. as she sits next to you, chaewon, takes the seat across from you, elbows placed on the table and her hands supporting her chin. she sends you a knowing smile.

“is that your boyfriend?” she prods. the question causes your mouth to fall open for a moment before you snap it shut. 

“no!” you exclaim. “it’s just a friend.”

“sounds like a boyfriend,” sakura surmises, exchanging a conspiratory nod with the other girl. you release a groan, hands shielding your fiery hot face before you drag them up over your hair. 

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you shoot back. “we just met today.” two days ago, actually. if you can count that.

their mouths open in tandem, shock coloring their features. is this a big deal, or something? you aren’t even dating the guy. 

“you met a guy and didn’t tell us?” sakura grasps your arm with both hands, shaking the limb with a strength that shouldn’t be possible to come from her thin body. “you should’ve told us! we can be your wingwomen!”

“wingwomen?” you echo dumbly as you stare at her. wingwomen, as in, like, jennifer-style wingwomen? as in trying too hard to set you up with someone and ultimately embarrassing you in the end wingwomen? your love for jennifer knows no bounds, but she’s ruined the term for you long ago with her terrible luck. a shudder runs down your spine, and you grin nervously. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

“of course it is! i’ve always wanted to do that for one of my friends, but they’re all taken already,” chaewon pouts, irresistible puppy dog eyes appearing. “c’mon, please?

“i doubt he’d want to date me, though? we’ve literally only talked once, so really, it’s okay.”

“once is enough,” sakura declares, suddenly tilting her body closer to yours. “tell us, is he cute? what’s his name?”

they’re obviously not going to let this go, and you have no power to really stop them. 

sighing, you officially give up, “yeonjun, and yes, i do.” unfortunately. 

chaewon claps her hands together, an audible smack! echoing from her palms. her smile is blinding, a supernova of pearly white teeth and pink, upturned lips. “perfect! we can work with that.” 

“i already have an idea: ask him to hang out tomorrow,” sakura says, and you send her an incredulous look, glancing at chaewon for a moment to find that she’s excitedly nodding along to the idea like an excitable puppy. her round eyes sure make her resemble one.

you shake your head. “i can’t do that, it’s too forward.”

rolling her eyes, sakura tosses her hands up in the air. “too forward my ass! how do you expect to bag him?”

“i don’t!”

chaewon chimes in, an open hand reaching towards you, “alright, give us your phone. we’ll text him for you.”

“absolutely not!”

ding!

it’s comical, how all three of you pivot your wide-eyed gazes to the phone clenched in your fingers. the flash of yeonjun’s name across the screen is enough to send your table into chaos. 

“open it!”

“what did he say—”

“calm down, oh my god!” you shriek, sending an apologetic look to the couple next to you when they look over. fingers fly over your keyboard until you’ve reached his contact. words, this time, no voice message. butterflies burst into your chest.

yeonjun: do you have anything planned for tmrw? 

after scanning over the message herself, sakura pokes at your shoulder. “tell him you don’t.” 

with a deep, heavy sigh, you do as she says.

[6:37 p.m.]: not yet, why?

“that’s too dry,” chaewon comments.

“shut up, i’m trying,” you hiss. it takes him a few minutes to respond, minutes in which you internally panic. was your text really too dry? in the meantime, you place your dinner order with a kind waiter that stops by, a hearty dish that you can drown your sorrows in the not-so-off chance that this goes terribly, terribly wrong. another ping sounds from your phone’s speakers, and time stops once you read what he sent. clocks stop ticking, you stop breathing, everything around you freezes.

yeonjun: do you wanna grab coffee in the morning then? :)

sakura sends you a sharp look. “i doubt he’d want to date me — are you seeing this right now? or do you need me to spell it out for you? this is a date, babe.”

“it’s not,” you counter weakly. you only (officially) met him today, so, “it’s really not.”

day four.

contrary to what sakura claimed, this is very much not a date — but you’re happy about it. 

he keeps a respectful distance between your bodies as you walk, you pay for your own coffee, and you pull your own chair out when you go to sit down. it’s simple, it’s friendly, it’s a bit awkward, but there’s some things you have to sacrifice when making new friends. the croissant you’ve decided on is on the drier side, a little too flaky. you nibble on it anyway in a poor attempt to ignore the silence that has fallen between you once again. this is why you try to meet people through other friends; at least in those situations, you have a buffer, someone who knows you and the other person well enough that they can find connections between you without having to dig. you hate digging — you’re the worst at it, hence the stifling quiet that permeates the air now.

the café is quaint, if a bit moody thanks to the lighting. outside the window, the denver street teems with people, and you decide to survey the passing strangers rather than look at the man sitting across from you. wisps of fluffy white clouds float high above, sometimes passing over the sun. you wish you had your supplies with you — this would make for a wonderful painting. 

click!

turning your head, you find yeonjun holding a camera, the lens pointed at…you? you hadn’t noticed it prior, so you are unsure where he got it from. it looks like the same one he had at the park. a bashful smile appears as soon as he places it on the table. “sorry, the lighting was perfect. can’t ever pass up a nice shot.” you study the camera for a moment, and he takes your lack of response as a sign to continue, “once i edit it, i can definitely send you a copy. do you wanna see it?”

a photographer. yeonjun is a photographer. you’re not sure why it’s taken you this long to realize. maybe because you’ve been avoiding him up until now? you think. shaking the thought away, you smile. “i’d love to see it.”

he presses a few buttons, a focused twist to his plush lips, before he’s sliding it over to your side of the table. he’s right: it was a nice shot, and while you don’t often enjoy how you look in photographs, he’s found an angle that highlights your best features as you gaze outside, a slight part to your lips and your eyes wide open, shining. the sheer amount of contrast between the dark café and your warm-lit face scratches an itch in your brain. you can see it now — the golden pigment wetting your brush before being placed on the canvas, being blended into an umber, almost black, but not quite. a splash of umber here, a hint of red there…

“is this your job?” you decide to ask. 

the sheepish expression returns in full force, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. he’s proud of his work. “yeah. i’m not, like, famous or anything, but i enjoy it. my mom said that when i was a baby, they put a stethoscope, a gavel, a camera, a microphone, and a test tube in front of me, and i chose the camera, so it was basically meant to be,” he chuckles, but, realizing that you’re staring at him, he pauses for moment. crimson paints the tips of his ears; it’s a color that you’re pretty sure sits in your travel set. “sorry, was that too much?”

“not at all,” you reply softly. “that’s a lovely story, yeonjun.” 

“thanks.” shyly, he bites down on his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing it. a beat of quiet passes, then he’s asking, “how about you? what do you do for work?”

for some reason, the question looms over your head like a storm cloud. it’s unavoidable and dark and heavy. a bitter taste fills your mouth, different from the aftertaste of your coffee, but you try not to let your sudden drop in mood show. 

“i’m an artist, though i don’t think many people would consider me one nowadays,” you snicker, but the self-deprecating edge to your words is not lost on yeonjun. 

wrinkles form in the space between his brows. “what do you mean?” 

“i…” you trail off. you should tell him. you should rip the bandaid off and quit avoiding facing it for what it is. “i haven’t finished a piece in months. i feel stuck, almost? like nothing is resonating with me, if that makes sense. it’s the whole reason i went on this trip. it’s humiliating, not being able to draw a single thing without hating it— sorry, that’s definitely too much.” 

“no, no, you’re fine,” and he’s sincere in his reassurances. he doesn’t look at you like you’re some sort of failure for how you feel. he doesn’t spew out a hollow apology to absolve him of the weight you’ve transferred to his shoulders, nor does he seem to mind that he’s helping you burden it. his hand reaches over the table, hesitant for a moment, before his fingers curl over yours, his warm skin against yours. you stare at his hand, but you don’t move away from his touch, allowing him to give your hand a delicate squeeze. looking back up, you sit frozen under his gaze. it warms your insides, melts the icy shards solidifying in your lungs that make it hard to breathe. “none of that makes you less of an artist. it’s something every artist goes through — hell, i’ve gone through it, and it’s okay to feel that way. it’s real and it sucks to feel like you can’t accomplish anything, but there’s nothing wrong with it. eventually, it will pass on its own, but until then, it’s not a sin to lean on others for support.”

tears almost, almost prick your eyes. however, you push them down; there’s no way you’re going to cry in public, in front of him. absolutely not. he squeezes your hand one more time, his thumb brushing over yours, before pulling away. “and if no one else will listen, i will.”

“thank you,” you croak out, blinking rapidly, taking a long sip of coffee in order to buy yourself a few precious seconds to cloak your emotions. a calm veil falls over your face soon enough, and while you hate to be the one to change the subject, you feel like you should. “do you want to go on a walk? it’s too nice out to stay in here all day.”

he doesn’t question the sudden change, humming in confirmation as he scoots his chair back. “it really is nice out. do you have any other plans?”

“not really,” you say, pushing the door open. the warm breeze caresses your face. “i’m trying to be spontaneous—”

“y/n!”

sakura and chaewon appear to your left, each carrying a couple bags that look to be stuffed with clothes. you vaguely remember them mentioning going thrifting, but you didn’t know that they’d be in the same part of the city as you. chaewon comes in for a hug, whispering into your ear, “he’s cute.”

glancing up at yeonjun, sakura feigns ignorance, “who’s this?” 

thus, your friends meet the one man you’d rather keep them away from, if only to prevent their wingwomen shenanigans. you have zero clue what they have planned, but you’re sure none of it can be good. 

“we were just on our way to the botanical gardens,” chaewon sings. “if you’d like to join usss.”

wordlessly, you and yeonjun communicate, only raised eyebrows and tilted chins. somehow, you understand exactly what he’s trying to convey. do you want to? do you? i don’t mind if you don’t. alright, let’s do it.

when you do arrive at the gardens, yeonjun’s fingers find your wrist, holding you back for a moment. his free hand gestures to the camera hanging around his neck. “mind being my model for the day?”

you blink. you, his model? “oh, um. i think chae and kkura are a bit more qualified—”

“no way,” he laughs. “i’m the professional here, and i want you. no one else will do.”

i want you — god, those three, simple words send a visceral shiver down your spine. a want, a need, an overwhelming desire for…you’re not even sure, but something all-consuming blooms behind your sternum like a moonflower in the night. with a coy dip of your head, you smile to yourself, allowing the feeling to surge through your veins, consume every fiber of your being.

“alright, mr. professional. lead the way.”

*:･

it’s early in the evening when you return to the station in a giddy haze, arm looped around yeonjun’s. the photo session had been a success; by the end, you were drunk on the compliments he aimed your way, on the way he treated you like glass as he directed you into a specific pose, the fleeting sensation of his fingertips pressing into your skin burned into your memory. 

closing the door to your room, you press your back into it, squeal into your palms like you did when you were sixteen and harboring a silly little crush. because that’s all it is right now, really: a foolish crush on a man that you probably won’t see again after this trip. you can fantasize all you want, but in the end, that’s what it is. those invading negative thoughts get drowned out by the movie playing behind your eyelids — a replay of the day. you swear you can feel every touch of his skin against yours, every ray of sunshine that kissed your skin and gifted you its warmth. scurrying over to your bag, you locate your supplies. 

and you begin to paint. 

a flurry of lilacs, a blurry figure among them all, defined only by a flowing white button up and brown, wide leg trousers, black streaks of hair and nothing more. yellow daffodils and vibrant emerald sweetgrass take shape, a cerulean sky, fluffy clouds. it’s messy and you kind of hate it, but it’s something. something is on the canvas, it’s dynamic, it has character.

“okay,” you mumble, staring at the brushstrokes, going over them again and again. “okay.”

day five.

“can i draw you?” 

a spur of the moment question, borne from the golden sunset gracing his cheeks, highlighting strands of his hair. the day has passed quietly today, mostly spent in your room sketching to your heart’s content. though mostly inconsequential doodles paired with terribly cheesy words of prose that even your most romantic friends would scrunch their noses at, these exercises in creating without a specific goal in mind seem to be helping. a part of that gray fog over your world has been wafted away by an invisible hand, and everything is a bit more vibrant, closer to its true hue; while nothing about your creations are particularly special or groundbreaking, going on this trip is now beginning to prove its worth. 

yeonjun’s head tilts, and you shrug. “what? i need practice.”

“okay, as long as you promise to show me afterward,” he challenges, and you immediately shake your head. 

“i’m only going to show it to you if it turns out well,” you decide. you think back to the painting sitting in your room, still a bit wet, the paint overworked to hell. that one is staying a secret. it’s not good enough to be known by anyone else — and certainly not by him.

“then no deal.” when you give him a pleading look, he raises his hands. “i show you my pictures, you show me what’s going on in that sketchbook, it’s only fair.”

“fine,” you hiss, fishing your sketchbook from your bag. “get comfortable, and don’t even think about moving.”

“harsh.”

with a suppressed grin, you take in the planes of his face. he’s shifted to face you, intent eyes trained on you, which makes your job harder. gulping, you raise an arm, mapping out his proportions with a thumb. the process of pressing intentional marks into the page is a slow one, exacerbated by his unwavering stare. you have to look out at the mountains every once in a while to allow oxygen back into your lungs, and even then, the action proves difficult. graphite scratching paper is backed by the low murmur of other passengers in the observation car as you work, capturing the fading light that casts shadows across his face. however, your creative juices quickly run out, likely sapped by your painting escapade that extended far into the night. the shape of his eyes isn’t quite right, and no matter how much you erase and try again, there’s always a slight detail off about it. too narrow, too round, too—

the tip of the pencil snaps, the point rolling across the page and falling onto the floor. you curse under your breath. 

“is it done?” yeonjun asks, leaning forward. his hands gently take your sketchbook from your lap before you can protest, and you watch as his expression shifts from neutral to slack-jawed. 

“that’s…you’re…wow,” he starts, then never finishes. he still hasn’t torn his wide eyes away from the page, flitting around as he drinks in every miniscule detail, while you pinpoint every single thing wrong with the drawing.

“it’s bad,” you deadpan. “give it back, i need to fix it.”

he frowns. you seem to make him do that a lot. “there’s nothing to fix.”

“there’s everything to fix.”

“it’s literally a carbon copy of me,” he counters. “you’re crazy.”

“says the one who can’t see the shape of his eyes right now. the lash line isn’t straight enough at the top, the nose isn’t quite right, the hair lacks form. it’s terrible.”

for the first time since you met him, yeonjun is annoyed. eyes narrowed and dark, he locks his gaze into yours, throws away the key. you can’t move while he tosses the worn sketchbook back into your lap, a hand running through his hair, locks raising with his fingers and flopping back down into his face.

“i know what it’s like to be your own worst critic,” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, standing in direct contrast to his firm expression. “but it’s one thing to be critical of your art, and another to resent it. you’re a wonderful artist, y/n. talented isn’t enough to describe you, but negativity is going to get you nowhere. it holds you back.”

“i used to hate my stuff too, y’know. never thought it was ever that special, but that’s what made me underestimate myself. that’s what made me settle for less, that’s what made me lock my camera away in my closet for the longest time until i felt i was ‘ready’ to use it — but who was i to say i was ready? how do you know when you are? honestly, you don’t. you won’t ever know. all you can do is create and create and hope that you eventually make something that you’re proud of. until then, you keep trying, you figure out what’s working, what isn’t, and go from there. in the end, everything you create is a reflection of you, and that’s the beautiful thing about art. it bares your soul, it strips you down to the rawest parts of yourself that you may despise right now — but it’s still you. and don’t you think you deserve to give yourself some grace?”

he’s right — you loathe that he is, and you more so hate how he sounds just like jennifer. your nails skirt the fraying edge of the leather cover in your lap, picking at it like you would with skin, peeling cracked flakes off to reveal a soft underbelly of lighter-colored suede. wine red versus warm tan. you feel like you’re being admonished, a child who’s misbehaved. you feel small, but at the same time, you need to hear it. you’ve been coddled enough. 

his words strike a place deep within you, an ache beginning in the center of your chest and snaking out like the roots of a tree into your stomach and throat. you do deserve some grace, don’t you? you don’t spew venomous words towards your friends or strangers every day, yet you do it to yourself without a second thought. why? you bring yourself and your skills down any chance that you get. why? your art is merely an extension of yourself — is this how you forever want to feel whenever you are drawing? whenever you’re sculpting a piece? no, not at all. your head raises. 

“have you ever thought about becoming a public speaker?”

he lets out an incredulous scoff, but there’s still an inkling of teasing in his tone, “is that all you got from my mini speech? i thought it was amazing. life-changing, even.”

“no,” you deny with a tight-chested laugh. “but there’s not much more to add. you’ve said it all for me.”

the passing mountains are purple now, the greenery a muted magenta. in this moment, you decide the yeonjun is an enigma; untouchable, unreachable — standing too close to his bright, technicolor world would burn your muted one to the ground. if you are icarus, then he is the sun sending you plummeting down into oblivion.

but you want to touch him, you want to burn.

you want to feel alive again.

“let me draw you again,” and maybe it won’t be your best. maybe the slope of his chin will be crooked, maybe the intrinsic sparkle in his eyes won’t be quite right, but there’s a conviction present in your tone that causes him to smile.

day six.

“are you really trying to have a dick measuring contest with the seals right now?”

san francisco’s iconic pier 39 is abustle with tourists, but you and yeonjun are currently at the very back of the pier, where seals soak in the sun on little wooden docks constructed just for them. at the moment, yeonjun is trying to out-seal the seals with loud barks and hoots, mimicking their distinctive sounds. yeonjun is still making noises, people are starting to stare, and you are beginning to want to climb over the wooden fence and jump straight into the ocean. 

“yeonjun, please stop,” you plead, hands gripping the sleeve of his t-shirt, yet he doesn’t stop, honking back at the seals once they respond. you tug a bit harder. “c’mon, people are staring. the seals don’t care how loud you are, you’re not proving anything.”

“i’m proving a lot of things right now, actually,” he quips before he’s going back to making noises that are unbecoming of a human being. this feels like a cruel form of exposure therapy.

you try pulling at his sleeve again. “c’mon, yeonjun.” and again. “yeonjun!”

“okay, okay, i’ll stop,” he cackles, turning to face you. he’s close — too close to be considered platonic. his hands could come up and hold your waist right now, pull you closer into his chest. it causes you to take a step back, and it’s as if he can sense the heat radiating from your cheeks, leaning down towards you with a smirk. “you embarrassed?”

“of course i’m embarrassed,” you hiss. “how are you not?”

shaking his head, his grin grows impossibly wider. “if i buy you lunch, will you forgive me?” 

pretending to think, you look off to the side, then back to him. of course you will. “maybe.”

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs as he falls into step next to you. the air is much cooler here than at your other stops, a gray blanket of fog rolling in on the horizon that cuts into the clear blue sky. he sends you a hopeful look as he asks, “y’feeling clam chowder?”

with a tiny shrug, you confess that you’ve never had it before. with a dramatic hand placed against his chest, he gasps, “you live in the northeast, and you’ve never tried it? that has to be some sort of crime.”

chowder hut is his restaurant of choice, a circular, well, hut that sits by its lonesome across from the infamous pier. it’s a place he used to go when he lived in san jose and took day trips here with his cousins, he claims. the restaurant holds a lot of fond memories for him, this whole city does. you wonder what those memories entail.

“i got you a small one in case you don’t like it,” yeonjun says as soon as he returns with your food. a tray is placed in front of you: a round sourdough loaf carved into to create a bowl, filled with cream-colored, steaming-hot chowder thick with chunks of potatoes, pieces of bacon, and, of course, clams. digging a spoon in, you take your first bite — clean, briny, slightly sweet, bursting across your taste buds like tiny little firecrackers. your eyes widen at the taste, buzzing in delight against the spoon poised to your lips. he grins. “it’s good, right?” 

you hum in agreement, swallowing another spoonful. you’re crazy for never having tried this before. twenty-four years of living, and you had no idea what you were missing out on. you’ve missed out on a long of things, it seems, but you’re beginning to catch up on them with the help of yeonjun — as well as sakura and chaewon, of course. you could never forget about them.

“you’re forever going to be connected to clam chowder in my mind now, i hope you know that,” you say, tearing into the walls of the bread bowl. the remnants of the salty chowder have soaked into the bowl, mixing perfectly with the tanginess of the bread. yeah, you wouldn’t forget this in a million years; it’s too delicious to forget. 

“you do that too?” he asks. you send him a questioning glance. “like, connect people to food.”

“yeah, i guess i do,” you ponder. “my mom reminds me of this one dish she always made me as a kid. my best friend reminds me of wine, since that’s what we drank when we first met. it’s also her favorite. and now you…remind me of clam chowder.”

he chuckles, “great, i’ll always be the clam chowder guy to you.”

you giggle back. “it’s not a bad title to hold. you could be, i don’t know, the terrible clam chowder guy.”

“fair enough. i’ll take it,” he declares before he shoves the last piece of his bread bowl into his mouth. his cheeks puff out, similar to a chipmunk, and you resist the urge to chuckle at the image in your head. “now that i think about it, i don’t do it with just people — a lot of my fondest memories are connected to food, too. something human about it, y’know? food is its own form of love. or, at least, i think it is.”

“no, i completely agree. there’s something special about sharing food with others — it’s kinda intimate, i guess? especially if you’re cooking for someone, those are some of the most vivid memories for me.” 

nodding along with you, he’s leaning forward, elbows resting against the table. the corners of his lips quirk up. “you get it. the intimacy of it, i mean. my mom has always said that food is the best way to a person’s heart — food brings people together. it’s amazing.”

“yeah,” you beam. “it really is.”

for a moment, conversation ceases, the two of you smiling at each other, leaning forward over the table. your mouth opens to speak, but a loud caw draws your attention away from his hypnotizing eyes. you watch a seagull swoop in to harass a man that sits two tables over, his glasses skewed on his face as he tries to keep the bird from stealing his food. arms wave everywhere while the seagull screeches at him, flapping its wings on top of the man’s head. after a brief second of shock, the sight has you nearly doubling over with laughter, unflattering shrieks sounding from your throat. it takes a minute for your giggles to subside. while you wipe a tear from your lash line, you look back at him — and freeze.

he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, chin supported by his palm. his mouth curves into something serene and fond, hooded eyes scanning your face as you stare back. you’re no longer smiling, mouth parted as you wait for him to say something, anything. he doesn’t, so you move to break the intense air brewing between you.

“is…is something wrong?” with a flinch, his eyes blink rapidly for a second, coming back into focus. he sits up straighter, leaning into the back of his chair.

“i just— nevermind. sorry, spaced out there for a second,” his chin dips towards his chest before rising again, the tips of his ears flushing cherry. he looks nervous, almost. “um, if you’re up for it later, we could grab dinner at this korean restaurant i used to go to? it reminds me a lot of my parents. i think you’d like it.” 

while you’d rather ask where his head is at right now, what he was going to say before he stopped himself so abruptly, you say, “i’d love that.”

*:･

he was right, you do like it. 

the restaurant is cozy, a little hole-in-the-wall in the heart of the city where less tourists roam. the food is delicious, flavorful meats and fluffy rice and various veggie side dishes that you can’t stop eating. as he snaps some photos of the place, he tells you the decor reminds him of restaurants in seoul, of the mom-and-pop shops he’d frequent there. that at some point or other, some of the owners would start recognizing him when he came in and gave him extra food free of charge. 

“so you lived there for a while? in korea?” you ask as you watch him some meat for the two of you to share. the action is second nature to him, each piece staying on the grill for the same amount of time, flipped only once. you bring a piece to your mouth — it’s perfectly cooked.

“i was born there, in a town near seoul,” he says through a mouthful of rice. “moved around a bit, but i lived in seoul for most of it ‘til i was eighteen. then i moved to new york for college, but dropped out after two semesters to pursue photography. it’s been six years since i moved to the states.”

“you said you lived in san jose for a while earlier.” you tilt your head at him. “when was that?”

“ah,” he starts. “i studied abroad when i was in elementary school and stayed with some family there— do you want some more meat? i can order more.”

your meat supply has dwindled down to two pieces. there’s still room in your stomach, so you nod. “sure.”

he calls over the sole server on shift, speaking to him rapidly in his native tongue. the server glances over at you for a brief second before focusing back on yeonjun. out of their entire conversation, you recognize one word: friend. it’s a term that jennifer taught you a while ago, one that has stuck with you because she now likes to jokingly call you that every now and then. an inside joke between the two of you.

when the server leaves, yeonjun is left a flustered mess. your eyebrows raise. “why’s your face so red? what’d he say?”

“nothing! it’s just from the kimchi! it’s really spicy here,” he quickly claims before he’s gulping down half a glass of water. you, quite frankly, don’t buy it for a second, but choose not to pry. 

day seven.

of course, at least one thing has to go wrong on a trip like this. mechanical problems with the train has rendered everyone stuck in the golden city until tomorrow morning, at which another train will take over the rest of the trip. the station is across the bay, so amtrak has given every passenger a voucher to pay for a night’s stay at various hotels across the city — customer’s choice, no less. to be safe, you choose the one closest to the bar chaewon and sakura want to check out tonight. once you told yeonjun where you decided to stay, he used his voucher there as well. he wants to stay near you, he says, to make it easy to find each other.

today, the girls join you and yeonjun at pier 39. they partake in bread bowls, they watch yeonjun embarrass himself at the seal docks, they send you knowing looks when he pays for your food. when yeonjun finds a street performer with a dance mat and wastes no time in starting a battle against the guy, they tell you that he’s trying to impress you.

“he’s not,” you whisper to them. “that’s just how he is. i promise.”

night begins to fall, and they suggest going to a bar for dinner, more for the drinks and not the food. you accept, and in turn, so does yeonjun — though you immediately regret not thinking the decision through more. the bar is dangerous. not in an external hazard sense, but in more of a you’re scared of getting drunk and vomiting your blossoming feelings onto his shoes type of sense. you keep your drinking to a minimum, still on your first drink an hour in. next to you, however, yeonjun is starting to collapse in on himself, hunched over the counter of the bar as his third drink kicks in. a giggle bubbles up from your throat. you never pegged him to be a lightweight. 

“let’s get you some water,” you gently suggest, a comforting hand on his shoulder. waving the bartender over, you ask for a glass, helping him sit up and take a sip. his chin falls onto your shoulder this time, eyes hazy as he looks up at you with a dopey smile. 

“you’re really pretty, did y‘know that?” he slurs, leaning further into you as an arm wraps around your waist. his barstool screeches across the floor, shifting closer to yours. you freeze as shock fills your veins, nerve endings beneath his touch on fire. he pokes your warm cheek. “s’pretty.”

you blink. hard. “yeonjun, you’re drunk—”

“no ‘m not. ’m perfectly— ‘m perfectly fine,” the words stumble out of his pouty lips drenched in fatigue, his tone whiny and petulant, as he turns in his seat to wrap his other arm around your waist, forehead now sagging against your shoulder. your body stiffens up, tense muscles frozen in place as he continues his delirious ramblings. 

“i need to go to the bathroom!” you all of sudden exclaim, attempting to pry his arms off of you. he only squeezes you tighter, whining how you can’t leave here alone. you sigh, patting his hair, “you could wait outside?”

he accepts the offer, but doesn’t remove his arm from your waist as both of you stand. despite his almost six foot tall frame, you are forced to support him as he stumbles along towards the bathrooms and pray that you don’t twist an ankle in the process. when you reach the women’s bathroom, he still doesn’t let go. 

“nooo, don’t leave meeee,” he whines, pulling you back into his chest while your hand grips the door handle. calling his name, you slip your hands beneath his and grab them to pull them off of you.

“i’ll be right back, i promise,” you say once you situate him against the wall, his shoulder hunched and his head hanging down towards his chest. you give him a worried pat on his head before disappearing into the bathroom. in reality, you do not have to go. instead, you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your blown out eyes, feeling a scorching heat encase your face and spread down towards your chest. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

you wash your hands once. twice. three times, allowing the cool water to run over your heated skin. you splash some on the back of your neck. calm down. calm the fuck down. 

you are, indeed, not able to calm the fuck down before a flurry of knocks reverbates against the door. yeonjun’s voice follows soon after, asking if he can come in, if you’re okay. “why have you been gone for so longggg? i miss you!”

“no! don’t come in!” you yell, glad that all of the stalls are vacant. making your way back over to the exit, you wrench open the door and find him standing there, fist raised in the air as if he was going to knock again. 

he blinks once. then, an impossibly wide grin splits his face. “you’re back!”

stepping forward, you allow the door to swing shut behind you. arms wrap around you once again, but this time, you stumble backwards into the wall. when you look up, his face is just above yours. 

oh.

oh, fuck. 

this feels like a repeat of day one all over again, you trapped under his gaze, but this lacks the distance of that day. the unfamiliarity with each other. his hands haven’t left your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh over your thin dress, while the wall presses into your back. you have nowhere to go, but maybe you’re more drunk than you initially thought, because his lips look very inviting right now. you watch his eyes trail down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. his eyelids hood his dark, hazy pupils. the muscles in his neck contract, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leans closer, an electric attraction between your lips. you tilt your head, eye fluttering shut, moving closer, closer…

“y/n! there you are!” 

yeonjun jumps away from you as chaewon rushes up to you. her hands find your shoulders as she cries, “kkura twisted her ankle really bad! can you help me?”

you turn your head towards yeonjun, then back to chaewon, whose wide, rounded eyes plead you to come with her. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s go.”

yeonjun follows close behind, and all you can think of is what would have happened if chaewon didn’t show up. sakura’s ankle ends up being fine, and getting her back to her hotel room isn’t too difficult given the close proximity of the hotel. 

*:･

four days. four days you have known yeonjun, but it feels like it’s been years since you met each other. that fact strikes fear into your heart, remembering that the last time that this fast burn of feelings in your heart occurred, you ended up a brokenhearted mess for months. if yeonjun is the sun, his overwhelming heat melting you down into a puddle, then beomgyu was a black hole, all-consuming and ripping pieces of you away when he abruptly up and left. you’re unsure if you can go through that again, but at the same time, yeonjun doesn’t give off the impression of a drifter who wouldn’t tell you he’s leaving until after the fact. he’s a constant, a steady fortress. reliable, enduring. 

“good night,” yeonjun murmurs, both of you standing in front of your door. 

“good night,” you parrot back, rocking back on your heels, but you don’t really want him to go. knowing that isn’t realistic, you settle for opening your arms up towards him. for the first time, he hugs you good night, his lithe arms wrapping around your waist while he presses a drunken kiss into the crown of your head, and a feeling of being home washes over you. 

day eight.

he sits closer to you now. no longer is there a gap that separates your bodies, a full chair between the two of you. now, he sits right next to you, thigh brushing against your own. his hand sometimes finds your knee, never too high on your leg, never uncomfortable. just…there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. neither of you mention what transpired between you last night, his affectionate words, the mere centimeters that separated your lips before chaewon interrupted. nevertheless, an unspoken barrier between you has broken, its bricks torn down by the hands of intoxication — due to alcohol, but also because of each other.

the almost-kiss replays in your mind in a constant loop; the woody citrus of his cologne is still strong in your nose, the warmth radiating from his flushed cheeks a phantom against your skin. you want to talk about it. you want to rip open the memory like a pomegranate for the two of you to share, but you don’t. you don’t know what you would do if you ruined…whatever this is that you and him have going on. he’s become a sort of constant in your life that you don’t think you can live without. you like him; you can admit it now. what you feel is not just a mere attraction anymore, an artistic appreciation for his unique features. he brings out a brighter part of you, a part that has been buried deep into your soul over the years, beneath layers of grime and dirt and negative experiences that you won’t let go of. the gray film over your eyes has been wiped clean by him, him and his beautiful heart he so easily bares to others. his heart that is so full of love — love for being alive, love for others — you wonder if any of that love could ever be for you one day.

he watches you sketch, you let him snap photos of you doing so. you share a small bag of chips, greasy fingers brushing against each other during those times in which you both reach in tandem. for hours, you sit together in a silence that is no longer awkward, but soft and tender. shoulder against shoulder, skin against skin. words aren’t required, your actions speaking for themselves. you bask in it all.

day nine.

the space needle isn’t that impressive.

you’re sure it’s a much better experience when you’re at the top, but yeonjun shares a fear of heights with you, so there’s no way in hell either of you are going up there. instead, you stand beneath it, amongst an ever-moving sea of seattleites and tourists, and wait for chaewon and sakura to come back down from the tall building. 

at the beginning of this trip, you’d allow for a few feet of space between your bodies, but slowly, it’s diminished to a scant few inches. you don’t really register this gradual change, as natural as it was. every once in a while, his pinky brushes against yours. neither you nor yeonjun move to do anything about it, either by pulling away or linking them together — a state of limbo that is befitting for a pair of strangers falling for each other. to make the dive into the unknown or to stay on the surface where it’s safe, that is the question.

“how much longer do you think they’ll be?” you ask, staring up at the pointed top of the tower. the sky is gray today, a bit chilly, but it’s an expected sight in washington during this time of year. “i’m getting hungry.”

yeonjun huffs a laugh, lightly elbowing your bicep. “maybe we could grab something real quick. i saw this taco truck nearby—”

“y/n? is that you?”

you’d recognize that deep timbre anywhere. the man that dropped your heart on the floor and vanished from the earth before he could watch the aftermath, the man that you never wished to see ever again.

turning around, you find beomgyu.

your phone slips from your hand, clattering against the concrete — but you can’t bring yourself to check if the screen has shattered. instead, yeonjun grabs it for you, rising with it as he anxiously asks if you’re okay. you don’t answer, too busy staring at the man now standing before you. he’s changed; his shorter hair has grown out past his ears, dyed a warm brown, though his black roots are apparent; soft pastel pullovers and light jeans have been swapped out for black slacks and a dark brown leather jacket, clothing choices more mature than when you last saw him. why is he here? you thought he lived in san francisco — you would’ve been less shocked to run into him there, but in seattle? 

“i moved here a few months ago.” shit, did you say that out loud? “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’m on a trip,” you quickly answer, no further explanation leaving your mouth. 

he nods nonchalantly. you think you see his eyes flit to yeonjun for a second. “cool, cool.” 

“yeah.” why won’t he walk away already? your feet are glued to the cement, jaw tense as you try not to cry. the memory of him texting you that he had left the city and things between you won’t work out come rushing back. why now? how can he show his face to you after all he’s done?

he nods again. “are you here for long?”

“just— just for today.”

“well, i’d love to catch up with you before you leave. i’ve missed you a lot. maybe we could grab dinner tonight?” his smile is soft, hopeful — manipulative, in a way.

“i’m actually pretty busy today,�� you begin, but of course, you have no idea how to tell him no. “but maybe if i’m free later.”

“great!” he exclaims, hands now in his trouser pockets. he looks over at yeonjun again, the upward curve of his lips flattening. “i need to get going, but i’ll text you later. you still have my number, right?”

“i think so.”

“cool.” his smile grows excited. “see you later, then.” beomgyu turns to walk away with a confidence in his strut that he didn't have when he lived in new york. when he was dating you. how shameless can he be? soon enough, he disappears into the crowd. blinking, you wonder if that really just happened, turning back toward yeonjun. his jaw is set, eyes still staring at the point where beomgyu vanished. the gray clouds feel suffocating now. the cool air constricts your lungs. you want the cement to open up and swallow you when his hardened eyes turn to you.

“who was that?” yeonjun asks, tone casual, but there’s a…jealous? edge to his question. you’re looking into things too much — there’s no way he’s jealous right now. 

“...my ex,” and it hurts you to admit it. his eyes darken as he utters a soft “oh.” you sigh, “yeah.”

he won’t look at you anymore. why won’t he? you didn’t do anything wrong. you had no control over beomgyu showing up. he purses his lips. “are you gonna meet up with him?”

your head shakes on its own, words escaping before you can think about them. “i don’t know, yeonjun.” 

“okay.” biting his lip, he turns so that he faces the space needle again, stepping away from you. you feel like strangers again, an ocean of distance between you bodies. “yeah, okay.”

*:･

you don’t meet up with beomgyu.

meanwhile, yeonjun is nowhere to be found. after the beomgyu incident, the two of you waited in tense silence for your other friends to return. he then made up some lame excuse to leave, and didn’t turn back when you called his name. you haven’t seen him for the rest of the day, even when you return to the train. he won’t respond to your texts. eventually, you stop sending them; he obviously needs space for whatever reason, so you will give him it. 

the terrible, painful thought of ruining everything you had with him sits in the forefront of your mind, taunting you. the girls try to distract you, showing you silly tiktoks and youtube videos and the like, but you simply offer them a half-hearted huff each time. once you explain what transpired while they were gone, however, their tune changes a bit. 

“y/n, i’m going to be very honest, and i need you not to take it personally,” sakura replies. though your head lays on top of your folded arms, you signal that you are listening with a bob of your head. she continues, “your response wasn’t the best. it probably confused him, and now he doesn’t know if you’re still hung up on this guy or not. if one of his exes came up to him while with you, and he told you he didn’t know if he was going to meet up with them later or not, how would you feel?”

“shitty,” you mumble into your forearm. 

“exactly. so give him space for now, and when he reaches out, explain and apologize. you owe him that much.” sakura sounds just like jennifer — they’d definitely get along. 

“i know. i will.”

the waiter comes around with water, and you order a strong cocktail to go along with your dinner.

day ten.

“has he texted you back yet?” sakura asks for the thousandth time today.

when you shoot her a defeated glare, she gets her answer. no, of course he hasn’t. he hasn’t responded to you since he left. “you said to give him space.”

“yeah, but i didn’t know he’d fall off the face of the earth,” she shoots back. sighing, you tip your head back against the wall next to her bed. a lake passes outside, surrounded by tall grass and trees. small hills rise behind the blue expanse, but you don’t feel the same urge to grab your sketchbook and translate the view onto the page anymore. it’s funny, how easily one person can affect your mood, turn everything upside down with the mere lack of his presence in your life. 

“he just needs time.” chaewon opens a can of soda with a pop! and takes a sip. “maybe it affected him more than we realize.”

“‘cause that makes me feel sooo much better.” sarcasm drips from your voice. “i’m such a fucking idiot.”

there’s a half-day stop in glacier national park tomorrow. will you see him, or is he going to avoid you for the rest of this trip? will you ever see him again? the emotions that swirl within you are reminiscent of how you felt before you met him. that grayness. that sinking sensation festering in your chest that claws it’s way down into your stomach and shreds it apart. you said that you wanted to burn, you wanted it to hurt, but this feels all too fast. too much.

sakura makes a noise in disagreement. “no, it shows that he cares about you. you just have to make sure you clear things up with him, and tell him that you like—”

“if you’re going to tell me that i need to confess my feelings to him, i really don’t think i can do that.”

“why?” chaewon prods. “what’s stopping you? he obviously likes you too.”

beomgyu. beomgyu is the fucking reason why. you can’t bare your heart to someone again, lest you get hurt all over again. after all that has happened, if yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate, it will confirm your worst fears — that you aren’t built to receive love, no matter how hard you try to mold yourself into a person that is deserving. dread churns in your stomach, rises into your throat like bile, acidic and fervid, as thoughts of worst case scenarios where you pour your heart only to hear “sorry, i don’t feel the same way.” you can’t do it. you can’t allow yourself to spiral again. however, you don’t divulge your reasons for holding back, remaining silent as you trace the patterns on the ceiling. 

after a deep, shuddering sigh, you give them a three word explanation: “i don’t know.”

day eleven.

stepping off of the train into fresh air sharpens your dulled senses. the national park is beautiful, for lack of better words; thickets of trees spreading out in all directions as far as the see. the sun is rising over the mountains that stretch high above your head — you’re starting to enjoy this view more than the lifeless skyscrapers that await you back home. the train station looks more like a little lodge than an actual station, but you appreciate its quaint character. reddish-brown wood makes up the majority of the small-scale building. it looks like a place where people would spend the night in, with a warm, cozy fireplace in the wintertime, and wide open windows in the summer to allow the refreshing breeze to waft in.

meandering down the path behind the station into a field of tall grass littered with bunches of tiny, white flowers, you begin to reflect on everything that has happened on this trip. originally, you went on this stupid trip with the goal to find inspiration, and last night you had a very important realization: yeonjun is that something — you started drawing again because of him, you started looking on the bright side of things because of him, and most important of all, you fell for him. you didn’t just fall for him in the way an artist falls for their muse, no. you fell for him as a person. getting to know him has been one of the best parts of your trip, but now all of that has gone down the drain because yeonjun hasn’t responded to you in over twenty-four hours and you have not a clue what to do to try to make things right. if he doesn’t wish to speak to you, then that’s that. it’s over. whatever momentum this fleeting relationship had has been effectively pummeled into the dust that would blow away with even the gentlest of breezes. 

you wish you could appreciate this view more. your paints sit in your backpack back in your room, out of sight so that you don’t have to think about them, nor hear their pleas to be used. although you now know why you lack the drive to paint and draw and generally create once again, no clear-cut solution to your problem comes to mind. instead, you wander through the grass towards a large, squatty boulder, climb on top of it, and plop down. your knees curl up towards your chest while your arms wrap around them, fingers tracing random patterns against your shins. fatigue solidifies in your bones, but the tranquility of the early morning the quiet tucks a blanket of peace over your body, swaddling the edges around you, cocooning you in.

you sit there, taking in the sounds and sights of nature, for hours. the chirping of birds sings a melody over the whisper of trees in the breeze. a deer leaps across the open field, disappearing into the trees, her fawn following close behind. bighorn sheep graze in the distance, their circular horns reminding you of cornucopias. 

the rustle of trees and grass obscure the sound of approaching footsteps from your ears. it’s not until yeonjun begins to climb onto the boulder that you notice him. you hug your legs tighter to your body as he sits next to you, but not too close. an invisible wall separates you. he does not look remotely near your direction, his focus far out in the trees. staring at him, you wonder what to say. i’m sorry? i have feelings for you?

“i never met up with him.”

he still doesn’t spare you a glance. assuming he wants you to continue, you do. “i don’t know why i said what i said, but it was shitty of me to put you in that position, and i wanted to say that i’m sorry. i was just shocked, i guess. to see him. he ruined my perception of a lot of things, jjun.” jjun. that’s a new one. you are quite unsure where it came from, it slipped out before you could think. no matter, he’s looking at you now, and it’s your turn to look out towards the horizon. “trust, commitment, love…”

his gaze burns into your temple. you take a deep breath, fingers clenching the fabric of your jeans. “they’ve all been ruined for me. it’s hard for me to trust anyone after what he did. i’m terrified that the people i grow close to will wake up one day and leave me without a word. i’m scared that i’ll never get the closure i deserve when they do. worst of all, i’ve stopped believing that love is in the cards for me, like there has to be something wrong with me for him to have left me like that—”

“don’t. don’t you dare say that about yourself.” whipping your head around, you finally meet eyes for the first time in nearly two days. they aren't soft like they usually are when they look at you, but hardened, guarded. “there’s nothing wrong with you. you have every right to be hurt, and he’s honestly a piece of shit for doing that to you, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone that comes after him will be just like him.”

“i know, and i’m sorry. i know you’re not like him.” he doesn’t respond, and you begin to chew at the inside of your cheek. you watch an ant crawl its way across the rock beneath you. the small insect disappears over the edge. 

silence. you begin to count the seconds. one, two, three, four—

“i’m sorry for not texting you back. i just needed time to think about things. a lot of things,” he starts. “i felt weird, for some reason. didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “no, i understand. i forgive you.”

important words remain unspoken, but both of you refuse to address them. instead, his hand finds yours, he links your fingers with his, and both of you peacefully watch the sheep graze across the field.

day twelve.

not everything is fixed yet. 

despite being on speaking terms again, strain pulls your relationship taut. the unspoken words from yesterday hang heavy in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to give them a voice. you want to. your voice won’t work every time you try.

sitting next to yeonjun on his bed, you scroll through various forms of social media, bookmarking work that you find particularly interesting in between catching up on your friends’ posts. jennifer has been thoroughly caught up on what’s been going on after a long overdue apology for not responding to her texts. she understood, of course she did. she’s known you long enough to know how you can shut down whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed. 

“i’m proud of you for telling him. i know it’s hard for you to share, honey,” she cooed to you over the phone last night. “but you need to tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

you know that. you know damn well that once you get off this train, it may all fall apart, a budding romance distinguished by reality. there’s no security, no safety net for you to fall into if you take the leap, and while he showed you an inkling of how he felt yesterday, who’s to say he’ll feel that way tomorrow? the next day? are you willing to tear your heart open for him to consume if there’s still a chance of him throwing it away when all is said and done? 

you don’t know the answer to that question. honestly, you don’t know the answer to a lot of those questions, stuck in this state of self-imposed purgatory. to rise or fall, what is the best choice? you don’t fucking know.

“is that yours?” he asks from over your shoulder, at a ceramic piece in your feed made by one of jennifer’s acquaintances. his breath snakes warmly over the expanse of your neck due to his proximity, his head so close you could turn and just kiss him— 

stop it. 

“oh, no. um.” you shift away from him slightly. distance. some distance feels more comfortable right now. “i don’t sculpt. i just paint, and draw.”

he makes an ahhh of understanding, leaning back onto his palms, the mattress sinking down with his weight. he’s staring at you like he expects something from you. what shall you give him? when you don’t say anything further, he does. 

“can i see some of yours, then?” it’s an innocent enough request. rather than simply press on your account, your fingers move on their own until you reach your gallery. why? are you really about to bare your soul to him? you guess so, because he’s gently taking your phone from your fingers after gaining quiet permission from you. 

he asks you questions as he pulls up certain pieces. the thought process behind each one, what made you do this, place that color there, how you came up with the composition, what the meaning of it all is. you try your best to explain each one. sometimes, your choices were the product of spontaneity. you thought yellow would look nice at that spot, so you put some there. her nose is crooked because it gives the piece more character. the color of the drapes in the background are blue for no particular reason other than the fact that your reference photo had blue drapes. you continue in a cycle of question, answer, question, answer, and some of your answers are more emotional than others. you remember where you were, both physically and mentally, when making all of these. you remember the ones you made when you were having a bad day, the ones where you felt like you were on the top of the world. 

then, he pulls up one that you wish he didn’t. it was buried so deep into your gallery that you have no idea how he found it — your most dreaded hyperrealism piece: a woman lays on her back, hair fading into the foreboding, void-like background. her face is twisted up into an abject sadness, a deep-seated pain that even now, you have no idea how you captured so vividly. her veiny left hand is splayed next to her head, thin crimson threads tied to each finger so tight that she has begun to bleed. the strings fall limp beside her, severed from their counterparts that meander off of the canvas. more red threads loop their way around her neck, pulled taut as if to choke her — and to her throat, she holds a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, hand gripping the metal tight enough to pale her knuckles. 

it’s dark. it’s terribly dark and you wish he never saw it. why did he have to see it? why did he have to choose that one? the world tilts on its axis as he stares down at the picture of your most soul-baring work, though you think it would be worse if he saw the actual painting in person.

“what’s the story behind this one?” he asks quietly. your lungs expel all air, and you’re left gaping for more. breathe, come on, you have to breathe. your inhale is shaky, shuddered. breathe. say something.

“that one…” your voice trails off into something quiet. scared. “i made it when i was in a really— really dark place mentally, um. i made it mostly because—”

he’s looking at you now, concern shining in his irises, but you push on. 

“because i stopped believing in fate.”

while you could say more, you stop yourself there. you hate digging — digging into your deepest fears and emotions that you keep locked behind a wall so that you never have to feel them. a pandora’s box sits in the center of your heart, wrapped with chains to keep them imprisoned. somehow, though, you think yeonjun knows what you really want to say: you meeting each other wasn’t fate to you, but a gross series of coincidences, and when he asks if you think so, you simply nod.

“but out of everyone on this train, i met you. i got to know you — shouldn’t that mean something? can’t that be considered fate?” he presses. something akin to desperation laces his words, an urgency you’ve never heard from him. 

it sure feels like fate, doesn’t it? after all of those times that you ran into him, how he found you in the observation car when it was just you in there, how your feelings have unfolded like taking apart a paper crane in the short nine days you have known each other — it feels like it should be fate, you want to admit that all of it does seem like the universe’s divine intervention. maybe you running away was really just you trying to deny your fate to meet yeonjun while on this train. maybe him finding you was fate, an apology from whatever is above for what they put you through a year and a half ago.

“i think—” you hesitate. “i think so. it’s hard for it not to when i feel like i’ve known you my entire life.”

and you sit there and he’s smiling at you like you just created the earth with your bare hands. chicago passes outside the window. the sun shines high in the sky over the high rises, glints across glass panes and into his room. all you have is one more day on this train, and most of it will be spent sleeping tonight. he’ll wait for you tomorrow, right? would he wait for you forever?

“you know, i tell most people that my name is daniel.”

tilting your head, you echo, “daniel?” 

he hums as he scoots a bit closer, planting his feet on the floor next to yours and leaning forward. his knees support his elbows as he stares down at the floor. “it’s my english name. i used it when i was in college, i use it for my work, but for some reason, when i met you, my actual name, my given name, came out instead. call me silly, but i think my heart knew you’d become someone special to me. i wanted you to use my actual name — the one my parents call me. the one my closest friends call me.”

“oh.” why does your chest feel so tight right now? 

he sucks his lips behind his teeth for a moment. “yeah.”

sitting there, you wonder how you should respond to that. words expelled like an exhale of air, colliding with each other in front of your eyes, unable to be unscrambled by your mind. this time, it’s you who reaches over, closing the distance between you with a hand over his. his palm flips open to meet your own, your fingers linking together like matching puzzle pieces. you take a deep breath, and squeeze. 

“thank you,” you whisper. thank you for being here. thank you for helping me find myself again.

day twelve (point five). 

“i’m gonna miss you guys so much!” 

chaewon is basically on the verge of tears at this point, constantly blubbering how she is going to miss hanging out with you every day as she pulls you and sakura in for a hug over and over again. sakura laughs as she pulls away for the thousandth time this afternoon. “girl, it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna meet up for coffee soon, right?”

she looks towards you, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “right. i’ll invite my friend too. she said she’d love to meet you guys.” 

chaewon’s pout doesn’t vanish, but she looks a little less emotional after all of your reassurances. blinking back the remnants of her tears, she nods with a watery “okay.”

you bring her in for one more hug while sakura asks, “have you seen him yet?” 

“no, i haven’t heard from him since last night.” your teeth worry your bottom lip, peeling a piece of raised skin off. the sensation stings. 

her lips purse sympathetically, a hand being placed on your shoulder. “i doubt he’d leave without saying something to you, don’t worry. he has to be around here somewhere.”

“yeah, you’re probably right.” as chaewon pulls away, you check your phone again. no texts or calls yet. doubt ricochets around in your brain, but you know yeonjun; he wouldn’t do that to you. 

“i’d love to wait with you, but my manufacturer is pissed i didn’t call them back yesterday, so i should get going,” sakura admits with an apologetic smile. her fingers squeeze your shoulder one time before her arm drops back to her side. 

“i should go too,” chaewon sadly adds, kicked puppy eyes in full effect. “my cat is waiting for me. my friend said she was a little demon the whole time i was gone.”

“it’s okay,” you laugh, shooing them away jokingly. “you guys can go. i’ll be fine.” 

with a last group hug, they grab their suitcases and head towards the hallway that connects the train station to the subway lines. sakura twirls around, walking backwards as she calls, “keep us updated! we need to know everything,”

“of course!” you yell back, grin widening. chaewon turns back too to wave, and you wave back. eventually, the crowd swallows them up, and you are left alone to wait. a few minutes pass, and you realize that this sea of people will likely make it impossible for either of you to find each other. his contact is pulled up on your phone, your thumb hovering the call button. you look around one more time—

and he’s standing right there, mere feet in front of you, in all of his glory, long hair still flopping into his face, eyes still dreamy and all-consuming. you stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other with stupid, goofy grins overtaking your faces. long legs carry him over to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in his arms and pulled into his strong chest. you bury your head into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“thank god,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “i thought you might have left already.”

pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous stare. “what in the world made you think that? i was waiting for you.”

his ears tint an opaque red, the raised apples of his cheeks flushed a similar hue. he’s bewitching, and despite knowing that since the very first day — the day that you drew him for the first time — there’s so much more to him than looks to you now. he’s beautiful in both body and soul, in heart and head. one hand removes itself from your middle to cup your jaw, steadying your gaze with yours. your heart pounds, knees weak like a newborn doe’s as he stares deep into your eyes. blinding are the emotions swirling in his dark irises, but it doesn’t burn anymore. it’s more like the caress of the sun in the springtime, bright yet gentle in its own right. 

“this feels long overdue for me to say,” he begins, eyes closing as if to steel himself. when he opens them again, resolve has been added to the mix. “but i have feelings for you. i’ve never fallen for someone so quickly. i’ve never met someone like you, and i just— i knew, from the very day that i saw you, that we’d have something to do with each other. and then we kept running into each other, and i just thought wow, this has to be—”

“yeonjun,” you call, interrupting his ramblings. he pauses, eyes wide and anticipatory, as your hand moves up to cover his on your jaw. you can’t help the tremble in your lips as you speak. “i feel the same way.”

his lips purse, hiding a smile, before he surges forward and embraces you for a second time. the pure, unadulterated joy that the action brings you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you’re almost…sad, when he pulls away.

“can i take you out on a date?”

the question throws you off kilter, and you have to catch yourself before you fall face first into his chest. “like, right now? with our suitcases and everything?”

“i’ve done much worse,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair, only for the locks to fall back down into his eyes. “but i meant later today, maybe? around six? i have to go take care of some things i neglected before i left.” 

“that sounds wonderful,” you gush. despite your best efforts in keeping your excitement to a minimum, you bounce up onto your toes for second, heels sinking back onto the floor. you swear he mumbles a quiet “cute” under his breath before he’s slipping his hand into yours.

“perfect,” he beams, before he playfully continues. “shall we be off to the subway then, my lady?”

giggling, you fall into step next to him, your arm swinging with his between you. “we shall.”

*:･

he’s right on time to pick you up, dressed casually but not too casually. a cool beige, short-sleeved button-up is tucked into a pair of straight-legged black jeans that stop at his waist. the chunky converse on his feet cause him to be a bit taller than usual. evidently, he is distracted by his phone, head ducked down as he waits for you to show up.

“yeonjun!” you call out, causing his head to snap up. once he does, you find that he’s somewhat styled his hair back — most of it has been swooped back towards his ears. a few strands fall into his face, but his forehead is fully exposed, and he looks…amazing. sometimes, you wish you were a poet instead, because then you’d have the words describe what you were feeling, what you were seeing. his jaw drops at the sight of you, dolled up in a jean skirt and frilly tank top over a thin long sleeve, your makeup soft and flattering to your features. 

“hi,” he breathes, and you repeat the greeting back to him. “you look…wow.”

“thanks,” you, biting your glossy lip. as his focus flits down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh, you shyly smile, releasing it. a shock runs through you, new and carnal and it warms your stomach when he bites down on his own lip for a split second. “um, i know we didn’t really talk about where we were going to go, but there’s a thai place down the street from here, if you wanna go there? it’s my favorite.”

“of course,” he accepts, offering his arm to you. you loop your own through, standing close to him with your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow. “lead the way.”

now that neither of you feel the need to skirt around your feelings, silence no longer lingers between pauses in conversation — both of you are able to pick it back up with ease. you meant it when you said that you feel like you’ve known him your whole life, and it reflects in the way you banter with him without worry or care. it’s…nice, freeing, not having to think too hard about what you’re about to say. natural. everything with him feels so natural. 

when both of you are sated, in both terms of food and conversation, he offers to walk you back to your apartment. the sun is beginning to set, and the sky has faded into a wash of rosy pink. the hue reflects the giddy feeling churning in your chest, rendering you light-headed and dizzy and fuck you just want to kiss him—

and he does. standing in front of your apartment building, he swoops down and captures your lips with his. slow, unhurried, his lips taste sweet like thai tea and are as soft as clouds. no one leads the other, no one moves to deepen the kiss. no, instead, you and yeonjun savor the taste of each other, the syrupy, vertiginous feeling of your first kiss together. when he pulls away, his lips have a slightly swollen quality to them, though you’re sure own look the same. you don’t want him to leave yet. you want more, you want something carnal and irrepressible that, by the way he’s looking at you, he wants too. playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, you pant against his lips. “come inside with me, please?”

soft eyes darken, and he takes your breath away once more with another kiss, hands squeezing your waist. once he separates your lips from his, he rests his forehead against yours. nerves flutter in your stomach. “okay.” 

you find it terribly difficult to keep your hands off of him as you unlock your door, as it shuts behind you. for a minute, you stand there, waiting for something, anything to happen — then he’s crowding you in against your door and his lips are on your again. although there remains an air of softness, urgency fills the gaps where your lips don’t quite meet as they meld together, his tongue slipping into your mouth to curl with your own. your shoulder blades press into the cool wood of your door, the warmth of his body against your front a dizzying contrast to your scattered mind — but you want more. you want him.

when he slips a knee between your legs and knocks them apart, you let him. when he presses that knee into your core, encourages you to grind against it, you let him, you listen. whining into his mouth, you tug at his shirt, at his belt loops, his hair — anything you can get your hands on, you’re pulling at it, grinding down harder as his jeans rub your soaked panties against your aching pearl. a cry rips itself from your throat, mouth leaving as your head is thrown back against the door. “y-yeonjun—”

“patience, love. i’m gonna make you feel good,” he mumbles as he ravages your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. his hands have snuck beneath your shirt and smooth over your stomach up to the cups of your bra, squeezing the flesh over the fabric. as you raise you arms, he helps you pull your top off, the article thrown onto the floor without ceremony or care. his hands loop behind your back, fiddling with your bra clasp. “can i?”

“please,” you keen, and he wastes no time in doing so, expert fingers sliding the straps down your arms until your bra, too, lays on the floor. lips find your right nipple, enveloping the pebbled flesh in a warm wetness that causes your back to arch into him. one hand pulls you into him, while the other tweaks your other tit. his teeth graze it, and the stinging edge of painful pleasure causes you to shiver. he hums, vibrations causing you to moan his name louder, plead for him to do more. leaving your breast, his mouth kisses and laps at the skin of your stomach. down, down, down, until he drops to his knees in front of you, swiftly unzipping your skirt and pulling it off of you. lips find your thighs, biting down lightly, and you squeak, hand finding his hair and pulling. he looks up at your through his lashes, absolutely depraved and almost drooling for more. you gulp, legs almost giving out under you as you smooth your hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have fallen into his face back. “can we— can we move to the bed?”

immediately, he stands, pulling you behind him before he’s placing you onto the edge of your bed with great care. before he can fall to his knees again, you curl your shaking fingers into his shirt. “take this off? i wanna see you.”

with a huff of a chuckle, he does as you ask, revealing a toned stomach, broad shoulders, muscled arms. your tongue darts across your lips as you drink him in, causing him to smirk. “like what you see, pretty?”

“y-yes,” you stutter out, quiet and wanting and full of lecherous need. your thighs attempt to squeeze together in order to provide some relief to your pulsating core, but his legs stop them from fully closing. his fingers find your jaw, squeezing the flesh. your cheeks heat up. 

“so fucking cute.” the praise sends a white hot streak through your stomach and into your center. your face is on absolute fire now, vision growing hazy around the edges as you watch him sink down between your thighs, your panties quickly discarded to reveal your center to his eyes. two fingers trace your folds before dipping beneath them to find your entrance. his eyes widen at what he finds, fingers coming back up coated in your wetness, glinting against his fingertips and knuckles in the light streaming in through your windows. “you’re so wet, baby. this all for me? a little kissing got you this needy?”

“mhm— oh,” you gasp when he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking on them lewdly as he refuses to tear his gaze from yours. he moans at your taste, hot tongue swiping up the remnants that accidentally smeared onto the corner of his lips once he removes his fingers. his smirk returns, hands sliding under your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth. you sit up on your elbows to watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, hands holding you open for him. there’s nowhere for you to hide, as he traces your folds with his tongue, dipping into your entrance and swiping up to your clit. crying out, your fingers find his hair in an ironclad grip. he groans against your pearl, your hips bucking up into his face before his arms snake around each thigh and hold you still. he alternates between circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it between his plush lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he loses himself in your taste. meanwhile, you’re already so close to the edge, you can feel your walls begin to clench around nothing, your hips jumping up as far as he allows. as he dips down to your entrance, his nose bumps against your clit, but his tongue is back in no time to continue its assault on your poor little clit. “jjun, ‘m gonna, please, ‘m gonna—”

“cum,” he mumbles against you. “cum f’me, pretty girl.”

with his permission, your head falls onto your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your vision spots white. cries pour from your lips like honey for him to drink, but you never quite come down fully. rather, he keeps circling his tongue against your clit through your high, and as your orgasm subsides, another one already begins to build. tears prick your eyes as you plead, “jjun, no, can’t, i can’t, nonono— i can’t!”

“yes, you can,” he murmurs, removing his arm from your right thigh. his lips don’t leave your clit as you feel two fingers slip into your soaked entrance, smoothly thrusting in and out and curling up into your upper wall until he finds that soft spot inside you that has your voice shattering into shards of moans and staccato wails. he groans against you as he feels your walls clench, the pace of his fingers unforgiving as he coaxes another mind-shattering orgasm from your body. your fingers flutter around his walls, watery hiccups torn from your throat. this time, he slows down, helps you ride out your high, before he removes his fingers, licking his lips of your essence as he does. climbing onto the bed, he hovers over you, taking in your spit-slick lips and tear-lined eyes. he wipes the tears away with gentle motions, cooing when you whine. he sits there until you come back to him, lucidity shining in your eyes as you blink them open. smiling, you pull him in for a languid kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before he pulls away. 

when he caresses your cheek with his thumb, asking you if you’re okay, you lean into his touch, “mhm, want you to fuck me.”

“i can do that,” he laughs, causing you to reciprocate. standing, he slips his jeans and boxers down his thighs until he’s left in nothing, hardened cock veiny and flushed an angry red. you think it’s an average length, on the thicker side, the girth causing your mouth to water. as he runs his hands up your thighs, he asks, “d’you have any condoms, love?”

while you’d rather him fuck you raw, you know it’s safer this way. you point towards your nightstand. “there.”

as he fetches one, you scoot into the middle of the bed, watching him roll it on before he returns between your thighs, pumping his cock once, twice, lining it up with your entrance. his free hand grips your waist, watching as you move your hips to try to slide him into you. smirking, he presses his hips forward, cockhead dipping past your entrance. both of you moan at the sensation. slowly, he works his cock into you, little rolls of his hips until he’s seated fully within you, hips flush against your pelvis. 

“move,” you whine. “please move.” and that’s all it takes for him to swiftly pull out and slide back in again. as he thrusts into you again and again, his movements grow rougher, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot each time. moaning, you reach up towards him, forcing him to lean over you so you can kiss him again, swallowing each other’s sounds. he’s just as loud as you, praises falling naturally between his breathy moans. 

“feel s’good, baby. so fuckin’ tight and wet f’me. so unreal. d’you feel good, too?” he coos against the shell of your ear, warm breath curling against your necks. your walls clench around him at his desperate sounds.

“s-so good, jjunie,” you hum, feeling your third high of the night approaching. the knot in your stomach grows tighter as his thrusts grow sloppy, chasing his high as much as you are. a thumb moves down to rub your sensitive clit, quick little circles against the bud until your limbs are locking up, quaking as you finally cum around him. a few seconds later, his high hits him as well, his hips quivering as he spills into the rubber with a loud groan. 

slowly, he pulls out, ridding himself of the condom and soon returning to the bed to plop down next to you. arms pull you in close as you both pant and grin tiredly at each other, basking in the quiet that permeates the air, and he stares at you, dulcet eyes boring into yours. 

“what’re you thinking about?” you decide to ask, poking the center of his sweat-beaded forehead. taking a moment to respond, he pulls you even closer so that your noses almost touch. 

“it’s just— there’s this concept in korean — inyeon,” the timbre of his voice raises slightly as he switches to his native tongue, and lowers again when he switches back to english. “that, um, it means…”

his cheeks are growing the slightest bit pink, a shade that reflects the cotton candy clouds that float past your windows. squeezing his hand, you silently urge him to continue, soft gaze finding his own. a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, his jaw, naked skin pressed against naked skin. together, whole, one.

he starts again, “there’s no direct translation, but it basically is fate. strings of fate. i truly believe the universe has connected us in some way, whether it be through some invisible red string or another force. and i know, i know what you said about fate, but i can’t stop thinking about how we found each other. there’s something beautiful about starting off as strangers and getting here. i don’t know, i’m just rambling at this point,” he chuckles, burying his nose into the pillow under his head. “i’ve just never felt this way about someone before. i’m sorry.”

with a gentle hand, you cup the side of his face, forcing him to look back at you. “don’t be sorry, that’s beautiful, and i think—” you sigh, blinking back tears that threaten to fall. “i think you’ve changed my mind about fate. i’ve also never felt this way about someone before. i feel like you know me on some level that no one else does. you just. you just get it, and i—” 

you don’t think this is quite love yet, but you believe what you’re feeling within your chest, tingling all over your body, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to it. he smiles, whispers a small, soft, “i know,” and lips find lips once more. hands find hands, and you feel alive. you feel like everything that you see is now in vivid technicolor, no longer masked by a veil of gray.

and when you wake up tomorrow, you think that you’re going to start a new painting.

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[thesirencult]

THE TRUTH ABOUT ESCAPING TWIN FLAMES AND OTHER MLM NEW AGE BULLSHIT

"You don't get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion."

L. Ron Hubbard (Founder of Scientology)

I won't lie to you. What got me into tarot was a very raw and real dream about a man I've never met in my life. I had this dream when I was 15 and it felt like I was floating in a parallel universe.

Dreams with this "stranger" kept coming and going and during a search I stumbled upon the concept of "twin flames".

As with anything NeW AgE it is nothing new. All New Age bullshit are concepts familiar to human civilizations for thousands of years. In all ancient cultures these concepts show up again and again.

Astrology, cartomancy and other forms of divination and guidance have been used by Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Greeks and Hindu people for centuries. They were villainized after the come up of Christianity.

I always have believed there is a higher power. Some name it Allah, others Moses, other Dias etc. Doesn't matter, it's one God above us. Actually contrary to what many want you to believe the Ancient Greeks didn't have "12 Gods" but 12 (and much much more) expressions of DIVINITY. Metaphors and symbolisms.

Hermes Trismegistus has written everything about "manifestation". Others just repackaged it. Some help us understand the concept and others just want to make a quick buck.

All people have some primal needs. Connection and love. Money and wealth. Wanting to be beautiful and powerful. Some people prey on that and, in my opinion, the self-improvement industry will only keep on growing.

The concept of twin flames can be found being expressed by Socrates in the dialogue "Symposium" by Plato :

“Now, since their natural form had been cut in two, each one longed for its own other half, and so they would throw their arms about each other, weaving themselves together, wanting to grow together...

This, then, is the source of our desire to love each other. Love is born into eve­ry human being: it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.

Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole, because each was sliced like a flatfish, two out of one, and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him."

Sidenote: Obviously I used only two snippets of the dialogue. Socrates' stance on homosexuality and other matters of love can be found in there and it is a good read. It will definitely show you that some concepts have been around since humans walked on this earth.

Moving on, I want to give you some tips on how to best use astrology and tarot/oracle cards as TOOLS to better yourself.

1. First try them yourself.

Don't let others dictate how you see astrology and tarot. Go online and search up your birth chart on astroseek or visit the Light Seer's Tarot/Muse Tarot website which has an incredible pick a card feature.

Don't contact an astrologer or tarot reader before familiarising yourself with the tools and "taking the magic out" of them.

2. No one and mean NO ONE can predict the future 100%.

In our lives there are moments who seem synchronized. They make you believe in fate. I do believe that God intended for us to live through some things but I also absolutely believe in FREE WILL. I always say that to clients especially those who have tarot readings.

Tarot and astrology can help you see the paths laid in front of you. They help you dive in your unconscious mind. Don't let anyone fool you that they are magical and whatever the cards say can not change.

3. If you purchase a reading don't purchase a love/romance one at first.

Don't get me wrong. I love love and romance. I love doing love readings. They are sweet and sexy.

BUT. Even in my love readings I incorporate a "general energy of you" for the person. I do that cause I want to show to my client, who trusted me and chose me that a tarot reader can be vetted.

Sadly even with PAC readings I can see that the romance ones are read and reposted way more than ones that assist with personal development. I try to keep a balance and do both.

The thing is a good tarot reader, astrologer even a therapist or a fitness trainer want to help you become INDEPENDENT. I don't want you to keep coming back and purchase love readings about your ex.

It's toxic. I won't accept that.

4. You are perfect the way you are.

Telling you that "yeah, you have an issue right here and it can be fixed by doing so and so" is okay.

Telling you that "YOU SHOULD LOVE YOURSELF. YOU DON'T LOVE YOURSELF THAT'S WHY YOU WON'T FIND LOVE UNTIL YOU DO THAT" is toxic. People control you this way.

It's like saying give me more money. Ask me how I can make you LOVABLE.

Your other half won't cheat, manipulate or make you feel awful. Your ex who was an asshole is not your Twin Flame.

Light up the flame within and love out your dreams. You will attract people who will adore and love you by being AUTHENTIC.

Anyone that abuses you and puts your flame out should GO.

5. All big corporations prey on your weaknesses & Do not trust anyone who tells you they are the only ones that can set you free or solve your issues.

Be disciplined. Control yourself and your mind. Read "The 48 Laws Of Power" and other books on influence and manipulation. Learn how narcissists and cult leaders operate.

All big companies do not sell you products (I will probably post this part by itself too).

They sell you emotions, feelings, status. BMW doesn't sell cars, it is selling power and prestige and confidence.

Nike doesn't sell shoes and shirts, it is selling dreams of being powerful and different, of making it in the jungle, of WINNING.

But there are some companies which I'M NOT GOING TO MENTION by name who influence you by breaking you down. Astrology apps that send you negative predictions about your day to make you anxious so you will check back every single hour. Cult like influencers who sell "How to get rich quickly" courses that cost thousands of $ and offer no value.

Be careful. Be prepared. Be strong and firm.

I hope everyone who was taken in this cult (wait ! myy username is the siren cult, lol) can find peace and the power within them.

[barszcz-czerwony-i-biali]

JVP Haggadah review part 2

Now we get into hand washing and I'm just really baffled by these people's obsession with water. Like you'd think water was Hashem given how much they blab on about it. Anyway this section just reads like something you think is deep at fourteen but isn't.

"As Humans, we are made of water: water, amniotic fluid, holds us in utero before we emerge into the world, and water holds our brains to float safely in a cocoon of cerebrospinal fluid. Water holds our tears. A human body can only live for about three days without drinking water. Water is our life."

Wow a normal blessing (well the Hebrew) what the fuck is this translation.

I don't know why but I have issues with like the weird insistence of always using feminine words for Hashem. I think personally speaking a gendered language, masculine has always been the default and I personally hold the view that Hashem is not human and therefore is beyond such concepts such as gender. Therefore I feel no reason to inscribe my gender upon Hashem. There's just something that always weirds me out with this kind of thing, I don't know why.

"Flowers caressed his portrait as though they too felt the pain of his departure."

Again why the fuck is this written in the type of prose you only write at age fourteen?

"There’s a pasuk that mentions observing the (festival of) matzot for all generations to eternity. I notice the roots, the similarity between matzot and mitzvot. What are my personalcommitments to liberation and how am I approaching them for myself and future generations?"

I fail to see how these statements connect with one another.

"Shula Etta Pesach: I’ll be honest: Maror has always confused me. In most Ashkenazi Jewish communities, the spicy horseradish is conventionally used as Maror. Horseradish is both an ingenious substitution for the bitters and a blatantly different aromatic. Originating as a diasporic adaptation, and a later rabbinic interpolation, horseradish arrives on the Seder Plate in the absence of seasonally available wild bitter greens like lettuces, dandelion leaves, and wild radish. But horseradish is not bitter—it is hot. To me, horseradish’s presence is a sign of cultural hybridity and the changingness of tradition. But it is also an invitation. What if I honor the horseradish with ritual power and elevate it beyond a substitution?"

This feels vaguely like those people who over emphasize Ashkenazi traditions in order to distance themselves from our roots and it rubs me the wrong way, also bro you are talking about horseradish, the fuck kind of ritual power in horseradish do you think there is besides clearing your sinuses

"With korech, each bite is mourning. We mourn Jewish communities lost to the power of domination

and ownership; to control and unhealed trauma. With korech, each bite is connection. We have built, are building, and will build the communities we need to sustain our journey to justice, freedom, and healing. Let this be the taste that lingers."

Why the fuck does this sound like you think we are personally responsible for our loss. Last time I checked it wasn't the jews that locked other Jews in a synagogue and set it on fire with everyone inside.

"We cannot in good conscience sit down to enjoy festive seder meals as a state acting in the name of the Jewish people is weaponizing starvation against the Palestinian people. We will not be complicit in genocide."

This reeks of Martyr and saviour complexes and self flagellating to an annoying degree. Again you are allowed to experience joy. This kind of shit is so fucking annoying

Bro the dinner is the best part of any Seder smh.

Something about this again rubs me the wrong way. Making a whole to do in a community event about pledging to donate. It seems disrespectful and awkward.

Oh and apparently Tzedakah boxes are bad so they had to invent tikkun Olam boxes smh

I'm beginning to hate the phrase tikkun Olam

"When thinking about the act of searching, our minds may go to the hundreds of thousands of Gazans searching for family members, friends and colleagues buried beneath rubble. To the millions of Gazans displaced from their homes, searching for somewhere safe to be. What are we searching for and uncovering in our commitment to Palestinian liberation?"

Next we get to the afikoman, and we are supposed to imagine we are looking for bodies. This just reminds me of when I went to my Catholic family's house and they offered me opłatek and said it was jesus' body and I was like what the fuck???

This sounds like someone who is still mad at their parents for not telling them that Santa isn't real.

So Judaism without Judaism is what I'm gathering from this Haggadah. Believe whatever new age pagan things you want, I could care less, you do you but don't call your beliefs Judaism.

More prayers about water smh

Bro your feelings are not Miriam's

Miriam unlike these idiots endured suffering and therefore understood that joy isn't something to take for granted.

A yes the prophet Melissa

"There is a family waiting for you

Called a movement"

Ummmmm how are you not aware of how culty that sounds

Bird language????

What the fuck is a story doula and I got issues with shtetlcore because listen it wasn't all fiddling on the roof (see mentioned earlier part about being locked in a synagogue and burned alive)

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Do you know Parents Trap? It's a pretty old movie about two twin sisters separated by their divorced parents. One lives with her father in Napa on a vineyard, and one lives with her designer mother in London. They meet unexpectedly at camp at the age of 12 and decide to switch places, impersonating the other to meet the other parent and force them to get back together. There's a funny scene where one girl has to have her hair cut and her ears pierced because of this plan, which immediately makes me imagine Spider having to cut his hair and Hunter being terrified when Spider informs him that he has to have his ears pierced. I wonder how this would work in Blood Brothers (if Hunter and Spider were twins, who would take which child and who would be the first to realize something was wrong?)

lol I hope when you say old movie your talking about the one from the sixties and not the Lindsey Lohan one from 1998 because I’m almost two years older then that movie. 😭 (don’t worry though I legitimately find this funny)

So yeah I grew up on that movie. I think I got this idea off of tumblr years ago, I’m not really sure, but it was pointing out how insane in concept the Parent trap is. Like how is a parent going to choose one of there kids over the other and then just act like that kid never existed. Absolutely wild. And then the girls switching places instead of just calling their parents out? Matching crazy to crazy.

So my idea for why Quaritch and Paz split in the first place. Obviously they met and fell in love during the war. They had two kids, though in this concept I’m going to say the boys aren’t twins. They’re two years apart like in Blood Brothers. Being at home alone with the kids and a little postpartum depressed Paz starts thinking about everything she did during the war and regrets it deeply. She wants to make amends by going back to Pandora to help the Na’vi however she can. She floats this idea past her husband and he just laughs at her. The need to right her wrongs is so strong that Paz decides to take both the kids and leave. What she didn’t expect was that her husband would come home early on the day of her escape. Spider was already in his car seat but Hunter hadn’t been strapped in yet. Quaritch takes the baby away and the two get into a massive fight that escalates more and more until Quaritch is telling Paz she’s gone crazy and he threatening to put her away. Paz in a panic manages to get in the car and drive away. It cleves her heart in two but she vows to get her youngest back one day.

Quaritch is equally devastated to lose his wife and oldest son. In the following days weeks and months both parents try to fight in court from across the globe to get their other child back but nothing ever comes of it. Spider is raised in Pandora by his mom. Paz works with the late Dr.Augustine’s team as their pilot. Hunter is raised by his dad as a military brat but the kid has no interest in any of it. He likes to read, stay inside, build models and play chess. Quaritch does his best with him but Hunter makes him feel like a moron. He thinks the kid could use a summer outside, hiking, canoeing, doing archery. So he sends him to summer camp.

Spider has already been sent to that summer camp a few years in a row. His friends Kiri, Lo’ak, and Neteyam split their time between to u.s and Pandora so really he just goes to have an excuse to hang out with his friends more. You know the story from their Spider and Hunter get into shenanigans and arguments until the camp counselors force them to stay in a cabin together to work out their differences. They start opening up to each other, one thing leads to another and they realize they’re brothers. They think on what to do. Now I’m of two minds about this. One they just straight up face time their parents. They are side by side, looking so much like each other that it’s unmistakable that they are brothers. Spider calls his mom and she goes pale at the sight of her youngest son. Spider is just like, “hey mom what the fuck?!” Hunter calls dad and is a little nicer. After his dad greats him Hunter wordlessly turns the phone so his brother is in frame then says, “I think you forgot to tell me about something.” Both parents would be getting on the first available plane to try and get to the camp before the other so they could just straight up take their other kid leading to then reconnecting and their kids forcing them to have a calm conversation with each other.

The other idea is still kind of the Parent Trap just without them trying to look like the other. The boys just straight up switch the pictures in their passports and the name tags on their duffel bags. Once they get to the airport they part ways Hunter going to Pandora and Spider to Washington D. C. Quaritch is waiting at the airport, worriedly looking around for Hunter. Instead his heart completely stops when a tall teen built like tank with a wild mane of chest length curls braided with beads approaches him with a mischievous grin on his face. He knows instantly that’s his Miles jr. Spider dramatically drops his bag at his dad’s feet, holding his arms out wide, “hi there dad.”

The boy is being sarcastic but Quaritch is so happy to see him after all this time that he pulls his son into a tight hug. Spider is stunned. From everything his mom told him he expected his dad to be an emotionless military drone. This? Tucked under the man’s chin, being held like a life line and in public no less? It stuns him so much that he just hugs him back.

Hunter was nervous as hell to meet his mom. He steps off the plane and she’s just right there. She’s only surprised for a moment before she’s all over him, hugging him tight, peppering his cheeks and the top of his head with kisses. She’s crying and it makes Hunter cry too. Not that his dad doesn’t give him affection but this is different. This is his mom.

The boys explain everything. They want a chance to get to know their other parent for the remainder of summer. Then before they have to go back to school the four of them will meet up at a hotel to figure things out. Quaritch and Paz agree. They’re both just so happy to make up for lost time.

Spider wants to make things hard for Quaritch since he knows his dad is a bad guy. His dad tries to buy him new clothes because Spider is wearing “rags”. it’s hot as hell so around the house he dresses like he would in the jungle. If they go out he doesn’t really want all the attention on him so he wears shorts and cropped t shirts. Quaritch hates it. But when Spider gets his new clothes he just destroys them.

His dad makes little comments about his hair like “wouldn’t you be more comfortable without that mane of yours.” Spider’s just like “nope.” He spends even more time putting it in intricate styles because he knows it annoys Quaritch.

Spider tries to embarrasses his dad in front of his friends, he acts like a “savage” in public, he finds every way he can to torment his father. And it somehow makes Quaritch love him more. He knows the boy is just acting out because he thinks his dad is bad. Why wouldn’t he when he grew up in Pandora. So he enjoys doing nice things for his kid to try and change that perception.

Spider calls his dads cooking flavorless, unseasoned white people shit. Quaritch lets him pick a restaurant to go to instead, even if it’s over an hour away (which Spider totally does to test his dad’s patience.)

Quaritch invites Spider to go to work with him and Spider accepts but dresses in his loin cloth and accessorizes to Eywa. Quaritch just proudly pats him on the back in front of his colleagues and says, “look at this kid of mine! 16 years old and he’s stronger then most marines!” Spider actually blushes and later changes into some gym clothes.

Spider makes a scene climbing the displays at the mall. Quaritch takes off work for a week so they can go on a camping trip. He’s grinning ear to ear watching his son shimmy up a tree with all the grace of a monkey. Spider would be embarrassed as hell if his dad said it out loud but Quaritch thinks it’s really cute. They bond a lot on the camping trip. It’s everything both of them ever imagined doing with their father/son. On the last night they’re star gazing, content in the silence when Spider asks, “dad? Do you ever regret what you did in the war?”

“Would you feel better about me if i did?”

“Yeah I would actually.”

Quaritch sighs, “I tell myself I was just following orders. That I did what I thought was best for our country…”

“But….”

Quaritch takes a deep breath, “no buts. That’s how I get through the day.”

“By shoving it down and not thinking about it.” Spider mumbles. Quaritch hears him but chooses to ignore him. The conversation does give Spider a sliver of hope that maybe his dad can change.

Meanwhile Hunter is having a time. He’s shy and prefers being indoors so he clings to his mom and never wants to leave the labs. Paz is super patient with him though. She’ll hold both his hands and ask gently, “why don’t you want to go outside sweetheart?”

“Because it’s a jungle! There’s wild animals and poisonous bugs and it’s hot and humid and I just don’t want to!”

“Your brother and I have lived here for years and we’ve been okay. Plus where going to the village. It’s perfectly safe there…”

“But all the people. Won’t they hate me?”

“Why would they hate you?”

“Because of what dad did…”

“What your dad and me did has nothing to do with you. Just be kind. Everyone will love you.” It’s the gentle reassurance Hunter has always needed. He’s still incredibly nervous when they reach the village.

Mo’at is the first to approach him smiling warmly. “Welcome to our village. I hope you are not as wild as your brother.”

Hunter actually laughs a little, “not by a long shot.”

“Good. Come I will show you around.” Hunter is in awe as they walk around. The warriors are cool of course but Hunter is mesmerized by the crafts people. Weavers creating gorgeous brightly colored, intricately designed textiles. Potters painstakingly making beautiful ceramics works. Wood carvers perfectly carving the jungles wild life. Paz sees him watching and encourages him to ask to join. Hunter’s extremely hesitant. It takes days of his mother’s gentle coaxing but eventually he does. Crafting actually helps Hunter open up. After a few weeks he’s almost a different kid, happily running around with other children, excitedly racing up to his mom to show her the garment he wove himself or the jewelry he strung together with beads he made. Every day he’s eager to get to the village, practically pushing Paz out the door.

I still do like the idea of the boys assimilating a little bit and the makeovers you mentioned from the movie I think are a great way to bond with their parent.

Quaritch has a poker night every once in a while. Spider has never played before but he’s a quick study and soon he’s dominating the game. They’ve played a few rounds and Spider is feeling overconfident. Everyone but his dad has folded. They both go all in. Then to make it more interesting Spider proposes a bet. Quaritch laughs, “what do you even want?”

“I don’t know. You can reconcile with mom? Move closer to Pandora so we can at least see each other more often? Apologize to the Omaticaya?”

“Alright, alright. And what do you have that I’d want?”

Spider’s hand is so good that he doesn’t think twice about saying, “you can cut my hair. However you like.”

Quaritch chuckles, “okay kid deal.” He lays down his hand. And it’s the ultimate winning hand. Spider’s stomach drops. He lost.

His dad’s team is laughing and hollering behind him. They excitedly start setting everything up, Mansk grabbing the kitchen chair, Lyle raiding the bathroom for a pair of clippers, jokingly reveing it close to Spider’s head. Spider just goes into himself, so sure that Quaritch is about to give him a buzz cut.

Quaritch on the other hand sees how utterly devastated his son already looks and takes pity on him. When his son had been cocky and made the bet in the first place he had totally planned on giving the kid a buzz cut. But seeing his face - he just can’t do that to him. He’s not going to do nothing. They did make a bet after all and you reap what you sow. He cuts Spider’s hair to his shoulders. His team boos around them wanting more of a show.

Spider is stunned in the best way. He can most definitely live with this. It’s the same length as Lo’ak and Neteyam’s. He can still style it in braids, it feels ridiculously healthy and while he hates to admit it, he is more comfortable. It’s so light, making the summer heat much more bearable. But more importantly Spider’s so happy to see his dad put his wants above what he thinks is socially appropriate. After that Spider starts to wear the “nice” clothes Quaritch buys for him but he does still customize them, embroidering them with symbols and patterns unique to the Omaticaya.

Hunter silently longs to pierce his ears. He really likes the look on the villagers and he’s even already made some ear rings for himself but he’s terrified of the pain and blood. Paz can see right through her son though and says, “sweetheart, do you want to pierce your ears?”

Hunter denies it but his mom takes his hands saying gently, “it’s okay if you do. It really doesn’t hurt and there’s hardly any blood. You’ll be just fine. I promise. But if you really don’t want to I’ll drop it.”

“No i.. I do. I want to.”

Paz smiles gently, “ok then. Let’s do it.” Hunter lays in his mom’s lap. She lovingly strokes his hair while Mo’at readies the needle. When Mo’at approaches Hunter’s panic starts to flair and he starts to squirm. His mom starts to hum a song, steadying him with her hands. And it works wonders. Looking up at his mom Hunter feels incredibly safe, like nothing bad could ever happen to him again. His ears are pierced quickly and nearly painlessly. Hunter wonders why we so scared in the first place.

As the summer draws to a close both parents try to cram in as much as they can. Quaritch teaches Spider how to drive. Paz teaches Hunter how to dance, something the boy was incredibly awkward at first until his mom got him to loosen up. As they dance Hunter can’t help but ask, “mom? Do you still love dad?”

Paz might of well has been slapped, “that’s….complicated sweetheart.”

“Why?”

Paz really doesn’t want to explain all the pain behind their last meeting or the worse pain that comes from thinking about everything they had before that and everything they could have had after if things had been different. Her son isn’t her therapist and she’s not about to burden him with any of that. “It’s been a long time,” she settles on, “we had a good life together and I love him for that time. I love him for giving me you and your brother.”

“But now?”

Paz just smiles sadly, “now it’s been a long time.” Hunter drops it after that.

A few days before their due to meet with Paz and Hunter, Quaritch throws a party for Spider. Low key he’s terrified he’ll never get to see his eldest ever again. So they’re having a bonfire, Quaritch’s entire team is there, they’re playing music and just having a good time when Quaritch asks Spider, “do you want to try a beer?” Of course he says yes. One beer leads to another, then another, and then his dad is giving him his first shot of whiskey too. Father and son are drunk off their asses, cuddled up by the fire when Spider asks, “do you still love mom?”

Quaritch is so trashed he doesn’t even think about his answer, “yeah I do.”

“Then why don’t you fight for her,” he slurs.

Quaritch shrugs, “she left me. She made it pretty clear how she feels.”

“You haven’t even talked to her in years!”

“And she hasn’t tried to talk to me either!”

“So you’re both being stupid.” Quaritch just stews in his annoyance. “Come on! Don’t you miss her? Don’t you want us all to be a family?”

“Well of course I do.”

“Then swallow your pride and fix things with mom!”

So that’s playing in Quaritch’s head as they walk into the hotel. Paz is nervous as hell too. They haven’t seen each other face to face since the day she left and that was messy to say the least. All other communication about a custody agreements (or lack of since they never agreed on anything) went through their lawyers. The tension is cut when they all come into view and the kids immediately run to their other parents. Quaritch scoops Hunter right up and hugs him close. “Jesus what have they been feedin’ y’a kid!” Hunter is noticeably taller and put on some muscle. His hair grew longer, nearly as long as his brother’s. When Quaritch tucks the curly strands behind his ears he notices they’ve been pierced. He doesn’t approve but chooses to bite his tongue. Hunter’s not just physically different. There’s a confidence and energy in his eyes that’s never been there before. He’d hate to dampen that by making a negative comment on something Hunter clearly liked.

Spider and Paz are similar though Spider is so much bigger than his mom that he picks her up for a hug. They both intentionally squeeze each other as hard as they can. When they break apart Paz takes him in, touching the ends of his hair in amazement, “did hell freeze over?!”

Spider just laughs, “lost a bet.”

“To who?”

“To dad.”

Paz’s eyes go wide, “and you still have hair!? Paz is legitimately impressed. She had worried about her eldest for sure, knowing that him and his father would butt heads. And when someone fell out of line for Quaritch he put them in their place. But her son looked so happy. He wouldn’t act this way unless he’d had a really good time with his dad.

The boys share a room at the hotel while Paz and Quaritch have their own. They’re all going to have a family dinner that night but in the meantime Spider and Hunter are swapping notes. Dad still loves mom. Mom’s feelings are complicated. If they could just get them talking maybe they had a chance at reconciling. And if they could create a romantic date to reignite that spark between them then maybe they could be a family again. So they start scheming. They ask for a private dinning room which the hotel concierge surprisingly gives them (he lives for the drama, is typically board as hell, and saw an opportunity for shit to get messy) Spider is FaceTiming Kiri as they set up the room because, “I don’t how to be romantic! This shit is gross to me!”

“What makes you think I know!”

“Ah, all the shitty rom-coms you make me watch at sleepovers.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love roasting them with me.” Spider just nods in shameless agreement. In the end the room is beautiful, decked out in flowers and candles. Quaritch’s eyebrows raise in surprise when he sees it but says nothing. Paz stops in her tracks looking around in awe before taking her seat. The boys side eye each other, glowing with pride. The dinner starts off smooth. Spider and Hunter are manly recapping their summers. Their parents are happy to listen to them, occasionally interjecting with a joke or a correction to the story. It all feels so nice. “I need to go to the bathroom,” Spider says abruptly, rising from his seat.

Hunter, catching what his brother is doing, hurriedly follows after him saying, “me too!” They run out leaving their parents completely alone. There’s no where for the boys to hide so they go back to their room.

The atmosphere turns incredibly awkward between Paz and Quaritch. “You look really good,” Quaritch says.

“Thanks,” Paz says, not looking at him, taking a deep drink from her wine glass.

Quaritch sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

Paz nearly chokes, “what?”

“I said I’m sorry. For not takin’ y’a seriously when you said you wanted to make up for what we did in the war. For all the things I said to y’a during that fight. For keeping Hunter from you…”

“I said some pretty terrible things to you too. And I kept Spider from you.”

Quaritch takes a deep breath. He wants to say more. Tell her despite it all he still loves her. Beg her to just come home. But he doesn’t. In stead he asks, “can we just come up with a custody agreement? I’d rather have both my boys for half the year than have one all the time and never see the other at all.”

Paz nods. If she’s disappointed then she doesn’t allow herself to feel it. “Agreed. I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually. If I stay in Pandora then there’s no way we could share them on a weekly basis…”

“You could always come home,” Quaritch blurts out, immediately turning red.

Paz’s breath catches for a moment. She chooses to ignore his comment and the way he’s looking at her so desperately. “I’ve been home schooling Spider but I don’t think I can give him or Hunter the education they need. So I think it’d be best for both of them if they stayed with you during the school year…”

Quaritch is shocked. He’s getting the better end of the deal for sure and he’s thrilled but at the same time can’t stand seeing Paz so upset even though she’s trying to hide it. “During their breaks I’ll take’em right from school to the airport. I won’t waste a second. You’ll have them all Christmas and Spring break and summer. And you’re always welcome to visit! It’s still your home…”

Paz feels like she might cry from the storm of emotions brewing inside her, “thank you,” she says softly, her voice breaking slightly. They eat in complete silence after that.

The next day they tell the boys the new arrangement. Neither of them are happy but Spider is the most upset. “I don’t want to live in America with dad! I want to stay with you and go back home!”

“But you liked living with your dad over the summer…”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stay with him!” Quaritch is definitely hurt by that but chooses to not say anything.

“Sweetheart it’s not fair to keep you from your dad. He loves you just as much as I do and he deserves to spend time with you..”

“He doesn’t deserve anything from me! What about what I deserve! Don’t I deserve to live where I want. Or pick which parent I want to live with!”

“Baby I just want what’s best for you. The school Hunter goes to is amazing. You’ll get a better education and have so many more opportunities in the future because of it.”

“I don’t care!”

“Stop yelling at your mother,” Quaritch commands. “You don’t think this is hard for her! She loves you both more than anything! I know she’d rather keep you both here with her but she’s sending y’a off with me instead because that’s what’s best for y’a. So shut your mouth right now and be good because you will be going home with me Miles. There’s an easy way of doing that and a hard way. You will not like the hard way.” Spider scowls at the ground angry at his father but feeling guilty for how he treated his mom.

When they go to the airport it’s a long sad goodbye. Hunter clings to him mom not wanting to lose her again after just getting her back. Spider is angry at having to go. His dad is still prepared to drag him onto the plane kicking and screaming. His mom strokes his hair, gives him hugs and kisses, a soft sad smile on her face. She promises to call all the time and assures him that everything will be okay.

It’s when the plane takes off that Paz breaks down, sobbing without a care for who sees her as she watches her boys be taken from her. On the plane itself Hunter is staring dead eyed out the window. His dad is rubbing his back to comfort him but it’s no use. When Quaritch tries to do the same for Spider his son flinches away from him hissing, “don’t touch me!” Quaritch drops it and lets the boy simmer in his rage. It’s after they’ve been cruising for a while that Quaritch starts hearing soft sniffles from his eldest. When he looks at him Spider is pointedly looking away but there are tears in his eyes. Quaritch doesn’t try to comfort him with words. He pulls Spider into his side and presses the boy’s head onto his shoulder. Spider doesn’t fight it. He’s to upset over losing his entire way of life. He starts bawling. His dad hugs him tight, petting his hair, wiping his face. Hunter starts crying seeing his brother cry and Quaritch tucks him into his other side, holding them both close the entire way home.

Once they settle in at home Spider is openly hostile to his dad. He picks fights with him every chance he gets. When his dad tries to show him a little bit of affection, like smoothing out Spider’s bed head in the morning, or giving him a pat on the back, Spider flinches away from him hissing and glaring like an abused cat. He’s no better at school either. Spider was relieved to find out the private school he’d be going to was the same one the Sully’s attended. He got pissed again when his placement exam put him three semesters behind where he should be. His teachers and dad all come up with a game plan to get him on track but that basically ment he’d be working on his gen eds with no room in his schedule for any extra curriculars like art or music and he’d have make up work to do over every vacation. So needless to say Spider acts out to try and get himself expelled. He’s in detention almost every day because of it. His principal has the counselor test him for behavioral issues and lo and behold he has A.D.H.D. Spider’s pissed about that too because now his teachers are willing to help him even more. No amount of acting out gets him detention after that, just a trip to the school counselor. Nothing short of assaulting another kid could get him kicked out now.

Him and his dad are constantly fighting. Quaritch tries to stay patient but firm. It doesn’t really work though because when Spider starts yelling, Quaritch’s voice starts getting louder and louder. Poor Hunter is stuck in the middle, hiding in his room with his ears covered trying to block out all the screaming, wishing his mom was there.

The boys FaceTime with their mom every day after dinner. It’s two in the morning her time but she stays up for them. They’re nothing but happy smiles and excited conversations when they’re on the phone together. Then the moment they hang up they all go back to being sad and bitter. Paz is a wreck outside of those phone calls. She’s definitely depressed. She doesn’t want to eat, can’t sleep but doesn’t want to get out of bed either. Her work suffers and everyone around her begs her to get help. The only bright spots in her day are her calls with her kids and the texts Quaritch sends to her. He takes pictures of the boys all the time - when they’re eating breakfast with their eyes half open, doing homework at the kitchen table, playing video games or watching tv together. He gives her constant updates on their day to day and always asks how she’s doing. If she needs anything, if he can do better with communicating to her. That old spark of love slowly starts to flicker again.

Meanwhile Spider and Hunter make quite a few changes to Quaritch’s house. They paint the walls one weekend when Quaritch is on a business trip turning the once beige house into an explosion of rich blues, burnt oranges and forest greens. Hunter, having learned crafting from the Na’vi, weaves brightly patterned blankets and pillows to decorate. He takes pottery at school bringing home a bunch of ceramics pieces that he proudly displays all over the house. Spider steals money from his dad to buy a bunch of house plants and start up what was once Paz’s garden in there backyard. Quaritch was pissed as hell, grounded Spider for a month for stealing his money, and made him do every chore around the house until he’d “paid back” what he had taken. The boys love working in the garden though. It makes them feel closer to their mom and Eywa. It’s the only time they really feel content and it makes Quaritch smile watching them.

It’s mid October when Paz calls Quaritch. He picks up before the first ring is done sounding. Paz hesitates for a moment and then says surprisingly timid, “I was thinking about visiting this weekend. If that’s okay…”

“Of course it is,” Quaritch rushes to say, “you’re welcome to stay as long as y’a like. I’ll take off work and pick y’a up from the airport.”

Paz doesn’t know why she feels so relieved to hear him say that. He had already assured her that she was always welcome. “Thank you. Don’t tell the boys I’m coming though. I want to surprise them.”

That Friday the boys walk out of school to their dad’s typical pickup spot. Only to stop short in surprise when they see both of their parents waiting outside the car for them. “Mom!” They both shout in excitement as they run into her arms. In that moment Paz is the happiest she’s been in months. Quaritch takes them all out to a nice restaurant and then an arcade. They have an absolute blast and for a moment Paz and Quaritch forget the rift between them.

Quaritch was more than willing to give up his room to Paz but she declines, taking the guest room instead. The boys are so excited to show their mom their garden and all their artwork. They stay close to her as much as possible, dreading the day she’ll leave again. Quaritch is quietly savoring it all too. His son’s are so much happier with their mother there. Hunter is so much more energetic, happily running around the house after his brother, showing off his latest creation to his parents, helping with cooking and cleaning wherever he can. Spider is much more relaxed. He doesn’t pick fights with his dad anymore. He’ll let his dad show him affection, even enjoys it now. He works hard in school and never acts out.

Paz was always an active, inquisitive person. She goes with Quaritch to drop the boys off at school, then rides with him to works so she can take his car during the day. She likes to go to the park for a walk or the library to check out books she finds interesting or dvds she thinks her family will like. She’ll go on little adventures like going to small local shops that look interesting to her or driving somewhere random just to explore. She’s always back in time to pick up Quaritch from work, then the boys from school. At night she loves making dinner with her sons and helping them with their homework. They’ll all watch some tv together before heading off to bed. Paz and Quaritch always linger for a little bit waiting for the other to say something other than goodnight. They never do.

A weekend visit turns into a week trip, then a multi week trip and soon it’s been a full month. Paz has no desire to leave. Quaritch throws another bonfire one weekend for no other reason then he wants to before winter fully takes hold. The boys happily play fight with each other. Paz is wrapped up in a blanket watching them with a smile. Quaritch is right by her side, itching to hold her. He’s scared to say anything that might drive her away but he’s still pining for her hard. “This is really nice,” he says.

“It is,” Paz says dreamily

“I think we’ll have the best Thanksgiving and Christmas we’ve ever had this year.”

Paz is shocked thinking about how much time she’s already been here and how fast it’s all gone by. But still she wants to stay, “I think we will too.”

Quaritch’s heart is racing. Tentatively he puts an arm around her. Slowly Paz sinks onto his chest. They say absolutely nothing to each other. And then Spider looks over at them. “Dad still loves you,” he yells to his mom.

“Miles!”

“He told me when we were drunk!”

Paz laughs, “you let our 16 year old drink?”

Quaritch shrugs, “I was worried I’d never see him again. I wanted to have his first beer with him.” Paz is smiling at him with soft eyes.

“Just kiss,” Hunter yells.

“Alright parties over,” Quaritch says getting up to heard his boys into the house, “time to go to bed.”

Once the boys are gone the adults finally talk. “Spider wasn’t lying. I do still love you.”

“I….i still love you too..”

“But?”

“But we need to work on some things. Couples counseling for starters and maybe…”

“You want me to try to make up for what I did in the war.”

“There’s no making up for the things we’ve done. We can’t bring back the lives we took or restore the land we destroyed.”

“So what’s the point?”

“The point is that it’s the right thing to do. To try and be better. You’ve always wanted to be the hero. The brave military commander doing what’s best for your country. But all that’s a lie. No hero would ever do the things we’ve done. So for once fight for yourself. Save your soul Miles. Be the real hero our boys will actually look up to.”

Quaritch thinks about it for a long time before finally saying, “I’ll try. For our family, I’ll try.” Tentatively Paz kisses him. It’s a small innocent kiss as if testing whether the spark is really still there. And it is. They go from that kiss to desperately making out, to spending the night together.

Too bad for them Spider catches them coming out of the same room the next morning. “So,” he asks with a wry knowing smile, “how’d you sleep last night?”

“Go get your brother. We’re having a family meeting,” Quaritch says.

“Why? Are you having another kid after last night?”

“Go get your brother!” Spider runs off cackling.

So yeah I think you can pretty much see how’d it wrap up from there. Paz and Quaritch work on their relationship, Quaritch works to be a better man and they all live happily ever after. I honestly got really carried away with this one for some reason. I just kept getting ideas and couldn’t help myself. I really hope you enjoyed it though! 💞

Edit, if you want some bonus content from this au you can check out this post where I wrote some additional thoughts and better explained ideas I couldn’t find the words for in this post.

[writer-or-whatever]

The body swap WIP! I love that trope🤭

It's a good fucking trope! Although currently that fic sort of exists just as a bulleted list type outline, not any concrete scenes yet (despite the fact that it has been nebulously floating around in my brain for like a year). Anyway, please enjoy the concept:

AU where soulmates swap bodies for 24 hours. This happens when one of them needs the other most instead of some arbitrary age. Peter, of course, is alone in NYC post-nwh and after Ned and MJ go away to college. 

The bodyswap happens on a completely mundane Tuesday. Peter hasn’t even had any kind of big spiderman fight, and MJ isn’t in any kind of trouble beyond the six courses she’s taking this semester (it’s slightly too many, or so Ned keeps saying, but she needs to keep herself busy to keep her mind off the gaping hole she feels in her life but can’t really get her head around) 

When they swap, Peter does his best not to panic. He goes through his day, doing his best to channel his inner MJ (which, shouldn’t be too hard. He is in her body) and not clue anyone in. He finds her class schedule, goes, takes notes, and lays low so she doesn’t fall behind. He makes it almost all the way through the day before Ned finally catches up to him and almost immediately clocks that he is, in fact, not MJ. Cue the great grilling for information.

Ned is so excited for MJ, for both of them honestly—even though he doesn’t know Peter—and Peter feels so so bad for clamming up and skirting around so many of his questions, giving just the most perfunctory answers and trying not to break down at having his best friend’s enthusiasm aimed at him again. Ned assumes that MJ is the one who needs her soulmate, he knows about her unease and the feeling that she’s missing something big—knows about her lists and drawings of a boy they don’t know (but that looks so familiar somehow) and the feeling of loss that she tries to play off every time he asks. 

Peter feels like he’s been punched in the solar plexus for the entire conversation. He had no idea that MJ was feeling like this. He hadn’t realized that everyone that forgot him had a Peter Parker sized hole in their lives. He didn’t realize it was possible for anyone to miss him so much, especially when they never even knew he was missing. Peter gets so worked up about this that he actually vomits. Ned is so so worried, but before Peter can really say anything one way or another, he’s back in his own body. 

Meanwhile MJ is having quite the Tuesday. She wakes up in this sad tiny cramped apartment back in New York. It takes her approximately five minutes to come across the spidey suit, which is draped over the shower curtain rod drying. It takes her even less time to find the picture of her, Ned, and the boy whose face she is currently wearing. 

She gets that same sick feeling in her gut and buzzing in her head that she’s had for months, every time she tries to figure out what the hell is missing. She still doesn’t know all the details, or any of them really, but the weird holes in her life and in her and Ned’s friendship seem to be adding up to the shape of this boy—of fucking spiderman apparently (and why does that information give her a bit of smug satisfaction? Not that her soulmate is a superhero but rather the fact that she’s figured out that this boy is spiderman). 

She digs around his entire tiny one-room apartment and lays out everything she finds and deems another important piece of the puzzle. She finds a few more photos of them, a lego star wars figure (notably one of the ones that Ned has complained he’s missing from one of his sets), and then the fucking note. The one he wrote to practice telling them who is he is. The one where he tells them all about who he is (Peter Parker), and who he was to her and Ned. Upon reading this, she has a vague memory of this guy walking into the diner she used to work at and giving her his whole name with his order of a single small black coffee before he left. 

Suddenly she is so so angry. It comes from somewhere deep inside her, deeper than the well of the strange sadness she’s been dealing with for months. She doesn’t remember knowing Peter, but somewhere deep inside her she remembers being devasted by something he’s done. 

It’s almost midnight, so she doesn’t have time to do much other than leave him a short note that she leaves on top of all of the other things she’s dug out over the course of the day. It just says ‘You owe me an explanation, Peter’ and her phone number. 

This is, of course, a bad things happen bingo prompt fill so I'm leaving the ending a bit open. So yeah. That's the bodyswap au WIP. Thanks for asking 🥰

[beetlesau]

Share A Seat, Bakugo/Reader

1.4k - Colleting the small UA group heading off to Summer Camp as counselors. The van has limited seating. This is just a drab I have been wanting to read but I have yet to find one. (If anyone knows a similar concept PLS LINK??? LINKIES???) so I made a small one for myself. Enjoy, or don't. That's okay. [I didn't proofread but this COULD be gn I think?] Aged up, Cursing,

Summer was in full swing. The AC blasting throughout Midoriya's van was soon to be a distant memory as he picked up the old UA gang one by one- destination, a Sleep-away camp, where third years had the unfortunate pleasure of being camp counselors.

Kirishima and you were the first passengers. He took advantage of this by taking control of the AUX and sitting behind the driver. You claimed the legroom riding shotgun. Within an hour, the van was filling up with familiar faces and, as well, entirely too much luggage.

Mina sat in the middle row, Kirishima to her left and Kaminari to her right. By no surprise to anyone who knew the boy- Denki had managed to pack even more than even Mina. Their luggage and duffle bags crowded the third and final row, leaving a small spot for their last two passengers, Bakugo and Uraraka.

As Midoriya pulled into the driveway of the former, onlookers met an angry scowl. "You're late." he seethed as he strode up to the window, shooting Deku a terrifying snarl with you caught in the crossfire. "Ah-ha, yeah, sorry. We had a hard time getting the duffle bags in the back arranged so we could make a spot for you." Midoriya nervously apologized. "Save it, nerd," he dismissed him before giving you a subtle nod and a grumbled, "Hey." Before you could think to reply, he was shoving Kaminari aside to gain access to the last row. You turned to watch him shove his bag onto the ever-growing pile of clothing and camping accessories, finally settling in with his earphones.

The last stop is Uraraka. This stop was met with a much more agreeable greeting, as she was running out the front door with a glowing smile and a float in her step. You rolled the window down, "Do you need any help with your bags? Is that all you're bringing!? Where's the rest of it?" you were taken aback that she seemed to have even less than Bakugo had. She blushed and looked to Izuku who was tomato red already. "Well, we were so excited to be a part of the Future Heroes Camp as counselors that we sort of planned all our outfits ahead of time and I ended up just leaving them at Izuku's place! So most of my things are actually packed away already in the van. These are just my toiletries and such." she smiled brightly at the embarrassed green-haired driver before poking her head in your window and checking the scene in the back. You could see her excitement falter as she noticed there wasn't much room left and the last spot was in the very back next to the grumpiest guy. "Do you want me to see if we can rearrange the luggage again to make more room for you?" Mina suggested, "I'm sure we could toss out one of Kaminari's bags, I bet he packed more than one useless hairdryer." she rolled her eyes. "What!? It's my back up dryer!" "Why would you need a backup one!?" "Uh-duh, in case the first one breaks?"

"WHAT'S THE HOLD UP, DEKU!?" Bakugo's voice thundered over the two arguing. "Sorry!" "Eep! Please, it's alright, I don't want anyone to make any changes for me… I'll be alright." Uraraka smiled her sweet sincere smile before taking a strained deep breath. You could see her swallow hard as Kaminari stepped out so she could easily push up the seat, accessing the back row.

Against your better judgment, you spoke up before she could hoist herself in. "Wait, how about you take my seat? I've been shotgun for the entire pickup, I don't mind taking the back for the rest of the way." You ignored the tiny excited gasp only you could hear coming from the driver's seat.

"I'll take it!" Kaminari shouted, sticking his grabby hands out at your chair. You, admittedly with satisfying force, karate chopped his forehead and shoved him away from you and your passenger seat.

You deadpanned, "I didn't offer it to you, chump, now move aside. Ochako?" "Well, if you're sure? I really don't want to be a bother to anyone…" she wrung her hands together.

"You're bothering me, you idiots!" Bakugo carried on but was, for the most part, ignored. "Ah! Okay! I'll trade you. Thank you so much! I owe you one, really." she bowed and hurridly scurried to replace you in the front spot.

You were feeling pretty well about your good deed till you found yourself in a tighter spot than you'd first expected. "Wow, there really isn't a whole lotta room back here is there, huh?" you muttered to your new seatmate.

"Tsk. Whatever, just get in already. It's bad enough I got ropped into riding with you all when I could of just drove myself." he scoffed.

"Why didn't you then?" you used every bit of muscle you had to try and widen the nonexistent gap between Bakugo and the bags, to no avail.

"Shitty hair said it would 'be a bonding experience!' and that 'carpooling is manly and saves the ecosystem!' I don't know, some other shit sprinkled in there. Basically, agreed just so he'd shut the hell up about it." Bakugo didn't attempt to make more room for you.

You sat awkwardly, leaning on your hip into the luggage, attempting the most dramatic leg-cross just to avoid putting any weight on Bakugo's thigh.

"Oh. Well, good thing he didn't get that message to Todoroki or we might have a real problem on our laps." you rolled your eyes at yourself, hoping he missed the stupid joke. "That Half-and-half rat bastard is probably sitting real comfy all by himself in the most expensive car daddy's money can buy." Bakugo's leg started to bounce in irritation before he realized it was propelling you further into the baggage. "Sorry." he mumbled out low enough you almost missed it. "Suppose we could find time during our month-long camping trip to dirty it up, would that make you feel better?" you look over your shoulder, giving him a mischievous eye. He tried to hide his sudden smile by turning to look out the window away from you, "Sheesh, might find his car was egged? Could of been any number of the bratty ass kids, we can't keep an eye on all of them, now can we?" "Oo, better yet what if one of those eggs found its way inside his car? Shame if after a month one were to go bad hidden under the precious leather seats?" "You… That's… You're kind of a badass, huh?" he glares at you intently. You weren't sure if he was being serious or using sarcasm. Before you could figure it out the van hit a pothole that sent the luggage and the pair of you a foot in the air. "HEY, YOU DAMN NERD, CAN YOU EVEN DRIVE, DICKHEAD?" "Sorry!" the frightened voice squeaked from the front. "Fuck. Are you okay?" he sounded more pissed than concerned but that was the one type of question you knew he'd never ask unless he meant it. "Ah, yeah a little ragdoll never hurt anyone." you scoffed, "Are you okay?" you looked down to see the bump had practically put you in his lap. "Nothing here I can't handle," he stated simply. You were readjusting and scoffed, "I'd take that bet." then froze realizing what you'd said. You screwed your eyes shut, your face turned away from the blonde. You focused your attention on literally anything but the heat radiating off him before deciding you should try and slide back into your cramped spot. "Welp! I'm just gonna move over-" You thought your belt loop must have been stuck on something as when you tried to lift yourself, it held you back. Looking down you were surprised to find Bakugo's thumb was twisted through the loop holding you down to your makeshift seat.

"Uh, Bakugo?" you nervously croaked out. "Yeah, what's up?" he was glancing out his window, cool as always. "Did you want me to move off of you?" He turned, glare burning, "I think it's actually better if you stay put, this shitbox filled with all this junk and you can't even use the seatbelt right now."

"Oh, right. Okay. That… makes sense." you internally screamed as your brain malfunctioned. "Oi, don't make it a big deal. It's whatever." he shrugged. "No yeah, no it's cool. Best seat in the house, honestly." "For me, Definitely." he smirked and readjusted you so you were fully in his lap, for the extra security.

"Do you think the rest of camp will be this interesting?" you cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I can fuckin' hope."

[mushroomnoodlez]

So Simon is just gone just like that!? That must've been horrible Morri to see when he woke up!😢 like imagine saying goodnight to your dad and thinking what you'll do the next day together and he's just...gone. And how did Marceline react to Simon's death and Morri now down a parent?

tw parental death, grief, angst in general, god kid is raising themself

churning out some of these questions that i wanna answer with no art, mostly because i want people to know what happened/my thoughts even if i don't feel like drawing or don't have time to.

it was absolutely horrible for little 13 year old (250 year old) morrigan! they were very distraught and confused, because simon didn't even age or give them a warning. a thing they won't forget is the coffee machine was still on, with a full pot.

the emotional devastation sorta kickstarted their dormant god powers, and when they were silently trying to preserve simon's body (they didn't want him to rot, they wanted him to stay with them forever) they initially turned him to stone. morri has been highly intelligent since conception, so they don't exactly think like a teenager, more like a naive adult i'd say, but they're also still a child if that makes sense? they want their papa, they feel safe around him, they love him.

after their initial bewilderment they realized they could sort of force his body into whatever they wanted (remembering those long past memories of grasping for things with their powers while simon was still carrying them, changing those objects and hearing simon react to it) and turned his corpse into a crown that they could hold onto.

they couldn't really bear to be in the house, and they just wanted their dad back, so they simply left with some stuff they thought they'd need (they did want to be an adventurer when they were younger, so they had a loose idea of what to take).

when their judgement wasn't so clouded by leave me alone, my dad is dead, they were afraid pb would do things like she did when they were still in the womb without simon to protect them and also feared that they would be suspected for simon's death due to their. uh. nature. and they didn't want to tell marceline.

morri chose to navigate their puberty alone (and it was such an itchy one, growing spikes and claws) and when more powers came in (portals to other parts of the world, portals to other universes, floating) with no stable guide of their own they took to.. less than healthy coping mechanisms when they found bringing their dad back to life was going to be a lot harder than anticipated. every now and then, they'd hear of marceline looking for them, and they'd avoid her, ever so determined to "fix" things so they could go back to normal and their family would be fine.

morri did have a few on and off parental figures, especially when they were younger- kind strangers looking out for them for a bit before they scampered off again.

marcy, by the way, was having an equally terrible time. from her point of view, simon and morrigan both up and disappeared without a trace. why? how? she couldn't find simon, and with morrigan's inability to be physically documented, it was very difficult to pinpoint where her little sibling went. at first she thought GOLB had something to do with it, and sort of still does. but the thought that simon has died has crossed her mind many a time.

marcy is a bit harder for me to characterize so i think i'll leave it there for her.

[jazz-for-cows]

And I Dreamt all my old friends got together again

I just woke up from a nap and I had this immediate thought of individuality and the concept of being “different”

Ever since I can remember I have wanted to be different

I wanted to be different even if that meant I’d be made fun of or looked at weird

To be honest I was never bullied really, I kept to myself and my people and wasn’t really a target

But I do remember in elementary school when I would get picked on because of the hair on my arms and legs and the way I would mix stripes with polka dots

It made me sad for a minute but then I almost would get stoked that someone made fun of me

I realized that they thought that because I was different than most

“Different” is so subjective though

Maybe I was different to the 20 other kids that were in my 1st grade class but aren’t we all different?

I hated my hairy arms and legs but I liked that it made me feel special in a way

I knew from a young age that expressing myself was important even if I wasn’t old enough to understand that’s what I was doing

I love adorning myself

Weather that be a piercing, a tattoo or even just a cool pair of socks

That’s probably the most constant thing in my life that has brought me joy

And with expressing myself comes apprehension

I don’t want to be “too different” to where I’m not “accepted” but I don’t want to be too “normal” to the point where people don’t think I have substance.

It’s all so fucking subjective

Sometimes I wish I could just write it across my face

Who I am

Without having to wear this stupid fucking vintage jacket to somehow convey that I’m “cool”?

I know myself and I love my brain

I wish I could be a floating orb of my mental consciousness sometimes

I’ve never seen myself as being above anyone else

I try to look at everyone with respect and kindness and I truly pride myself on being someone who can get along with so many different kinds of people

I don’t think I am a chameleon in the way that I change myself for others for my own benefit, rather code switch to make others feel comfortable and included

I know that there is times in my life I have been unkind

And maybe evil in a way

But I feel like I was put on this earth to love

Not only love others but love myself

and though it’s a constant battle and the learning curve of loving yourself isn’t a curve maybe more of a spiral that keeps on going and going and going

Everything is learned

That’s what I’m learning everyday

I’m literally learning to learn

I find it quite uncomfortable

Trying to navigate a million different things at once while also trying to do my dishes at the end of the day

On paper it’s an easy task

But my body and mind make it seem like I’m taking the bar exam

A memory sparked all these thoughts in me

My brother chase has always been really cool to me someone I’ve looked up to a lot

When he was in high school I remember he didn’t have many friends

He told me how he would sit by the art room during lunch and one day he found this lizard outside

He has this strange way with animals

He and this lizard sat together every day

This is probably something that seems so weird to most but when he told me this I couldn’t help but think it was the coolest thing I’ve ever heard

When I was in high school I had friends

But I sat next to the art room during lunch

I don’t know if I had told any of my friends that but that’s why I always wanted to sit next to the art room

I just thought it was cool and special

I am a very sentimental person like so sentimental and nostalgic in a way that sometimes hurts me

I find myself constantly looking at old photos of my life, myself and my friends

I don’t think the people that have been in my life even know the extent of their effect on me.

I think about it everyday. I write those notes a while ago they make me really emotional

I think I could write forever about all these people

I was gonna say I don’t know why this affects me in such a big way but I think I do know

All of you, everyone I’ve know, everyone who has been slightly apart of my life has taught me how to love

The thing I love doing most

Loving

We’re all loving

Just love

Love love love love love

Or perish

That’s really it

[fellow-human-writer]

Character Introduction: Saroth

(Picrew by @elena-illustration! Thanks a lot :D)

I promised character introductions, so let's do this thing! If you haven't seen my previous posts, don't fret, I'll give you all the information you need, but here's an explanation of my world's magic system and here you have a snippet of writing :]

For the sake of simplifying things, I'll repeat here the basic concept for the setting: The main trait this fantasy world has is that its two continents (gigantic floating islands/landmasses) are situated in such a way that the one on top (the "highlands") block most of the light/sky for the residents of the one below (the "lowlands").

First, a quick explanation of the relevant background:

The highlands are fertile, full of life and wealth. They have large cities and a vast population, and the territory is divided and ruled by noble houses. A feudal system, you know the drift. The lowlands are poor. Crops struggle to grow, and as such the population is much smaller than that of the highlands. They live more isolated lives, with most of the population living in rural villages. A more ancient way of life. The highlanders consider them backwards and dull-witted, but they aren't too interested in the shadowy lowlands, so the only interest they take in them is making sure they do not climb up. The highlands are theirs. As such, travel between the islands is highly restricted, but this only goes one way. As the story goes, the past few winters have been unbearably harsh. Crops have a harder time growing than ever in the lowlands. This has led to a certain group of lowlanders banding together and deciding that enough is enough, and the highlanders ought to share their resources or else they will take them for themselves. This, of course, does not go too well. The nobles of the highlands are used to bickering and warring amongst themselves, and they were more than able to crush the "invading" force with ease. They have retaliated by sending their armies down as a united front and invading the lowlands as revenge for the crime of daring to mess with them.

And that is where Saroth comes in. He is a lowlander. He was born in a village where he spent most of his life, quietly isolated. He was orphaned at a young age, and had to take care of his even younger brother, Net. An old villager took pity on them and helped Saroth throughout the years. Saroth refers to him as his master. He taught him how to hunt, and how to fight.

Even though there was no reason to learn how to use a sword in a quiet village like theirs, the old man was obsessed with a great war to come. He said he had visions. Most in the village thought he was crazy. One way or another, Saroth learned how to fight, and how to fend for himself. The only thing in his mind was protecting his brother and his home.

That all fell apart when the armies from the Highlands arrived. They burned his village to the ground. They killed his master. They killed Net. They killed everyone. Leading the attack was a mysterious man with a scar on his forearm and a glowing red eye. Someone who could use magic.

Saroth was spared, for some reason. He was taken prisoner, and dragged to a camp halfway across the island. His story starts there, with him as a captive who has just lost everything. As to what happens next... You'll have to wait a little bit to find out.

I hope all of you are enjoying these posts as much as I am enjoying making them! Leiden's introduction is coming very soon. I'm also planning on sharing other aspects of my worldbuilding, and gradually posting more snippets as I (hopefully) get back into the rhythm of writing. If you're interested in learning more about my story: Thank you! I hope you'll keep an eye out for future updates. I will gladly answer any ask I receive :]

Have a wonderful day, my friends! As always, I'm rooting for each and every one of you in your own creative endeavors <3

[jade-of-mourning]

hey. I’m back. you probably didn’t miss me LOL, but I saw your response to my ask and I got really excited 😭

okay so I actually sent the ask about posting to ao3 with the avatar mako concept in mind cuz I love making my non-avatar faves the avatar,,, and then I noticed you said asks about hcs and stuff are welcome so⁉️⁉️

I would love to hear more about the avatar mako au if you’re willing (that summary has me SO pumped btw)

and if it’s not too much of a bother, would you mind an ask about a little blurb idea I had but don’t really know how to write? I appreciate the word vomit response btw it makes me feel appreciated!! as you can probably tell I do a little word vomit when I get excited so. lol. love when my insanity is reciprocated :]

-🐌

welcome back anon! it's lovely to hear from you again <3

ah yes i too am a fan of reading non-avatar!avatar aus; they're so fun! also ty for enabling to talk about my au gfsjhjbhkfsdgjh i'll word vomit beneath the cut lol

and finally, yes! feel free to send it in :) i'd be happy to help if i can, though no guarantees </3

the au starts about four years prior to when book 1 takes place in lok, so mako, bolin, and asami are all aged down four years while the equalist revolution is not yet on the horizon — though i'm keeping the aid kids roughly the same age as they were, just because i want to play off their dynamic :P

in the context of Why No Avatar Korra, aang's temporary death during the crossroads of destiny led the avatar spirit to pass onto a water tribe child — until aang promptly un-died and raava returned, with a small part of her spirit left in the other to sustain their survival. (kind of playing off the avatar!yue theory and some of those theories floating around from book 1's airing lol.) so basically when aang died 54 years later, raava was unable to move on to the next avatar immediately, so she waited in a sort of suspended stasis until the not-avatar passed and the cycle returned at earth. i'm not sure how much i'll actually explore this in the fic, if at all, but yeah here's the explanation.

so mako is technically the earth avatar, but his firebending visibly pulled up first so he was just assumed to be a firebender. fast forward, dead parents & pre-canon sort of plays out as i tend to headcanon it, including lots of casual Bad Things and Horrible Trauma-Inducing Circumstances. however, as mako gets older he starts to realize that there might be a slight issue in that he can bend both fire and earth.

okayyy… okay this is fine. it's probably because his parents are from both nations. (he breaks into the library to verify that no, dual benders do not exist even in mixed families.) he doesn't know what the triple threats would do to him if they found out — would they exploit him further, or would they straight up kill him? he keeps it a secret from everyone, including bolin, because for all that he loves bolin considerably more than he loves life itself, bolin is also largely terrible at keeping secrets and this isn't something anyone can ever know. he doesn't practice any of the other elements, sticking to firebending exclusively, so aside from this added weight of such a heavy secret on his shoulders, up to fourteen it all goes the same.

(some casual Bad Things include, but are not limited to: the horrors of industrial age 1920s child homelessness, recruitment into the gang, lightningbending, and being trained specifically by zolt for intimidation factor and potential takeover. there's an unfortunate amount of child abuse and exploitation going on there.)

and then he's at a transaction with the triple threats when they get busted by the police, including lin beifong herself. mako is very much a fighter and very good at it, in that despite having not been trained properly, he's still vicious and entirely desperate due to his determination to stick around for bolin. he will bite your head off if he feels backed into a corner and will do whatever it takes to come out on the other side. his rage at the world has yet to subside after six years on the streets at age fourteen. he has zero chill and has no slowly coming sense of stability that he's on the cusp of gaining around his introduction in canon. he is both way worse and way better at repressing his feelings here than he is at eighteen, but that'll probably get explored in the fic, so i'll leave it here. anyway this is where lightning-happy mako slips up and accidentally earthbends directly at the Chief; and where most officers would've probably just let it slide under the assumption that they were going crazy, lin beifong does not do crazy.

so this is where the fic starts, as you probably read from the first draft snippet. a lot of set up that will probably never come up, at least not so explicitly like this, but it'll probably write itself in somehow. going on, we've got some air island arrival shenanigans, where mako first tries denial, realizes that it's not going to work, and outwardly verbally acquiesces with the whole fine-you-caught-me-i'll-be-the-avatar bullshit. internally, he is calculating the price of the artifacts in the room and the chances of him grabbing bolin from headquarters and the two of them bailing it out of the city with the sold-artifacts' profit.

so the question is, why would mako run when he's being offered the opportunity to have some semblance of safety and comfort for the first time in his life?

because mako, disbeliever of pacifism, is convinced that tenzin is going to kill him once he realizes that it isn't worth the effort trying to domesticate this violent street kid who's experienced an unbelievable amount of trauma and has a learned, deep-set cynicism for the world — if it's even possible at all. that tenzin will quickly come to deem that the world may as well wait another decade-plus for a better avatar. mako's selfish and even if he knows that his death would enable an actually competent avatar that would acutally help the world to be reborn, he refuses to leave bolin alone (even if a small part of him knows that if it weren't for bolin, him being so very tired so very often probably would've just allowed this path to happen). that's a major-minor plot point.

i'll leave it at that for now before i just write out my entire outline in this post :P but yeah, it'll feature mako learning to care for the world again, plus some quality mako & jinora friendship, bolin acquiring a mother figure in pema, and a peculiar mako & asami relationship after events in which, and i quote from my outline chapter summary, "Mako discovers that trying to steal from Rich Girl Asami Sato is a bad idea."

[projectguilt]

GUILT - Friday Blog #13 - More Music

A 'brief' history of my music tastes

I was born in the end era of the music cassette tape, I grew up during the boom of CD's and eventually matured at the rise of the MP3, so for the most part of my early life, I was running on hand-me-down physical media.

Growing up, I feel it would be fair to say I didn't really have a musical identity, my access to music really was limited to the typical pop hits on either on the radio, a handful of CD's, or through a collection of older records that sat under an aged HiFi system in the corner of my sitting room.

From time to time, I'd sit there at the record player for hours sometimes and just listen to my mums old records. Elvis, Abba, Michael Jackson, for any matter, it was all music that was 10, 20, 30 years older than myself, but I made do, and found a fondness for it.

It wasn't until I was may early teens that I started developing a sense of music, and it was mostly formed in sentimental ways.

My first own-bought game, Tony Hawks Pro Skater 2 introduced me to my first ear worm, When Worlds Collide, by Powerman 5000, my first foray into Nu-Metal.

A favourite YouTube video introduced me to Nightwish, and as a large, Symphonic Metal.

I used to watch a friend play a lot of FIFA, and I got addicted to Augen Auf, by Oomph!

My older sister listened to a lot of gothic metal, and I kind of rolled with it.

So as a teen, I kind of floated around rock/metal tastes. A few other fleeting interests came and passed, though I felt a little out of place with it all, because I just felt it wasn't really my music, it was always listening to it because someone else liked it.

Then, came Eurovision. My friends would watch it every year and gossip about it for days to come, if not weeks. I mostly ignored it, I just did not get it, the whole concept. Bare in mind that I ended up being the only gay one of this group. Ironically, it wasn't until I was 18, 19, around the time when I started considering my sexuality, that I actually joined in a watch party for Eurovision, and immediately, my mind was blown. So many genres, so many artists, so much variety in music. It was what I always felt was missing, and finally my actual love of music started.

I found so many new artists, so many new styles, so many fresh feelings that I was like struggling to listen to everything I wanted to listen to. Pop, Rock, Electronic, Folk and so on, and so many international artists. Lyrically blind, I loved listening to the music, clueless to the meaning of the songs.

It was also about this time that I started taking a serious interest in film soundtracks and scores as a whole, which has ended up as a good solid 50% of my music tastes these days.

Now, over a 15 years later, music is an incredibly large part of my life. I am always listening to music, of every genre possible. I even studied sound, music and audio for about 8 years following school, earning a BSc Degree in Music and Audio Technology.

So history lesson done, every new track, artist or album has a piece of personal history attached to it. An event, a person, an emotion, I listen to them and its like a transport back to when I first listened to it.

Characterisation of Music, and Thomas.

When approaching Thomas as a character, I wanted to make him like me, obviously being based on my life, but also make him his own character. In some ways I have been able to lean into certain aspects of his musical interests, or lack there of, and have him be introduced to them gradually.

An early concept to visually grow Thomas was a corkboard of memories. The idea is that as he meets people, and his relations grow, he can physically grow and adapt this memory board into his own, like a photo album. This ended up seeming… tacky? Overused, Cliché. How to do this but not make it the same as everything else?

A core aspect of his characterisation is his growth into a musical world, and a growing hobby of my own is physical media, so it made sense to look into Thomas having a record player and a bunch of old records.

So where this leads is into is a secondary element, that being his attachments to older technology. As a modern day setting, his interest in technology remains in the past. Record players, retro consoles such as PS1 and GameCube, past gen-phones, even interest in older TV shows, it all fits into a retro aesthetic, but also core message of his character.

By this point in the story, its clear he has repressed feelings for his sexuality, and it dominates his mind, his thoughts, his life. He is stuck as his old self, and feels he has little ability to move into the modern day. Everything works as it is, why replace it? Why turn his back on things that he likes and knows?

He is comfortable with what he knows, what he likes, and to change these is to let go of the past, and the reasons for him to have these old technologies. Most of what he owns are hand-me-downs that is a small plot point throughout the series, so I can't go too into depth with it this early on, but it all actually, and symbolically, reflect on him as a person.

Thomas collects music as his music tastes grow.

He studies music to understand how music is made.

He socialises with music to develop relationships and bond with friends.

He makes music of his own to be a musical outlet to emotions.

So that kinda of wraps a long brain fart of my thoughts towards my approach to utilising music, as not only a soundtrack, but as a actual plot element and symbolic parallel to Thomas's adventures through a turbulent coming-of-age.