#but i do need more wilt pics

[patches-and-her-selfships]

bro

[airbendertendou]

WiLTED TiMER! ♥︎ inui sieshu

aka you’re seishu’s safe place, always. cw : survivor's guilt ; bonten timeline ; mentions of grief ; akane mention

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

The phone buzzing is what wakes you up. The sight of your apartment is blurred and dark, indicating it’s past time for any phone calls. Groggily, you grab your phone and answer it without looking at who’s calling.

He doesn’t even say hello when you answer. A sob echoes into the receiver, waking you up a little more as he sniffles. “I killed her, didn’t I, [name]? I killed my sister.”

“No, no you did not.” You fight the blankets off of you, rushing to turn on your bedroom lights and find a pair of shoes. Hopping on one foot, you listen as Inupi argues with you and continues to demean himself. You click the kitchen lights on as well, gathering your keys and a jacket as you get to the front door. “Inui, where are you? I’m going to come find you and we’ll talk, okay? Just tell me where you are.”

Panicking — you’re panicking behind your stone-faced, calm facade because of how broken he sounds. How sure he sounds that it’s his fault his sister is gone. Another sob into the speaker as you fling your front door open.

And there he is, leaning against the wall to your apartment. Your arms fall weakly as you take him in ; as you see the tears that have gathered on his face and the absolute devastation that colors every inch of him.

You let out a relieved sigh, “oh, 'nupi...” Of course he came to you — he always managed to show up where you are when he got like this. When he couldn’t fight his mind on his own. Gathering him in your arms, you barely feel as he all but pushes you back into your apartment.

Trembling hands fasten around your waist, hiccups shaking his body. You tighten your hold, stumbling until your back meets the couch and Inupi lands on top of you. You shush him as well as you can, fighting your own tears at how broken he sounds.

Seconds, minutes, hours — your grip on Inupi never lessens, and his grip on you stays the same. His breathing has calmed expodentially and all you can feel are his eyelashes brushing against your neck.

"Inupi?" It feels odd to hear your voice after so long — it's loud as it rings around your living room. The blond simply nuzzles his face deeper into your neck. Your fingers rake through his hair softly before you tug, making him look at you. "Need to know how you are, Seishu."

The sound of his name brings him back. Jade eyes blink up at you, a shaky breath leaving his chest slowly. "Okay. M'okay, [name]."

"Sure?" Inupi lets out another breath, eyes tired, red and droopy. He yawns, lips pouting as he blinks. You smile lightly at him, twirling his hair once more. "Okay. Want to stay here — head to bed?"

Inupi stands shakily, leading the way to your bedroom. He knows the way by heart now, stumbling through the dim light until he's climbing into your sheets. You watch him for a second as he curls into himself, face smooshed into the pillow you were laying on. Puffy eyes meet yours once more as he pats the empty side of your bed, gesturing for you to join him.

"It'll get better one day," Seishu says quietly to himself.

You crawl into your bed with a nod, laying down and quickly getting comfortable. "One day at a time. And I'll be here the whole way."

The blond snuggles back into you, his face hiding in your neck and arms winding around your hips. "...thank you."

"'Course."

Inupi pulls briefly away from you with a sniffle, puffy eyes dancing down your figure as his pout deepens. “You look really nice today.”

“I’m in my pajamas ; the day is over.”

“You look nice every day,” he responds, stuffing his face back into your chest. Letting out one final deep breath, Seishu settles and relaxes into your arms. "See you in the morning, [name]."

You simply hum in return, knowing he wouldn't sleep well. Good sleep was rare for you both — nightmares of different kinds haunting your dreams. You hope, for his sake, tonight would be better.

——♥︎——

don’t ask me how long this has been drafted <3 hope i wrote inupi well ); nd that he’s [mostly] in character. as always, thank you for reading and if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any tokyorev content, let me know! ♡

🍓 TOKYOREV TAGLIST : @night-shadowblood-writes2 @chrofeisnightmaregf @natsumesakasakisupremacy @emperorsnero

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[itoshiexx]

warmth

synopsis: you were satoru's sun, and he loved to bask on your warmth. until your flames died out and you became a cold star.

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader | words: 485 | warnings: angst, character death

notes: just a lil something i wrote while i was sad today. this is probably shit. also i really hope gojo's pic is from the manga, but since i'm not following it up, PLEASE let me know if it isn't!

at a certain point in his life, satoru learned he needed warmth.

perhaps it had always been there; that need growing deep in his core, gnawing at his insides the more his infinity separated him from the rest of the world. he thinks it was somehow inevitable. his abnormal power was lonely in all its forms, and quite literally made him feel cold, nearly shaking his bones. the more he improved his technique, the more he felt like the warmth given by the sun wasn’t enough — because although it passed through his invisible barrier, it never actually reached and penetrated his skin. 

with time, he learned that the only thing that was ever able to satisfy him was the warmth given by another human being. 

that being said, it was no shock satoru’s love language was physical touch. after he met you and his heart inevitably became yours, all he knew how to do was touch you somehow, so that the heat of your body could pass to his. it was the only thing that kept him sane in a world full of curses and the weight of being the strongest sorcerer in the world. it was the only thing that made him feel human, like he was more than just the gojo name and his six eyes. 

his lips were always tracing your shoulders and your neck, feeling your pulse to remind him you were alive. his ears were always glued to your chest, listening to your breathing so that he knew you were there, by his side. his hands always wandered through your waist, your hips, your arms, just taking any opportunity to remember someone, throughout the heavens and the earth, loved him as just satoru, and not whatever else he became due to his heritage. 

you became satoru’s sun, scorching with life amongst too many deaths. the beam of your smile was enough sizzle to bring him back from a dark abyss, giving his life more meaning besides being the honored one. 

your warmness was his lifeline, the one thing he held onto so that he didn’t lose his way. 

but as he would come to learn, love was the greatest curse of all; a beautiful thing that was never meant to last. as fast as the chilling blizzard of winter, one day darkness swallowed his sun whole, wilting its gleam and killing every flame until it was nothing but a big, black sea of nothingness — like it never even shined in the first place. as if its heat wasn’t the only thing keeping him going. as if your existence wasn’t the only thing in this universe worthy of devotion. 

the higher ups said it’s not the end of the world, gojo. but those old geezers couldn’t be more wrong.

for satoru, holding your cold body and no longer feeling your warmth was exactly what the end of the world felt like.

© 2023 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

[tsunael]

OC Smash or Pass

Quick Facts

Height: 4'11" | 149cm.

Age: 32.

Gender: Female.

Pronouns: She/Her.

Sexuality: Bisexual. Probably.

Pros

Diligent. She can cook (kind of)! She can clean! No task is ever left undone. She'd make a good homemaker.

Romantic. As her Raen blood dictates, she's always looking for a place to call home.

Talented. She has a knack for conjury, so you'll always be on the receiving end of her tender mercies. She also knows of several styles of dance and can play stringed instruments.

Elegant. Rigorous training in her youth has given her a natural poise and grace. She would make excellent arm candy.

Cons

Tsundere. This might be a pro, as the appeal would be to crack her shell.

Haughty. If she has reason to believe you have unsavory ideas, she may give you the cold shoulder. Her temper is as sharp as her horns-- speaking of...

Au Ra. She is a danger from the front and the back. Go in for a kiss and you'll be maimed. Oh, and she has fangs, too. Want to spoon instead? Too bad! Tail spines! Guess you'll have to get creative.

Cynical. She's been through a lot in her life, and it shows through more often than not.

Daddy issues. She certainly wouldn't be projecting on you, or looking for love in the wrong places or anything.

Details

Romantically: It's something she daydreams about, though she often wonders if it would be best to keep it as one. There's somewhat of a hedgehog's dilemma there, both figuratively and literally in that she can't really get close to anyone without feeling the need to pull away. However, if she were ever to have a romantic partner, she would devote herself fully to them. One could expect small touches of the hand and shoulder in public, and truly intimate gestures like light massage, or washing their hair in private. Though a soft and sensitive partner would be the ideal and probably make her happiest, she really shines when she's around someone she can exchange (verbal) blows with. Make her match your wit, and reduce her to a flustered mess (it's easy to do).

Sexually: She's somewhat repressed. The particular Okiya she was raised in was convent-like in nature, and she rarely ventured outside other than to the markets, or for work. She's had undisclosed partners, but never any that let her truly bloom. ... Because of this she might be hesitant to try new things, or engage in anything she deems too 'filthy', but it's learned shame, and there is merit in helping her overcome it. Ahem. In a similar vein, she does know what she likes, but she may have difficulty asking for it. This would be considered a con, but with enough time and patience you might get to see an extra special side to her. Basically, I think her years of yearning, coupled with an excitable nature would make for a, uh... very passionate experience if you can get over how much of a wilting flower she is at first. She probably has a few kinks to unearth, too!! Who knows! Anyway!

Tagged by: No one. I took it, comrade. Because sometimes you gotta do it yourself. Tagging: This is my community garden. Take what you will.

I didn't include an other option because mama didn't raise a quitter. You will SMASH or you will PASS and you will like it.

Points if you say why though. 🔍👀

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc)

[ilearhmajeste]

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[trexy225]

TPYH-Chapter 2: Yikes

Summary: I mean the title explains it idk

I would just like to say that this is one of my less serious pieces, but I still really enjoy writing this. So if the titles, summaries and photos are 100% unlike what I usually put out it's intentional. I'm just here for a good time.

But if you want to read one of my more serious works might I recommend three hearts?

I'm sorry I'll shut up. XOXO

If you have any funny doc ock pics pls send them in I can shout u out or something

You found your father's chauffeur waiting outside the building. You groaned as you got in.

“Did you finally break it off Doctor Osborne?” He asked as he started the car.

“Yes.” You replied glumly. 

“Good, you can’t have these distractions, you have such a bright future ahead of you.”

“Those who burn the brightest burn the fastest Stan.” You muttered.

Stan chuckled as he drove to the Oscorp building. When you arrive at the building you see your father waiting outside impatiently, you curse under your breath as you step out.

“You’re late Doctor.” He said.

“You never told me which time to come.” You pointed out.

“...So you’ve broken it off?” He asked.

“Yes, Dad.” 

“Good, she wasn’t good for you. I’m sure you’ll find another woman… or man, but she wasn’t the one.” he held out a crisp new lab coat, you spotted an employee tag on it and couldn’t help but smile.

“I need you to be Oscorp's new advisor for animal experimentation.”

“Animal experimentation? You still do that?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We have to Water Bear, and because I know you are so passionate about these kinds of things… and I need PETA off my ass.”

“PETA is a terrible animal organization.” You sighed.

“Yes, but they’re influential.” 

“You’re no better!” You pointed out.

“Listen, Oscorp can’t stop experimenting on animals, but we want to do it as humanly as possible and give them the best lives while they’re with us, and you’re the most qualified person to do so.” He gave you the lab jacket and you sighed, you didn’t want this job, but it seemed like you didn’t have a choice… And you’re still technically helping animals, you just had to make sure this was temporary. 

“Ok, so do I have an office where I can get started?” You ask, putting on a fake smile.

“Yes, you’ll be next to Dr. Octavius, he’s an excellent teacher and I know….”

Your heart fluttered and you blushed, you would be next to him! Maybe today wasn’t a total failure.

“....because he needs your help as well.” her father finished.

“...What? Sorry I wasn’t listening.” You apologized.

“I said that you two seem like a perfect match and I know that you will work well together. Also, he needs your help with his fusion reactor, the elevator is broken right now, you’ll need to take the stairs. You’re on the third floor.” “You’re not coming with me?” You ask.

“I have things to do, if you have any questions ask Otto. You practically grew up here y/n you’ll be fine.”

It’s different now. You thought as you started up the stairs.

“y/n!!” you heard a voice yell. 

Shit. You turn around to see Monica stumbling towards you, a wilting bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. You walked over to her, trying to play it cool.

“What are you doing?” You muttered through clenched teeth.

“I’M TRYING TO WIN YOU BACK YOU BITCH!” Monica yelled, she was drunk.

“That’s not how you do it Monica, please leave.” You ask.

Monica leans in to kiss you, you recoil at the strong stench of liquor. She saw security start to head over.

“Monica, get off of me.” You demand.

“No.” 

“Monica GET OFF OF-” 

Monica pulls you into a kiss, you push her away, she throws up on your new lab coat and you gasp out in shock.

“S-sorry.” She muttered.

“No, you’re not.” You fight back tears.

“Would you like us to escort her out, Doctor?” One of the security guards asked.

You nod. “I don’t want to see you here again. Understand?” You tell Monica.

She drops the flowers and leaves with security. 

You held your lab coat, you didn’t want to throw it away, but it was past saving. You grabbed the ID tag to wash later and threw the lab coat away.

You’ll just wear your old one, you’re used to it. You try and tell yourself, you fight back tears as you dash up the stairs into your office, you sat in your office chair, humiliated, tears slowly ran down your face.

“Doctor Osborne?” You heard a familiar voice call out.

Shit. It was Otto.

“I-I’m ok, just a lot of stress on the first day.” You called out, wiping your face. 

“Doctor-”

“Call me y/n.” You insist.

“y/n I know what happened.”

“...who else knows?” You ask, even though you already know the answer.

“...A lot of people.” He admits.

“Can I come in? I have something for you.” He asked.

You take a few deep breaths and nod.

“Yes, but I’m a mess.”

“Well y/n that makes two of us.” He chuckled as he walked in, he was wearing a dark green turtleneck and black slacks, dark green was your favorite color. He sat down next to you and held out a lab coat.

“I want you to have it.” He said.

“No, I have mine at home and I can’t.”

“I have plenty of spares, I prefer mine worn in.” He smiled kindly.

“I do too.” You take the jacket and examine it, it wasn’t crisp white, it had some stains and tears, but it smelled just like him, Lavender. Your favorite scent, was everything he did your favorite?

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do this.” you fold the jacket and put it on your lap.

“You’re going through a lot right now, you got your doctorate before I did, I honestly believe you need to take some time for yourself.” He admitted.

“I wish I could. But my dad needs me here, and I can’t just leave, I have all my pets.”

“You still have that zoo in your apartment?” He chuckled.

“Yes, and I can’t leave them.” You sigh as you look at your ID badge on the ground a good 3 feet away from you, you still hadn’t managed to wash the puke off.

“How did you ever end up with her?” Otto asked, disgusted.

“I was having my third mental breakdown of the week-”

“y/n…” “It’s ok, I have new meds. My psychiatrist was an idiot.” You shrugged it off.

“Anyway, nobody offered to help me… Until Monica came along, but the Monica who I fell in love with is NOT the Monica who just called me a bitch and threw up on me.”

“I’m sorry.” Otto apologized.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I finally broke it off.”

Both of you sat in silence, Otto started to put his hand on your shoulder until your father opened the door.

“I heard what happened and-” His eyes fell on his friend and he frowned. 

Otto drew away instantly and stood up.

“I was just giving her one of my labcoats since the… accident. I’ll get out of your hair.” He stammered.

“We’ll talk later.” Your father said as he practically pushed him out of your office. He turned to you.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

“Dad I’m fine. You didn’t need to kick him out he was helping me.”

Norman scoffed and helped her up. “I can buy you a new lab coat if-”

“I’m ok, didn’t you have plans?”

“I moved them over to tomorrow, I wanted to do a formal tour, and fire some security guards.”

“Dad don't fire them."

"That... woman was obviously drunk and dangerous, they shouldn't have let her take one step into the building!"

"That may be true, they might need more training or a refresher."

"That costs money I don't have." 

You sigh in disappointment, he sighs. "But I'll see what I can do. Do you want me to take you on that tour?" "Dad I’ve basically grown up here.” 

“I know… Well if you don't want to do that, then what do you want to do?” He asked.

“Honestly, I need at least a week off before I start working here.” You admit.

“y/n if you slack off now.” he started.

“I just got my doctorate at 24, I had a very traumatic experience with my insane ex, and I was thrust into this big, new job that I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”

“You’re ready for it.” “After a week!” 

Norman wanted to argue but he sighed.

“You’re right. You’re so much like your mother, you know?” 

You winced at the memories. “I know. I need to get back to my animals, I’ll see you in a week.” You grab your lab coat, ID, and bag and give him a hug. As you walk out you catch a glimpse of Otto working. You continue walking, when you reached the stairs you look behind you, where you see your father walking into Otto's lab. 

Great. You think as you head down the stairs, you would have stayed and defended Otto, but you knew you would just make things worse, besides, your animals need you.

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing

A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub​ and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie​! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year! 

I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone! 

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”

Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."

"I know, I know, I just..."

He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...

"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.

The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.

But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.

Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"

He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"

When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."

"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.

The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"

His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"

"Jungkook!"

"I was saving room for when I got home!"

"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.

His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."

"So unsanitary...?"

At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."

You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."

Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."

"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.

"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.

"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.

Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.

Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"

Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."

He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."

And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...

Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.

The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.

And you love it all so much.

Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.

One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.

With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!

He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.

Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.

The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.

By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?

About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.

At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"

"Hey Y/N."

Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.

Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."

"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.

"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"

"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.

"No, that's not -"

"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"

"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"

"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"

Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"

"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"

His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"

"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."

"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"

"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.

There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.

Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -

Why did I have to say that to him?

You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.

But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?

Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?

The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.

God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.

You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.

With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.

The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.

But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.

If he gets home.

The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.

You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.

Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.

Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.

It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.

Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.

Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.

You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.

The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.

If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.

Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –

It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.

You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.

At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.

Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.

With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.

What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.

You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.

Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.

“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?

“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”

“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.

Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”

“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”

“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.

Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”

Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”

"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -

"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."

"Did - did he say why?"

"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."

You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.

You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.

You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.

Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"

You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.

"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."

Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."

"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.

When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."

Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.

Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.

It decides you.

With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."

Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."

That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.

Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.

They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.

He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.

The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –

"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."

"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.

You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.

And you barely asked.

Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.

Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."

"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."

They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.

You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.

Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.

"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.

With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.

"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.

Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.

He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.

Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”

The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”

“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”

Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.

Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”

Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”

Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.    

You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.

You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?

It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –

But no Jungkook.

Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…

You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.

A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!

For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –

Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.

The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.    

“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.  

Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.  

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.

For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.

Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.  

Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?  

Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.

He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?

How could I not have known?

Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?

Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?

Is this your fault?

You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?

Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?

What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…

“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”

What do I do?

---

With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.

Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.

Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”  

He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”

With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”

“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.

“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”

“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…

Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”

He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…

But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…

You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?

Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.  

He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.

Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”

“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.

If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.

The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.

Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.

They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.

Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”

“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”

“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”

He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.

“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.

No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.

It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.

He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.  

what car? you saw Y/N today?

…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?

at the gallery?? when?

His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.

Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?

Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.

---

When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.

Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.

You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.

So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.

Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.

Straight into Jungkook.

For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.

For just a second.

And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.

“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.

Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.

It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.

I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –

“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”

His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.

“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”

You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.

“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.

Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.

“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  

Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.  

Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.

“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?

You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”

That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.

The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.

When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.  

Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.

It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.

You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.

His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.

You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”

“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”

The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!”

In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.

“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.

“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.

He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”

“Helping you.”

Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.

You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.

Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.

He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.

And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.

Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.

With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”

“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.

The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.

“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”

Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.

“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”

Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”

The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”

“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”

“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”

“I should have,” you insist.

His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.

Perfect enough.

Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.

“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.

Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...

“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”

“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.

Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”

[unmaskedagain]

Oh Lady Luck (How I miss you so!)

Okay; first off. I hated this. I had a massive case of writer’s block while doing it and lost inspiration near the end.

Oh Lady Luck (How I miss you so!)

           Bustier’s class was the luckiest in school, everyone knew it. They got to go on the most amazing trips, win contest after contest, competition after competition, met all sorts of celebrities, frequently got to meet Ladybug, through the best dances and school plays, and always seemed to have a pep in their step. Anything any of the students went after they always managed to get. Everyone knew Bustier’s class was the luckiest in school. Then one day that changed dramatically.

“You’ve changed,” Alya accused Marinette after the class voted her out as Class president. “You become a bully.”

           Alix snorted, “More like a jealous bitch.”

           There were nods from the other students in class. Lila smiled at Marinette; happy that her promise to ruin the girl was coming true.

“You’re always so mean to Lila,” Rose added. “It’s not nice.”

“You’re worse than Chloe now,” Kim glared.

           Juleka frowned, “We miss the old Marinette.”

“You should’ve chilled out like I told you to, dudette,” Nino said with a shake of his head, clearly disappointed.

“We can’t be your friends anymore,” Alya crossed her arms.

           Marinette had listen to them quietly as they relayed reason after reason why they were ending their friendships with her; all to do with Lila. She didn’t bother to look at Adrien. He had warned her what was going to happen; Nino had told him. There had also been a group text apparently. Adrien made it clear he stood with Marinette. Even more so, when he chose to sit with her in the back of the class, a fierce glare on his face at the other students.

The bluenette placed down her pencil, closed her sketchbook and said, “Fine. Then we’re not friends anymore.”

“That’s counts double for me,” Adrien hissed. “Lose my number. In fact, don’t bother; I’ll just change it. That goes for every last one of you. I’ll be informing my Father and Nathalie that only Chloe and Marinette are on my visitors list.”

           The class blinked in shock. Not expecting that reaction from the blond boy who was usually so amicable and nice.

           Chloe watched with amused eyes. She had been sentenced to the back of the room not long after Marinette. “We’ve never been friends but consider all extra little perks you’ve gotten used to: dead and over with.”

           That was it. None of the other students knew what to say or do. They hadn’t gotten the reaction they expected. Marinette didn’t seem to care. Adrien seemed ready to set them on fire. Chloe looked rather pleased at the idea of seeing them burn. Most shrugged it off; figuring at least two of the three (Marinette and Adrien) would come crawling back in no time.

           They didn’t.

           Things started to change for the students in Bustier’s class the next day.

           Lila woke up in the morning to an email confirming that she would no longer being a model or any type of employee for the Gabriel Agreste brand. Or as Nathalie put it when the sausage hair girl called her, “We will no longer be needing your services, Miss Rossi. Do not contact us again.” Click.

           That was when Lila realized her plan of using Gabriel to get Adrien under her thumb had went up in flames. She hoped that Adrien wasn’t informed so that maybe she could still use his father as a threat against the boy.

           When she go to class, the blond model sent her a vicious smirk. Lila paled. She knew without a doubt that Adrien didn’t just know Lila was fired, he was the one got her fired.

           Nino woke up to the news that the gig he was due to play, his big break, had replaced him. It would’ve been huge for his career.

Oh well, he thought, back to DJ-ing for birthday parties.

           Alya accidently dropped her phone in the toilet; ruining hundreds of videos and pictures for the Ladyblog.

           Alix took a dive while skating; broke her ankle and the watch her dad gave her.

           Max broke his glasses.

           Kim got food poisoning.

           Ivan’s dad ran over his drum set while parking in the garage.

           Rose tried to call Prince Ali and found out he changed his number.

           Nathaniel spilled coffee all over his Ladybug comic strips. Marc had been pissed.

           Juleka’s mom accidently put bleach in with a load of her laundry; it ruined everything.

           By the time they had all got to class, all the students were in a terrible mood. However, when Marinette walked in with a box full of delicious smelling breakfast pastries; they perked up. The bluenette always seemed to know when they needed a pick me up. And there was nothing like a treat from the Dupain-Cheng Bakery.

           Marinette didn’t acknowledge any of their presences. She walked straight to the back of the classroom, sat in her seat between Chloe and Adrien. “Morning!” She beamed at her friends. “I brought treats for the three of us.”

“Awesome!” Adrien smiled, quickly opening the box and snagging a chocolate croissant. “Delicous, Thank you” He said. Or least they thought he said that. His mouth was full and it was mostly garbled.

           Chloe rolled her eyes. She grabbed a mixed berries and cream cheese pastry, “Perfect way to start the day. Thank you, Marinette.”

           Marinette took out her favorite: a berry and jasmine scone. Then she promptly through the box away; making clear that she hadn’t brought any for anyone else. “Anything for my friends.”

“We’ll do lunch at Le Grand Paris,” Chloe said. “On me of course. The chef there is to die for.”

           The other students visibly wilted. Alya in particular who loved going to Le Grand Paris as her mother was the head chef.

           It all went downhill from there.

           Over the next week things went from bad to worse for the students.

           Bustier told the class their trip the Presidential office was cancelled due to an unexpected flooding incident. The plan had been for the class to tour the office and have amazing picnic on the beach afterwards

           Lila’s mother, who had been busy nearly 24/7, officially went on vacation, meaning she plenty of time to spend with her daughter. Her daughter was panicked when her mother inquired about visiting her school.

           Alya discovered that the hits to her site had started to declined dramatically. She didn’t have time to worry about that as her internship with a local new studio had been cancelled; something about realizing Alya didn’t have enough experience. So her summer plans were cancelled.

           Nino’s Dj equipment sparked or shorted out or something but nothing would work anymore. He had cancel the rest of his gigs until he could buy new ones.

           Kim lost a swim match against Ondine.

           Markov got a virus and broke down causing Max to break down in tears.

           Nathaniel lost the expensive sketch pencil he won in a contest.

           Alix’s grandmother brought her a new dresses; frilly monstrosities that Alix’s forced her to wear to school for the entire week.

           Rose, Ivan, and Juleka were heartbroken when Luka announced he was going Solo.

           It didn’t help anyone’s mood that every day Marinette, Chloe, and Adrien walked into class with big smiles on their faces and pleasantly discussed their amazing plans.

           On Wednesday, Adrien invited Marinette and Chloe to come with him to meet the Prime Minister.

           Apparently, Adrien’s dad had called in favors so the three would tour Palais Bourbon, where the French Parliament meets.

“He said I could invite all my friends!” Adrien smiled.

           Marinette had been shocked at this. Until Adrien explained that his aunt had threatened to reveal to the world Gabriel Agreste’s neglectful behavior, his tendency break child labor laws, and his need to isolate Adrien. Thanks to his aunt, Adrien had a much free-er schedule and Gabriel had been in therapy for weeks. “I’ll bring food from the bakery. We can have a picnic!”

“Beach day!” Chloe cheered.

           No one else so much as smiled at the news. Even more so when pictures surfaced on Friday of Marinette, Chloe, Adrien, Ondine, Marc, Mireille, and Aurore with various members of Parliament; including the prime minister.

           Thursday, Chloe loudly invited Marinette and Adrien to an event for her mother, “It’s a fashion show! It’s tonight. Adrien can relax behind the scenes, while Mari and me model on the run way. Mama’s lost a few models so I told her I could recommend a few friends.”

“I’m modeling!” Marinette paled so much, her friends were sure she’d pass out.

“I get to do nothing!” Adrien grinned.

           Pictures of Chloe and Marinette modeling exploded across the internet; multiple fashion websites and online magazines deeming the girls’ Style Queen’s secret weapon and modeling next big thing.

           Most of the guys in class shrugged it off. But a few of the girls turned greened with envy; Lila in particular.

           On Friday, Marinette invited Adrien and Chloe to meet her uncle and her cousin, “He’s back in town on Saturday and he wants to meet all my friends.”

           No one else in class paid too much to that. Who cared about Marinette’s uncle? Or her cousin? They were probably just as stuck-up and nasty as she was.

           Then on Saturday, picture of the same group who went to Parliament, plus Luka, with Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale started trending on the internet. Jagged Stone posted a tweet about how awesome his honorary niece was, with a picture of him and Marinette. Clara posted a pic with her favorite little cousin, Marinette.

           Alya couldn’t believe her eyes and immediately started texting Marinette for the deets. She received a text back saying; new number; who dis?

           Nino flat-out called Adrien only hear that the number had been disconnected.

           The rest of the class faced the same issue.

           And then one by one, they each remembered that they weren’t friends with any of the tree Ostracized students anymore.

           Monday, Alya found out that BugOut, a competing Ladybug blog, had been officially endorsed by Ladybug and Chat Noir. Something that hadn’t happened with the Ladyblog.

           Max lost the science fair. For the first time. He had to go see the school guidance counselor.

           Kim got kicked off the team for his poor grade.

           Lila’s finally called the school to schedule an appointment. Lila was Akumatized within the five minutes.

           Alix’s grandma brought her more clothes; some which were tacky sweaters with cats all over them

           Nathaniel misplaced his new sketch book, with his redone Ladybug comic strips. He never found it. Marc wasn’t happy.

           Nino got a call to dj a huge event only to have to decline as he hadn’t bought new equipment yet.

           It was Adrien that brought in breakfast for the other two; Mcdonalds. Much to the Chloe and Marinette’s dismay, but they didn’t say anything as the boy was clearly happy about being allowed to eat it for the first time.

           Marinette unwrapped her sausage Mcgriddle, wondering who she hurt in a past life, “Jagged is doing a private concert. You two want to come?”

           Adrien nodded, his mouth full of fried hash brown and bacon. “Count me in,” They think he said.

           Chloe held the egg mcmuffin in her hand like it was physically hurting her to do so, “I’m in,” she said. “And I’m bringing breakfast tomorrow.”

           The class was dismayed at missing at meeting Jagged Stone again.

“Are you going to invite us?” Alya asked with a huff.

           Marinette didn’t even look in her direction, “Sorry Uncle Jagged said I can only invite my friends.”

           Ouch.

           Over the course of the next few months, things continued to fall apart for the class. They tried planning one of their usual amazing dances, only for everything to crash and burn. Then they remembered that Marinette planned everything, and before her, Chloe.

           The class never made enough money fundraising so nearly all planned class trips were canceled.

           They had to deal with seeing pictures of Marinette, Adrien, and Chloe and all their friends meeting all sorts of celebrities.

           Ladybug disowned the Ladyblog; causing Alya to burst into tears.

           No matter what any of the students tried, did, competed in, they never won. They practically failed at everything.

           Rose tried to bake cookies for the class; her kitchen caught on fire.

           Max applied for science camp; all spots were full.

           Nathaniel who had lost his comic drawing for the twelfth time in a row was finally told by Marc to take a hike.

           Nino lost his hat, broke his glasses, a dog at his homework, and he tripped landed face down in the mud; all on the way to school one morning.

           The students were constantly late, frustrated, and always seemed to have something accidently spilled or thrown on their clothes.

           Lila’s  mother, who finally decided to just randomly drop by the school after being told repeatedly by her daughter that it was closed so she couldn’t do the appointment for months, was shocked to say the least when it was clearly opened and active. She had a long talk with the Principle and all of Lila’s lies were revealed to class.

           Class was very apologetic to the three ostracized students after that but it didn’t matter. The three made it clear they weren’t interested in renewing their friendships.

           By the end of the year Bustier’s class went from the luckiest in school to the unluckiest kids on the planet.

           The students of Bustier’s class couldn’t help but wonder aloud why they lucked changed do much.

           Tikki, Plagg, and Pollen, hidden away in their chosens’ school bags just smirked.

[joaquinwhorres]

shots (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder when you know you're dating the wrong people. The right guy just isn't interested.

REQUEST ››››› ANNA HI HELLO FRIEND. okay, you're taking requests? i'm gonna SCREAM but okay could you do number 45 and diego, please? also i'm gonna look at the thing you sent me last night right now (45. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.) 

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,016

WARNINGS ››››› takes place partially at a shooting range

A/N ››››› I wrote this as a continuation of alone together, but it can really be read as a standalone. I just loved the reader + Diego's dynamic, so here's more.

You've been into Diego Hargreeves since your police academy days, which is to say, a nearly obscene amount of time. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how long it's been, though, because as with most things, falling for him was a rather fluid process. One minute you were reveling in the fact that you were suddenly single for the first time in three and a half years. The next, you were hanging off every word in his tirade about saving teargas for bad guys rather than protestors. And yet, it also felt so sudden. As if he had come out of nowhere and clotheslined you the way he did one of the instructors in restraint training.

And while it's hard to say when you fell for him, why is entirely too easy. You liked him because he wasn't afraid. He was stupid and brash, but he was bold and honest when it mattered. But more than that, you liked how he cared so deeply and passionately about doing the right thing rather than doing things the right way. Even when it cost him. 

Also, his forearms.

You’re watching them now, muscles rippling under his tight long sleeved shirt as he raises the gun, his gaze intensely focused on the target. You hope he doesn’t see you staring in his periphery because it’s pretty obvious you’re not just checking his form. There's a breath and then he fires five rounds into the piece of paper, every shot precise and lethal. 

“That’s how it’s done, baby,” he grins, laying the gun down as he steps back to direct his excitement at you. As if he'd ever done anything less than absolutely perfect at the range. Still, you can’t help but smile back even as you roll your eyes. You love it when he calls you baby. Even though he only ever says it to tease you, it still feels like it's your nickname that he has for you. 

Yeah. You’ve got it bad. 

Which is unfortunate because he simply doesn't. He's never so much as shown a single bit of interest besides the first day he met you, and let his eyes linger on your body a little too long. But after that? Nothing. It soon became clear that he only had eyes for Eudora, and while it was tempting to be jealous it was all too understandable. She was gorgeous and smart and kind and obviously going to make a damn good cop. But even after that imploded, he never seemed interested. You'd come to the conclusion that you were simply too close, which was unfortunate but also fine.

It would be fine.

You just need to follow your friends’ advice and find someone new to focus on. And not just flings. You've tried the "get over by getting under" method and it just doesn't work. You need romance, a good personality, someone you want to see again outside of the bedroom. What you need is a boyfriend. Instead you've gotten:

Ghosted more times than you can count

Four no-shows for dates

One catfish

Five break up texts

Seven dick pics

Six angry men calling you a whore

Three dates that were meant for other people

The most recent of the “oops I texted the wrong girl” dates had been a week ago, and you suspect it's also the reason Diego dragged you out to the shooting range today. Diego doesn't talk about feelings--you learned that real quick--but he is more empathetic than he looks. He just doesn't know how to translate that into words. Thus, shooting range. It's sweet. 

Except for the fact that he's an insufferable show off. That makes it a bit less sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, cheater,” you huff, moving forward to take his spot at the firing line. Obviously you can't tell if he cheated, but his arms had looked a bit too low for one of those shots to be as perfect as it was. You pick up the gun, waiting for his instructions, eyeing the target. 

"Head right 7, body right 9, body bullseye, head bottom 9, body bottom 8," he decides. Of course he gave you more body than head shots. 

It's tempting to insist that he keeps up the pretense that this is an even and fair competition and give you another head shot. But your time is running out, and who are you kidding--you'd like the win. So, you nod to confirm his choices before lifting the gun up and taking a breath in to clear your head of all else, the constant rejection, the unrequited crush, the stress at work, so you can focus. And then, you breathe out.

Your shots aren’t as pretty as Diego’s, but they all hit their marks. 

“Not bad,” he says as you place down the gun and then spin around to grin at him. 

“Not bad?” you echo back, gesturing to the target. “That’s the best all day.”

“That's the best you got all day,” he corrects, smugly. “Not the best.”

The smile vanishes from your face, replaced with narrowed eyes. "You're a dick."

He laughs then as you double check the chamber to make sure the gun's unloaded and ready to be packed up. "A huge dick," you clarify, placing the firearm in its case and turning to follow him out.

"Better than a small one," he shoots back, removing his headphones once the two of you enter the lobby.

If it weren't for range safety and all that, you'd kick him in the back of the knees. Instead, you settle on glaring at the back of his head as he checks the two of you out, stuffing your safety glasses and headphones into your bag.

"I really hate you, you know that right?" you ask as the two of you push through the door and out into the parking lot. 

"Not sure I'd say that if I was the person who needs a ride home," Diego smirks at you over his shoulder as the two of you reach his car. 

"Like there's even going to be room for me in the car anymore now that your head's so big," you say, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head. Before he has a chance to respond you speed walk to the passenger's seat and get in before he can lock you out.

"You're lucky I like you," Diego says, pointing a finger at you before he climbs in, sticks the keys in the ignition and shifts into reverse. You take your cell phone out of your pocket as he pulls out of the parking spot, hand resting on the back of your chair so he can look over his shoulder. You feel your cheeks grow hot and are thankful that his eyes are on the road and yours are on your phone screen. 

There are approximately 16 unread messages.

None of them are good.

In fact, you're feeling pretty crushed as you scroll through them. It doesn't help when Diego withdraws his arm to shift the car into drive. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and you try to pull yourself together but end up just wilting into your seat. It's not your friends' fault. Yesenia's babysitter fell through. Galilea was caught up with more work than she anticipated. Lilly probably really did need the extra time to study for her actuarial exam. These were all reasonable excuses. But it still sucked.

"What's up?" Diego asks as you slow to a stop at the red light. 

"Nothing," you say absent mindedly, texting out a message to the group. Life happens 🙃How about next Saturday?? 

Diego's eyes dart to you before going back to the road as the light turns green. "Y/N," he prompts.

You turn off your screen and cast a look at him. "It's really nothing; my friends just cancelled on me tonight." He remains quiet and you try to push out the growing frustration that you've been planning this for a solid week and it's only now, hours before, that all of these conflicts pop up. "We were supposed to go out," you sigh. "You know, do drinks and dancing."

He's silent again, only the sound of the turn signal clicking echoing throughout the car.  "Alright, so what time tonight?" Diego finally asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

It takes longer than it should to piece together what he's offering, but the thought of Diego taking you dancing is just too much on so many levels. The most immediate level being how absolutely hilarious it would be to see Diego dance. The thought alone elicits a surprised laugh.

"What's so funny?" Diego asks, his brow furrowing. It's clear he wants to glare at you but the car ahead moves, and he takes his chance to make the left turn. 

"You want to go dancing?" You ask, through giggles.

"And?" He sounds offended, but you're still trying to picture Diego on the dance floor and every resulting image is sending you into further hysterics. He catches on, eventually. "You don't think I can dance!"

"Mm-mm," you hum, shaking your head, and there's literally tears coming down from your eyes as you picture Diego doing the Hitch dance at the club. God, he always knew how to pull you out of your spirals. 

His face screws up into a frown, and you can vaguely tell he's annoyed. Unfortunately, you don't care. "I'm a great dancer!" he protests, turning onto your street. 

"Ok, ok," you say, finally calming down enough to stop laughing and wipe away the tears from your eyes. "Meet here at 9 and we'll decide on a place?" you ask as he pulls into a spot near your building.

He nods, still clearly annoyed, but he's a good friend, better than most, and doesn't rescind his offer. In return you give him a beaming smile as you climb out the door. Almost immediately you turn around and tap on the window. He raises an eyebrow and rolls it down. 

"Yes?"

"You know you're not allowed to wear that, right?" You check, pointing at his black on black tactical uniform. He looks as if he's a real life Batman. Right now he's giving you the Batman glower. "I'm serious, Diego. Go shopping if you have to." 

"Bye, Y/N," he says, pulling away from you without even bothering to roll the window up. You smile to yourself and walk to your building's front door. You cannot wait for tonight.

  Diego knocks on your door a few minutes after nine. It's tempting to give him a hard time about being late, to tell him that you thought yet another friend had abandoned you in your hour of need, but seeing as he had to rearrange whatever plans he had in order to take you out dancing, you decide to let him off the hook. 

You're kind of glad that you didn't come up with a witty line for when you opened the door because holy shit, he’s handsome.

In a way, he's stuck to the usual uniform. It's black on black, and he clearly has put no effort into his hair or shaving the stubble lining his jaw, but he's missing the usual tactical harness, armguards, and gloves. Instead, his arms are on full display, and while you're able to admire his muscles under his usual tight black shirt, it's nothing compared to what that short sleeved button up is doing for him. He looks broader, fuller, and more human than you've ever seen him.

"Look at you, all cleaned up," you say, allowing your eyes to run over his body under the pretense that you're teasing him. "Do a twirl for me," you demand, spinning your finger. He rolls his eyes, but slowly spins in a circle so you can admire each angle. "It'll do," you say, allowing him into the apartment.

"Glad I meet the standard," he says, coming in further. You're still staring at him and are able to see the exact moment his eyes land on the two shot glasses and bottle of tequila that you've placed out on your kitchen island. His eyes light up and naturally, he makes a bee line for the booze. Even more naturally, you follow him.

"We're gonna have a good time, then?" he asks, eyeing the tequila.

"Oh yeah," you confirm, grabbing the shaker of salt from the table on your way into the kitchen. Diego pours out a shot for each of you, sloshing a bit on the counter as you salt your hand. When you pass the salt over to him, your fingers brush causing a warm and tingling sensation to stir in your stomach. You probably shouldn't have already taken a couple of sips from the bottle. Maybe if you hadn't, you wouldn't be watching him so intently as he licks his hand. You're able to tear your eyes away to grab a lime and place one in front of him as he finishes.

"To a good time," Diego says, raising his glass to yours. You clink your shot glass against his before swiping the salt off your hand with your tongue, following it with the silver tequila burning its way down your throat. Placing the glass down, you grab the wedge of lime and bite into it, allowing the lime juice to ease the sweeten the sting.

"Mm," you hum, taking the lime out of your mouth and placing it on the opposite edge of the cutting board from the rest of the lime slices. Diego places his wedge over yours and looks at you. 

"Another?” he asks, and well, you can’t let the rest of the lime go to waste. Besides, even well drinks are expensive these days. 

After your second shot, Diego moves to clean up the island as you watch. “Taxi should be here at 9:30.”

“You decide on a place yet?” he asks, and you hum a yes, eyes on him as he places the bottle of tequila up with the rest of your alcohol. It's easy to blame the tequila, but you're not sure if that's 100% why you feel the surge of almost overwhelming tenderness for him. 

"Hey, Diego?" your voice comes out a bit smaller than you'd like, and he notices too because he turns to face you immediately, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and his smile which always looks like it's caught between being a smirk and a genuine grin comes out. "We're supposed to be alone together, right?"

"Right," you agree, and you're certain he'll see your affection glowing off you like some kind of aura. Except he turns quickly back to dump the cutting board and knife into the sink.

"How's all that going by the way?" he asks, still bent over the sink. He has to mean dating. Or maybe your feelings. You're proficient in Diego-speak but you're not sure if you'll ever be fully fluent. He's hard to read his words; it's much easier to read his face.

"I think I meant what I told you," you say with a sigh. "I think I'm done with all that."

He turns around to face you then, and you can see the concern and sadness on his face. Sympathy is a rare emotion for Diego, and you don't like how it makes you feel. "Look, if you want to find someone, you can't give up."

"It's just hard to put myself out there when I know none of them are right," you say, frustration and an aching loneliness fizzing under your skin. "You know? None of them are you." The words come out too fast to stop, and it takes less than a breath to reach you could grab them out of the air. Your face is growing hot, but you push it back down and quickly try to remedy the situation, “I mean none of them are like you.” 

He seems a bit frozen as well, assessing, and you wish to God that you had another shot of tequila right now to take your attention off of the way his brow creases slightly and mouth turns down. “You don’t want me,” he says finally with a shake of his head. 

You do. 

You really do.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, not liking his tone or the way he's still frowning slightly and can't meet your eyes.

He shakes his head again but steps forward to stand across the island from you. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze myself, but I gotta lotta shit. I don’t know if you could put up with two of us. And I'm not letting you throw me away for some guy who came after.”

You sit there quietly, taking in his words and trying to hear what he was saying. What he was really saying underneath and you don't like any of the deductions you're able to come up with. “Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, and you know you've been quiet too long right after he's been as vulnerable as he can be. 

“You know I don’t consider it putting up with you, Diego, right?” You ask, quietly. It’s important he knows. He has to know at least that. 

He gives an attempt at a smirk, but it doesn't make it to his eyes. “What else would you call dealing with my bullshit?”

You reach out to him, wiggling your fingers in an insistence that he take your hand. It takes a second, and some aggressive eye contact for him to take your hand, but when he does, you fold your hand over his, smoothing over the knuckles with your thumb. There’s scars there. Probably from his childhood. Or last week. “I’d call it returning the favor.” 

He snorts but doesn't take his hand away. Instead he squeezes your hand, and you know he'll never tell you that he loves you, but this feels pretty close. You squeeze his hand back.

[sleepy-exe]

Shapeshifter AU - 9

Iwaizumi x f!reader

<< Part 8 | Part 10 >>

Summary: The morning after Iwaizumi found out about shapeshifters. Y/n tries to play it cool. Iwaizumi gets to see into part of her world.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: none, fluff

Genre: sfw (18+ regardless), shapeshifter au, strangers to lovers

a/n: Ahhhh this is so late. The next two parts are almost ready at least. Haha..

Part 9: Walls Will Fall 

Y/n woke up in her bed at home, alone as usual. Not long after her and Iwaizumi’s shapeshifter discussion, she had to head home to get ready for work later that morning. She had today off though, so she could clear her head from yesterday’s events, and she hoped to hear from Iwaizumi. He had texted her once that evening after he got home from his own job, not that he’d planned to come over. He still didn’t know exactly where she lived anyway. Regardless, he normally says more even if he doesn’t seem to text much. She hoped he wasn’t scared off.

>> To ‘zumi’: “good morning~”

She immediately cursed herself realizing she majorly slept in. It’s far from morning now. She stretched while sitting in bed for a moment before heading to her master bathroom. Her phone chimed as she stepped foot on the tiled floor, so she ran back to grab the phone she had left behind before heading to do her morning routine. She checked her notifications while grabbing an elastic to push any baby hairs out of her face. He texted back already. She sighed in relief; having wondered if he’d answer at all.

>> From ‘zumi’: “morning? Dont tell me you just woke up”

>> From ‘zumi’: “y/n it’s 1pm”

She smiled to herself. At least she didn’t get a one word reply. He can’t be completely avoiding her then, right?

>> To ‘zumi’: “course not i meant afternoon lol”

>> From ‘zumi’: “you totally just woke up”

She admitted defeat in silence and headed for the shower. During her shower and the rest of her morning ritual, she heard several dings from her phone but ignored them.

Exiting the en suite, she tossed her phone onto the bed before walking to the kitchen completely naked. The joys of living alone. She grabbed a water bottle from her fridge and checked the cat’s bowls before returning to her bed, water in hand.

She swapped the bottle for her phone, plopping down on the foot of the bed with a light bounce. There were various app notifications that she ignored and texts from a few friends, which she also ignored. For now. She’s not a bad friend for that, right?

But below her friends’ texts was another text from Iwaizumi, and she clicked it. She’s definitely going to reply to her other two friends very soon.

>> From ‘zumi’: “no reply makes it sound like I was right”

>> To ‘zumi’: “maybe I was busy all morning”

>> From ‘zumi’: “I thought you had the day off”

>> To ‘zumi’: “Nope was definitely busy and I’m definitely being productive”

>> From ‘zumi’: “prove it”

She paused. She’s pretty sure he’s expecting a pic. At least if she was texting Mizuki or another friend that would be more or less a demand for a selfie to prove what she’s actually doing. But not only would that prove she lied, she still hadn’t picked out clothes to wear.

Her cat suddenly jumped onto her bed and started head butting her. “Yeah yeah, breakfast. I saw you had some left in your bowl, kitty cat.”

>> To ‘zumi’: “well i can’t send a pic not dressed”

After several minutes of giving the cat much needed attention, she moved her to the side so she could get to her wardrobe. While she decided on an outfit, she heard her phone chime again, but decided maybe she should go ahead and get dressed.

Now fully clothed she grabbed her phone and headed over to do some minimal makeup. Fill in her brows, cover her dark circles, the usual.

>> From ‘zumi’: “Not dressed this late in the afternoon? At work?”

>> From ‘zumi’: “I dont believe that’s normally acceptable in an office setting”

>> From ‘zumi’: “I’m guessing that means one of those things was a lie. you’re not supposed to lie to your friends”

She clicked her tongue. “Okay.. Oh wait!”

Friends!

She quickly checked her other messages. Sakusa and another friend had texted her earlier. Sakusa just sent a reminder about plans they had made for later in the week, so she confirmed the plans were still on. Her best friend surprisingly didn’t blow up her phone for ignoring him; not that he had anything important to say. She typed out a quick message to him, then got back to Iwaizumi.

>> To ‘zumi’: “fine I did sleep in”

>> To ‘zumi’: “sorry for lying how can I ever make it up to you”

Mochi was on her heels as she left the bedroom. “Okay! Okay!”

>> From ‘zumi’: “depends”

>> From ‘zumi’: “are you planning on getting dressed today”

She chuckled, and quickly gave Mochi food and fresh water.

>> To ‘zumi’: “yeah. Done. Mochi got her breakfast and now I’m getting mine”

As she stepped into her kitchen, Iwa was already calling her. What did she expect? She sighed and answered the call.

“You haven’t eaten yet?!” Did she expect him to say anything else? No.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Y/n.”

“Don’t dad me.”

“Wha-“

“Don’t ya have work today?”

“No, I have today off.”

“Oh. Fun fun.” She sent a request to switch to video chat before working on her brunch.

“..You’re dressed, right?”

She snorted. “I generally don’t cook naked.”

“Generally?” He accepted the switch to video call and she propped her phone up on the countertop. She could see he was indoors, but did not recognize where.

“I’m making something to eat now, but we can talk. Don’t worry, I’m fully clothed.” She snickered.

“Oh, so you do live somewhere,” he said with a coy smile. She winced at the nod to her secrecy. “What are you making?”

She paused staring down at her phone, then looked around and left the phone’s frame.

“You haven’t even figured out that much? I can’t believe you haven’t had anything to eat yet! It’s after 3pm!”

“It’s not-“ She caught sight of the time on the microwave and winced again. Whoops. She popped her head back in the camera frame long enough for a, “Nah.. Totally know what I’m cooking, yup!”

But she still caught his less than pleased expression before she turned away. She heard a sigh then, “Why don’t we just have lunch together?”

“Oh? You wanna have lunch with me, Iwaizumi?” She said, digging through the refrigerator for something she could make a meal out of.

“Do you want to cook or do you want to join me?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Boo.” She picked the phone up and held it in front of her as she abandoned what food and cookware she already laid out. “Yeah, I’d love to go get somethin’. Anything.” She glanced around the room. “I apparently need to grocery shop.”

He shook his head. “Any preference?”

“Nah. I’m literally wilting away. I’ll eat anything.” She threw an arm over her face dramatically as she walked from the kitchen.

He laughed. “Okay. I’m already out. Want to meet me somewhere?“

“Well, if yer out already,” she smirked and fell back onto the loveseat, “Why don’t you get whatever and come to my place. We can eat here.”

“Uh huh. I don’t know where you live, you little shit,” he grumbled.

“Ah, well, I could text you my address.. Are you anywhere near Kita ward?” His eyes were fixed on her through the screen, but he gave no response, verbally or otherwise. Her cheerful expression dropped and she spoke with an apologetic tone, “Look, I’m sorry about not sharing this stuff. I only didn’t want you to know where I live to be careful. Because the whole.. y’know..”

“Because you were afraid that I knew. And now you know that I do. How is that better?” The screen adjusted as he stepped outdoors from wherever he was.

She flicked stray hair out of her face. “Well.. because of your reaction. That’s what I was afraid of. But it was fi-“

“I’m still mad about it,” he commented without looking at the screen as he walked. Wherever he is isn’t too busy.

“Yeah, well.. ya have the right to be.”

“Please, just.. don’t lie to me anymore.” He stared at her through the screen with furrowed brows.

She nodded. “I won’t. I promise.” Mochi jumped over her face and onto the arm of the loveseat behind her head. “Also, sorry for lying this morning too.”

“What- Was that a cat?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

He just stared for a second before shaking his head. “And I don’t care about the thing earlier. Playing around and teasing is different than hiding a part of yourself and your life.”

“Yeah..” Mochi flipped her tail in Y/n’s face and she quickly slid it away. She then tilted her phone up so the cat was now in front of the phone and the shifter’s head was peeking from the bottom of the screen. “This is Mochi by the way. Umm, are ya allergic to cats?”

“So that’s who that is, huh. And no, I was just surprised you had a cat. You never talk about it.”

Around you, comment best left to herself.

“Good ‘cause her fur is everywhere.”

Y/n ran across the apartment when she heard knocking at the front door. Unlocking it, she opened the door to Iwaizumi with takeout. “Hey! Did ya have any trouble getting here?”

The smell of food suddenly hit her and she moaned, “I am so hungry. Oh my gosh, thank you.”

He stepped into her apartment and kicked off his shoes. “I didn’t think you’d live in the city.”

He looked around the apartment. It appeared to be not much bigger than his, but the floor-to-ceiling windows along the entire wall to the right made it feel much larger.

Y/n grabbed the bags of takeout from him and ran off to the kitchen which sat to the left, dining table sitting in the area between the entryway and kitchen.

The floors were a grey wood and the walls were painted a darker grey. The white and black in the kitchen along with her mostly black furniture definitely gave the space a monochrome feel.

“What, thought I lived in the woods?” She laughed. “I just run there. And, like, chill there. I love nature and the city alike, and this is closer to work so..”

He walked toward the living room, walking past a sofa to reach the wall of windows. Mochi jumped onto a small end table next to him to request a greeting. He ran a hand along Mochi’s back after letting her sniff him. “What do you do again? It’s close by?”

“Uhh,” he could hear her shuffling around in the kitchen, “Best summary would be really boring business stuff. For other businesses. Around Chuo Ward.”

“How creative,” he said dryly.

“Logistics,” the kitchen noises stopped, “Making calls, boring desk work.”

She walked up behind Iwaizumi so quietly he didn't notice she had left the kitchen. “I mean, other stuff too, but ya know.”

He jumped a little when her voice came from his right where she suddenly appeared.

She stifled a giggle. “Sorry. Do ya wanna eat over here?”

He gave a wary look.

“Believe me it’s fine,” she shooed the cat from the end table, “This little brat makes a bigger mess than you ever could.”

She paused before adding, “Ah.. Actually, I might make more messes.”

He snorted. “Wherever is fine.”

The two of them shared the larger of the two sofas. She placed her mostly empty noodle bowl on the coffee table, then leaned back and maneuvered so that her legs were draped over the arm of the sofa and her head resting against one of his thighs. “Excellent choice. You are definitely allowed to pick where we eat in the future,” she said staring at the ceiling, totally content.

Iwaizumi’s legs were stretched out in front of him, one hand holding a drink and the other now moved to the back of the sofa after Y/n claimed where the arm once was. “Oh yeah?”

She hummed in agreement, eyes now gazing across the room.

He looked towards the windows again, sipping at his drink. “I bet sunrise is pretty from here.”

She hummed again, but this time in disagreement. “Nah, wrong way. But I never wake up early enough anyway.”

He looked down at her resting face. She was wearing much less makeup than usual. It’s the first time he noticed the faint details of her face. “You wake up early enough when you stay with me,” voice low.

“Yeah.. But that’s the only time. I don’t sleep much there.” She opened her eyes just barely to look at him.

His eyebrows raised, he wasn’t aware of that. He thought she just woke up early. “Why’s that?”

She turned her head so she faced away from him now and spoke softly, “..Anxious maybe?” She turned back to him. “You make it sound like I stay with you a lot. I’ve only stayed twice.”

“I think it was three times.”

“Nah,” she sat up this time, kicking her legs around to face forward, just missing Mochi, “Maybe four times.”

“Definitely not four times.” He looked around the room again, taking in her home.

“Eh. Next time,” she reached down to swipe at Mochi under the coffee table.

He chuckled as Mochi took off to climb a cat tree against the wall behind them.

“So other animals..” He trailed off, not sure if he should finish that sentence.

“Cats don’t mind at all,” she met his gaze, “You’re talking about Mochi living with me, right? Dogs and some other animals do seem to notice, but she doesn’t. I could shapeshift in here and she wouldn’t care less.”

“And you can ask me whatever, I won’t get offended. Not really anyway.” She turned in her seat to fully face him, leaning her head against the arm he had along the back of the sofa. “Well, I mean, if you did ask something I didn’t want to answer, I just wouldn’t answer,” she playfully crinkled her nose at him to which he rolled his eyes.

He sat his drink to the side. “You do that in here?”

“What, shapeshift? Not usually.” She moved her attention to the windows. It was well into the evening now and sunset had started, shades of yellow and orange filling the sky around the city. “Hmm.. I might not get to see sunrise here, but sunset always gets me.”

He looked over this shoulder then shifted to face the windows to watch the sunset as well. “What’s better, sunset or sunrise?”

She shifted again, this time to sit on her legs. She hadn’t had the chance to go for a run lately, and it’s starting to catch up with her, making her fidget. She leaned forward, letting her chest press against his back and head rest on his shoulder. She hums. “They’re two different things that can’t be compared. I pick both.”

They stayed there in silence watching the sun set behind the tall buildings of Kita. At least until Mochi saw her chance and jumped onto the coffee table just to nosedive into takeout leftovers. Y/n jumped up, chasing the cat away. “Mochi!”

Iwaizumi shook his head, watching her remove a food container from Mochi’s head. “How about I help you clean this up?”

She exhaled, starting to already stack some of the takeout containers. “Sure. I’d appreciate it.”

He reached over to grab anything she missed and followed to dispose of everything. She made a second trip to carry glasses to the sink. He met her back in the kitchen just for her to grab his wrist and drag him back to the living room.

Sunset was almost over, the sky fading to darker shades, deep pinks and purples painting the sky. “Watching the sunset from here is beautiful,” she whispered.

They returned to their spot on the sofa, this time she leaned into his side. “But watching the sunrise from your living room.. feels warm.”

“Is that so?”

They stayed like that while the sun disappeared, lights of the city illuminating the dark blue sky. Iwaizumi caught her starting to doze off as she leaned heavier into him. One arm around her side, he shook her lightly. “Hey, go to bed.”

She stirred and grumbled a response, “Fine. Stay?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want. I’ll stay out here. You go to bed.”

She sat up and stretched. “Nah. My bed‘s huge. It’s like a.. I don’t know.. There’s plenty of room.”  

“No, that’s okay.” He watched her stand and shuffle towards the front door, checking the locks.

“Look, I can’t make ya,” her voice filled with exhaustion. She walked behind the sofa and reached over to wrap her arms around his shoulders in a lazy hug from where he sat. “But if ya change yer mind.”

“I’ll get blankets.” She released him and moved around the living room towards the back of the apartment. She walked through her bedroom to one of the closets and pulled out a huge fluffy blanket and headed for the living room.

Iwaizumi was outside the bedroom door by the time she reached it. “What’s up with you and sleepovers?”

“I get lonely.” She handed him the oversized blanket. “Here.”

Taking the blanket, he said, “We don't even sleep in the same room.”

“Yeah. Well.” Her unfocused eyes looking past him. “My other friends do, but that’s fine. Just bein’ here matters.” She yawned again before continuing, “I have extra pillows too.”

He waited outside the doorway as she went back to the closet to retrieve pillows. Unlike the rest of the apartment, her bedroom was colorful from what he could see, and also messy. Compared to the monochrome, nice and neat main areas, this room could have belonged to an entirely different unit.

She returned to the doorway with two pillows and they walked back to the living room. “If you need anything, ya know, make yerself at home,” she said sleepily followed by a yawn, “I’ll leave the door open. And if Mochi bugs you, you can close her in my room. She’s a cuddler.”

He smiled before chasing the tired shifter off to bed, exchanging goodnights.

Parts 10 >>

[stevenbasic]

what the..? I thought to myself, opening up Instagram for the first time this Monday morning, as I sat at my desk, What the hell is this?? I had - huh? - a whole inbox full of messages, from accounts I didn’t recognize. Who are all these people…? No one ever sends me DMs, I thought, as I opened the first. This, the first of maybe a half-dozen, took me aback:..

Who was this person? What was she doing, contacting me? ‘Applying for job’???

Oh no…

Already half a mess from a weekend spent in indulgent, self-flaggeratory decrepitude, ashamed of myself for how pathetic I’d been over the past two days, I felt my chest drop as I began to realize what was happening:

Randi.

Immediately I went to my desktop, to start pulling up our accounts, the business profiles for the practice. Instagram, Facebook. I had given Randi the title of “Director of Social Media” and - shame on me - hadn’t really kept track of what she was doing with them. She had said, last week, that she’d be helping start the search for new hires, and she had obviously gone online to post for the positions. My hands shook as I began to realize what she’d done. 

Any normal person would have used Indeed.

I shuddered as I signed in. All our social media platforms were absolutely blanketed with completely inappropriate postings, the most recent being for the job positions. Our Facebook - which under my direction had been an admittedly stale assembly of old practice photos - was now rife with gratuitous body shots of Melissa, selfies of the girls,all ostensibly advertising the office. Randi had also pinned and boosted a post featuring herself and the staff assembled in a group cheesecake pose: “Any pretty girls want a job? We need lots of ladies to fulfill the massive needs of the office of Far Horizon Medical Associates, front- and back-end. Great money! Become a Lean-In girl!” Agh!!! Our Instagram ‘story’ was a similar series of Melissa’s old modeling pics, and culminated with this:

I dropped my face into my hands. Randi had hijacked our online presence, our social media accounts, and even started some new ones. Tumblr, Twitter, all with the same message. UGH. What did she think she was doing?? The worst offense, though, was on Instagram. A picture - oh no - of me, in my clinic jacket, with the caption: “D-cup? Bigger? Dr. J likes you already! We want you for our #bodsquad team!” And then, the killing blow: “send resumes to me here, pics to @dr_j_787878 - pretty girls only! #bigboobsamust

I have to take this d-

Just then, an IG alert. More pics of “Bessie” coming thru:

Jesus.

I need to speak to Randi about this, I told myself, knowing I should call her in here, right away. I even reached for the desk phone, to dial her extension but - god help me - I couldn’t. I felt strangely nervous, anxious, afraid to confront her. What was wrong with me?? Was I really this meek, frightened of my own employee, of confronting her, of making her mad? She was a strong personality, and the thought of arguing with her…

My hand rested on the phone; I was frozen, unable to act, wrestling with self-reproach. 

Just then, my cell phone buzzed. A text from Melissa:

How did she..?

My thoughts, for a brief moment, became more confused. I felt watched, even more paranoid. But then, a light of clarity settled me with the thought - Melissa can fix this. 

no…I can handle this myself…! C-can’t I?

No, you can’t. 

I had just spent all weekend jerking off to her. How was I supposed to face her? I’d wilt in shame, for sure, just being in the room with her. But, even through my anxieties, my doubts and misgivings, I found myself typing:

Yes, Melissa can make this better. 

I waited, watching my phone for her reply. I straightened my tie. Pushed some papers to the edge of my desk. Rearranged my pens. After a good minute:

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

Thanks for reading. Next post up at my Patreon

[themonotonysyndrome]

The Holy Quintet in Twisted Wonderland! (all 7 dorms - Part 4)

We now have reach Mami’s reaction to the other dorms! I’m still trying to juggle with work and all of my TW’s writings so apologies that updates for this crossover series are a bit slow. But after we’re done with Madoka’s part, future instalments are going to be a bit easier to manage (I hope. The Witches & Kyuubey scenes as well as the girls’ personal stories definitely require properly outline. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there!)  Also, I have a Discord for all my TW’s stuff! Come and brainstorm with me for more ideas for this series or just chill and talk shit about stuff. https://discord.gg/JeYwU2

That’s it frome me, let’s get to it! 

-

Tomoe Mami & the other dorms (except Pomefiore) 

HEARTSLABYUL!

True to her word, when Riddle told Sayaka that she could invite one of the girls to their Unbirthday Party, she immediately rush to find Mami. Telling about the party that Heartslabyul often throw.

Sayaka promises that there would be plenty of sweets, teas, cute animals and fun games. So would she like to attend? 

Never one to turn down the opportunity to hang out with her friends and enjoy some teas at the same time, Mami didn’t hesitate to accept the offer. Sincerely thanking of Sayaka for thinking of her. 

The day before the party, Mami made sure she would look nothing but her absolute best. She had a couple of dresses sketched out that she could easily use her ribbons to transform into for the party and now she’s sitting in front of the vanity table with her hair down. Carefully planning how she would do her hair and make up for tomorrow. 

As you can probably tell, she’s both nervous and excited to attend a formal tea party since this is her first time ever. She even falls asleep, smiling to herself, dreaming of all the fun things she and Sayaka would have. 

The day of the Unbirthday Party arrives. Coincidentally, Vil was there at the dorm lounge, tutoring a group of second-year students, when Mami descend the stairs. When the Dorm Leader turn to the stairs, his frown transform into a brilliant smirk. He wasted no time to appraise Mami of her dress, hair-do and simple yet elegant makeup. His eyes never stop to critically scan her from the hair pin artfully on her twin tails to her cute little high-heels. Even the second-year students who were wilting under Vil’s strict tutelage brighten when they see their Golden Princess. They smile and offer their compliments as well.  

Mami’s cheeks redden slightly but she made sure to curtsey and thanked Vil and her second-year seniors for their kind and thorough compliments. When the Beauty Queen asked where Mami is heading looking so dolled up, she replies that Sayaka had invited her to Riddle’s Unbirthday Party. Vil took a moment to silently pondered before warning her of the many rules that reigned over Heartslabyul. But after Riddle’s Overblot episode, Vil assured Mami that all she needs to do is behave herself, mind her manners and the rules shouldn’t be a problem. Mami thanked her Dorm Leader once more and head off.  

The moment she steps out of Pomefiore, all eyes are on her and every heads turn to Mami’s direction. This powerful Magical Girl feel a little self-conscious at the attention she’s receiving since she’s still a very much young girl at heart but kept her head high. Vil’s words instantly echoed in her mind; as a Pomefiore student, she must always hold herself proud. Their beauties are hard-earned and rightfully deserved.   

The few Heartslabyul students that were tasked to greet guests gape when Mami arrives. It took a moment for the boys to pick their jaws up from the ground to usher Mami to the garden, as gentlemanly as possible. They blunder as they escort her, but their sincere efforts is very much appreciated by Mami. So she sweetly thanked them when they brought her to Riddle.  

Riddle, who already took his seat at the head of the table, is pleased when Mami introduces herself to him, with all the grace of a noble lady. Internally, he believes that Vil and his dorm deserved to claim this Magical Girl as their Golden Princess. Because behind her beauty and gentle smile, her words are steady and calm. That shows the strength behind it.  

Mami’s smile turn fond and a lot more open when Sayaka happily jogged towards them, eagerly chatted their ears off of all the fun things they can do and oh, oh, won’t Mami sit next to her? There’s just so many things that she wants to talk to her about! Like that time when Sebek and Kyouko caused an accident during Alchemy lesson and switched their classmates’ voices. Needless to say that Mami basked in Sayaka’s company, even giggle when Riddle’s interject with a sigh and a shake of his head at the whole fiasco. 

So caught up in the conversation, Mami didn’t notice the Vice Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul smoothly saddled up beside Riddle to announce that the party is ready to begin. Riddle clap his hands once and the Heartslabyul students kicked into gear. Mami however, stood frozen. Her heart began to race. She stares hard at Trey Clover. 

Decked in his dorm uniform, Trey actually didn’t realise how unbelievably handsome he presented himself to our Magical Girl. As Riddle instruct everyone to take their seat and somewhere in the background Sayaka is waving her arm madly, trying to catch Mami’s attention, Trey introduces himself as the Vice Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul. His friendly smile and deep voice captivated Mami. And when Trey pull out the vacant chair beside Sayaka for her, her heart skips a beat. 

“Mami-san? Are you alright? Heellloo??”

“Ah! Y-Yes, I’m alright!” Cue Mami hurrying to raise her teacup to hide her blush. 

The Unbirthday Party was truly amazing. Mami immensely enjoyed the tea, sweets and company of not just Sayaka but the Heartslabyul students as well. 

However, despite how lively her surrounding is, Mami’s eyes couldn’t help but subtly trailed after Trey who’s making rounds, ensuring that everyone has plenty to eat, Riddle’s teacup is always full and Ace and Deuce aren’t getting too rowdy. When Trey noticed that Mami is staring at him, he smiles and give her a wink before focusing on the party. 

Mami blushes harder and tried not to squirm in her seat. She has never felt anything like this before! There was no boy back at home that she ever gave a second thought. Her life as a Magical Girl is busy as it is dangerous. Back then, romance and her love life was the farthest thing in her mind. 

But here’s Mami experiencing her first crush ever and on none other than Trey Clover.

And for first time ever, her tongue is tied when Trey finally sat down across from her. When Trey asks questions, wanting to know her better (after all, Sayaka sing nothing but praises about the girl who teaches her how to be strong, how could Trey not be interested?), Mami low-key struggle not to stammer her words and not shyly gaze away. Fortunately, Sayaka didn’t notice anything off about her nor how hard Mami’s hands fisted on her dress underneath the table.

Cater appear, being her unintentional saviour. He’s been meaning to take a pic of Pomefiore’s Princess and Mami jumps on the opportunity to just breathe without having to look at Trey. However, when Cater ushered them for a group picture, Mami thought she would faint when she felt her back was pressed against Trey’s chest. 

(Someone save this poor girl.) 

Riddle approved of Mami. She’s a good student, a good teacher to Sayaka and despite not knowing all the rules of his dorm, she’s very mindful of them. Though her reluctance to actually look at his Vice Dorm Leader when they talk is a little rude. Did... did Trey do something to offend Vil’s prized student? 

Cater adores Mami! She looks so photogenic in all the pics he took! He adores her little laugh, sweet smiles and thoughtfulness. He internally laments on why couldn’t his sisters be like her!? 

Even before meeting her, Mami already earned Trey’s respect. With the way how Sayaka and even Kyouko talk about Mami, it seems that she’s the girls’ leader and would often try her best to look after them. So he wants to know more about her! How is she adjusting to their world? Are the foods and drinks to her liking? Please don’t hold back, eat as much as she wants.

Though he’s confused as to why Mami is acting differently with him. She shrinks in on herself when they talk and refuse to meet his eyes. Whereas with Cater, Ace, Deuce and even Riddle, she’s comfortable interacting with them. Perhaps he’s coming off too strongly? Oh well. Trey is certain that she just needed time to warmed up to him. 

Ace and Deuce at first don’t really know how to talk or interact with Mami. Bless their hearts, they tried to be a gentleman for her only to hilariously failed at pouring tea for her. Mami rushed to help them clean up the spilled drink and patted their arms, thanking them for trying their best to accommodate her. Please don’t treat her differently. She’s more than happy if Ace and Deuce treats her like how they treat Sayaka and Kyouko. She can take a little roughing, don’t worry.  

As for Mami, she hopes that Ace and Deuce won’t hold themselves back with her. She wants to join them and have fun too! It’d be nice to let loose once in a while. 

Cater is a whirlwind of camera’s flashing, teasing and good humour. Mami is very charmed by him (thought his smiles are not as captivating as Trey’s) throughout the party. She likes his easy-going attitude, how well he eases the tension between Ace, Deuce and Sayaka during the game of croquet. She definitely looks up to him as her senior from another dorm. 

Riddle is also another senior that Mami looks up to. She takes in how compose and how well he manages the other students, his magic quick to prevent any accidents to happened and his hard-working nature is admirable. There’s a lot she can learn from Riddle and Mami hopes the two of them would be able to study together in the near future. 

Trey... well, even when the party’s over and Mami well on her way back to her dorm, Trey is still running in her mind. Among the boys, Trey is the most prince-like to her. You can bet this girl already falls hard for him when Sayaka informed her that Trey’s the one who baked all the sweets for the Unbirthday Party. 

By the time she reaches Pomefiore, Rook who was nearby noted the slight dazed expression on Mami’s face when he asked if she had fun at the party. His interest is definitely piqued when Mami then blushed and run to her room. 

Rook is familiar with the expression of infatuation. Though he never expect that Mami would be among the girls to wear such an expression! Perhaps one of the students here finally tug on their Princess’ heartstrings. Now, which boys from the Heartslabyil dorm is Mami enamoured with?  

Vil needs to know about this.   

SAVANACLAW!

Lately, Mami notice that she hasn’t seen Kyouko in classes. And when she asked Madoka and Sayaka whether Kyouko is busy, the two girls sheepishly explain that she’s just skipping. 

Seeing Mami’s disappointed frown, Sayaka gave in and explain that Kyouko likes nap at the green house. And so Mami left for the green house after requesting Sayaka not to warned Kyouko that she’s coming. They had 30 minutes before their next class and Mami is confident that she can drag the redhead girl with her to their History class. 

Arriving at the green house, it wasn’t hard for her Soul Gem to pick up Kyouko’s brash and flame-like magic hidden somewhere behind thick shubberies and greeneries. However, Mami was not expecting Leona to be there with Kyouko; napping on the soft grass beside his junior dorm mate. His tail lightly entertwine around Kyouko’s arm. 

Mami almost didn’t want to disturb the two but as students, they have responsibilities to attend classes so she crouch down beside Kyouko to light shake her awake. 

Kyouko groan and stir. She cracks one eye open and groan louder when Mami is smilling down at her. Kyouko try to shoo the veteran Magical Girl away but Mami is having none of it. 

At first, Mami tries to gently persuade and even bribe Kyouko to follow her to their class but when Kyouko rolls away, Mami decide to use her ribbons. 

Before Kyouko could summon her spear, Mami already create a tall armoured knight and scoop the redhead girl up in its arms and hug her before Kyouko could escape. 

“What the - seriously, Mami? Lemme go!”

“We have History class soon, Kyouko. Shall we go now?” 

 “Are you even listening to me!?” 

Mami’s giggle and Kyouko’s whining rouse Leona up.  

Leona would think he’s dreaming at first. There’s his junior in the arms of a really tall knight that just came out of nowhere, squirming and trying to break free. That itself is a cause for alarm because if something can pinned Kyouko down, then that means it can’t be good and they must be crazy strong. But when he saw Mami smiling gently, his brain would froze. Ah shit, it’s that prissy Pomefiore’s Dorm Leader’s junior. And the girl that Kyouko once told him is the strongest out of all of them. 

So Kyouko is on her own. No matter how much Kyouko shriek for him to help her. He grumble and told the girls to quiet down because someone is trying to nap here, hello!

However, just as Leona close his eyes, Mami sweetly said, “Senpai, don’t you have class too?”

Leona’s eyes flew open again and he immediately found himself in the arm of another armoured knight. Like a surprised, indignant cat, Leona narrowed his eyes at the blonde hair girl who is totally unfazed at his ire. 

“Shall we go to class together?” Without waiting for a reply, Mami begin walking out of the green house with Kyouko and Leona behind her; both trying to escape. 

“Herbivore! If you don’t let me go right now - ”

“I think Bucchi-senpai should be around. Don’t worry, Kingscholar-senpai. I’ll get you to your class.”

Leona groan when Kyouko told him to just give up. He would need to actually make an effort to fight Mami if he wants to get away. It’s a sight to behold for the passing students to see the Dorm Leader of Savanaclaw and the Savanaclaw Brawler being carried off by huge knights. 

That was Mami’s first proper interaction with Leona. After that day, the lion is a bit wary whenever Mami drop by Savanaclaw to visit Kyouko. He had tried to use his spells and even break apart Mami’s knight that was carrying him with his claws but it seems that her magic was a lot stronger than he anticipated. It was a slight bruise to his ego. But as long as Mami doesn’t develop a habit of stalking him and the rest of his dorm mates like Rook, Leona doesn’t have a problem with her as long as Mami doesn’t step out of line with him. 

When Mami came to Ruggie and Jack to drop off Leona as if he was a package, Ruggie couldn’t help but cackle seeing the distraught expression on Leona’s face. And the fact that no matter how much Leona struggle, he couldn’t break free from Mami’s magic (she explains how she uses her ribbons to carried him and Kyouko) and that impress the hyena. The women back home are known for their strength and power and Ruggie was right that Mami has them in spades beneath her Pomefiore’s grace. 

Jack is silently appraising Mami’s magic when she releases Leona to their care. After explaining that she possess magical ribbons, he tries to understand how she could make those huge knights from them. He wonders if Mami has mastered her magic. After that day, if Mami drops by to visit Kyouko at their dorm, Jack would shyly ask Mami for tips on how to improve on his magic. A fresh, new perspective would make a good progress for him. After all, Vil always give excellent criticism to his work out regiment from time to time. 

For Mami, despite the difference between their dorms, she’s actually quite accepting of Leona’s irritableness, Ruggie’s mischeviousness and Jack’s gruff yet thoughtful demeanour. She’s a little hurt whenever Leona would glance at her suspiciously but whenever she tries to approach him, Leona would hightail his way out of there.

(Keep that up Leona and Rook would hunt you down, tied you up and bring you to Pomefiore so you and Mami could properly talk things out). 

Mami admire Ruggie immensely. He’s hard-working, already planning ahead for his future and despite coming from a poor background, he kept his spirits up and strive to improve his and his grandmother’s life. You best believe that Ruggie would blush and shyly scratch his ears when Mami told him this. Especially if Mami informed him that she wants to be as strong him too. These two would then talk about their perception of strength and power. 

Since Mami already gotten along quite well with Epel, she soon will get to know Jack when Epel brought her along to their workout session. Whenever Mami is with them, their workout sessions focused on magic instead of physical trainings. The 3 of them would sit down and talk about the nuances of their magic and toss ideas around on how improve them and Mami would coach them to think outside of the box when it comes to their Unique Magic. After all, her magic come in the form ribbons and she could construct nearly anything using them. 

From that day onwards, Mami and Jack can usually be found either in the library or training field, studying and training together. Both of them are good friends because of their view on justice and being the sole voice of reason for their respective group of friends. As for Jack, he regards Mami highly as he do for Vil. Whenever she fights with her ribbons and guns out, it never fail to steal his breath away.        

OCTAVINELLE!

Mami’s first encounter with the Octavinelle dorm is through Jade Leech. During Summonning class, the teacher gave the students an assignment and he paired Mami up with the Vice Dorm Leader of Octavinelle. 

On the surface level and to the other students, these two are nothing but polite, professional and kind to one another. Upon being partners for the assignment, Jade offer Monstro Lounge as their study location and even promises that drinks would be on him while Mami suggest to leave the reference books and information gathering to her. They appear to be a perfect academic team, right?  

However, Mami is well aware of Floyd and Kyouko’s scuffle and the gossips floating around Pomefiore regarding those that rule over Octavinelle. A pair of twins and their boss. Since Kyouko could handle herself against the twin named Floyd Leech, Mami actually did a little investigation regarding him, his twin brother and their Dorm Leader prior before properly introducing herself to Jade Leech. 

So the moment the teacher had paired her up with him, she made sure to firmly keep her mask up, her smile never falters in front of this devious and charming student. While Mami might not be as confrontational as Kyouko, that doesn’t mean she’s meek against threats that disguise themselves underneath a sweet facade. After all, that’s how Witches lures innocent bystanders into their Labyrinth. 

So yes, Mami is very much aware about the Leech Twins, Azul and their shady dealings. That’s why she remain on her very best behaviour around Jade and held herself back from showing any weaknesses. 

But Mami being Mami, she believes that Jade deserve the benefit of a doubt. So despite how guarded she is, her offer is sincere and as long as Jade doesn’t do anything nefarious blatantly in front of her, Mami would not confront him. 

Throughout the time of their partnership, Jade is nothing but a perfect gentleman to her. It’s know by everyone by now in NRC that among all the girls, Mami is the strongest of them all so he’s very, very mindful on how he interacts with her. Azul still wanted to learn more about the girls’ magic so if he slips up, it’s game over for them. 

When Mami finally came to Mostro Lounge, Azul made sure to give her the best table available and personally attend to her and Jade while they studied. Floyd is well and occupied with kitchen duties. When Jade informed him that Mami is his partner, Azul strictly forbid him from using his Unique Magic on her. They still don’t know enough about her and the risks are still not within his comfortable range. 

Mami accept Azul’s hospitality and treatment with grace. Since Azul is working hard to be the perfect host, Mami recipocrate by humouring a few innocent questions; just enough to satiate his curiosity. But not enough to hand him leverage over her or her friends. Yes, her magic is simply ribbons but she kept her mastery over them to herself. Oh, Madoka? She’s a sweetheart isn’t she? But I’d stay away from her shooting range if I were you. 

It comes as a surprise to both Mami and Azul at how well they could read one another; almost transparent really. The longer she stayed at Mostro Lounge and talk to Azul, the more she sees herself in him. A lost, insecure girl that she worked hard to hide from everyone. Including herself. 

As for Azul, Mami’s polite veneer and gentle smile are eerily similar to his. Unlike with the rest of the girls, Mami understands him more than he’d like and a small part of him wonders if the two of them are more alike than anyone think. Both indivisual has a strong wall/front to protect themselves against the world. 

Jade, being the observer that he is, notice the walls that Mami has around her from their daily interactions. How could he not when Azul has the same walls around him as well? He wonders just what could shatter these two until their vulnerable selves are bare for the world to judge. He had been waiting for some time with Azul, but now he’s keeping an eye on Mami as well. It would be quite a show for sure. 

Even after submitting their assignment, Mami still couldn’t get a read on what Jade really think most of the time. He sounds amused at every little thing and his endless patience when it comes to his erratic twin brother is admirable. Mami has an inkling that Jade enjoys toying with people but without evidence, she can’t call him out on it. 

Floyd finds Mami pretty but so boring. No matter how much he tried to tease or antagonised her, she didn’t react like Kyouko at all. She wants to squeeze her like how he’s trying to do to Kyouko but her ribbons are always fast to seperate them or bind him so she could make a quick get away. Floyd wants to fight her too! Floyd wants to see just how strong Mami really is. 

As for Mami, Floyd is a headache to deal with. He’s like a sadistic child who enjoys tearing the wings of insects. The moment he burst out of the kitchen, trying to squeeze the breath out of Mami just as she was about to leave Mostro Lounge, Mami already plan to stay away from him. Kyouko might humoured him, but she’s not. 

SCARABIA! 

Despite how strict Vil is on his dorm mates, he’s known to reward their hard work from time to time. And recently? For scoring well in her Alchemy test, Vil gifted Mami a flower hairpin in a reminiscent of the one that she wears with her Soul Gem in her Magicl Girl outfit. It’s pretty, light and Rook praise how it enhance her beauty even more. 

So Mami has been wearing the flower hairpin every day. She loves it because it also symbolises as a token of her achievement. Even Kyouko think that it looks good on her.

One day while she’s walking through the hallways of the college’s main building, Mami didn’t realised that the hairpin fell off. She only realised when she return to Pomefiore to retire for the day. Needless to say that Mami was upset when she found her hairpin missing. She texted her friends if they had seen it but they all reply back that they haven’t but they promised to keep an eye out for it. So Mami went to bed distraught that day. 

The next day arrive and Mami is a little distracted. She’s looking for her hairpin in between her classes and she would absentmindedly play with her hair where the hairpin should be. 

It’s during the afternoon when lunchtime is nearly over that someone suddenly ambush her with a loud and happy shout. 

“Tomeo-san! Tomeo-san! Over here!” 

Swooshing through the air on his magic carpet, Mami watch with wide eyes as Kalim jump off, rolled onto the ground and presented her flower hairpin to her with a wide grin. “I think this is yours, Tomoe-san!” 

Mami broke into a delightful laugh and then shyly smile. This senior made quite an entrance and an unforgettable first impression on her! She thanked him for finding her hairpin after she clips it back on her hair. That’s when Mami and Kalim introduces themselves to one another. 

Unlike with Jade, Mami immediately hit it off with Kalim. She doesn’t have to watch her words and genuinely enjoy his company whenever she visit Scarabia for hers and Homura’s research time. Although he tends to go over the top (trying to ply the girls with sweets, snacks, drinks, comfy pillows and etc), Mami is aware that he genuinely wants her to feel welcome at his dorm.

In the rare occasion that Homura has to leave Mami and Kalim for a brief moment, Mami would curiously ask the Dorm Leader how Homura is faring in Scarabia. To which Kalim would not hesitant divulging about Homura’s well-being. 

Kalim’s answers astound Mami. Mami honestly didn’t expect anyone could become close enough with Homura to melt her icy exterior! Kalim must be special to her, Mami guessed. Throughout her brief stay at Scarabia, she studied how the two of them interact. It amaze her that Kalim could eeked out a small smile from the aloof girl. So when Kalim saw her off and Homura went to help her Vice Dorm Leader in the storeroom, Mami quietly apologise for asking Kalim to take on her request, but won’t he please keep an eye on Homura and continue to be her friend? She explains that the girls struggle to connect with Homura; no matter how hard they tried. Kalim happily accept Mami’s request and tells her not to worry. Homura is a dear friend to everyone here in Scarabia. 

As for Kalim, the only thing he initally know about Mami is that she’s super strong (courtsey from Homura), super pretty and that the Pomefiore dorm claimed her as their princess in all but blood. So already he thinks her as an awesome girl. After getting to know her a little more, Kalim feels that Mami has the same vibe as Jamil. She’s very hard working, resposible and look out for her friends - so he couldn’t help but make the comparison.

Jamil and Mami merely regard each other as acquaintances. Among the girls that visited Homura, Mami is the easiest to attend to. She’s happy enough with a simple cup of tea and a slice of cake as she studied with Homura. Her manners are also impaccable so Jamil usually leave the girls to themselves without any worries while he runs the dorm. As an individual, Jamil can respect Mami as the leader of the girls. She seem as someone who has her life together despite being transported to TW. 

Mami sees so many similarities Jamil has with Homura that it’s uncanny. Both have trouble smiling, both are dedicated to someone who is the exact opposite of them and both are... secretive. They kept their emotions hidden from the world that it’s hard to understand what they’re thinking. Mami wonder between him and Jade, which of them is the most dangerous and decide that she hopes she would never have to find out. 

IGNIHYDE!         

Mami has heard that Kyouko would babysit her Dorm Leader’s nephew from time to time and she just so happend to caught her following a small lion cub and an also a small... robot boy? 

“Oh, Mami. What’s up?”

“Waaaa~ What a pretty lady. Here! a pretty flower for a pretty lady!”

Mami beams, deeply touched, when the small lion cub thrust a crudely picked flower to Mami. Dirt clung on his hand and flower, but Mami happily accept it. 

“Thank you, little one. I’ll keep it safe with me.” She thanked the boy and pressed the flower inside one of the textbook Mami is carrying. 

That was when the lion cub introduces himself as Cheka and that Leona is his beloved uncle! 

The robot boy then introdues himself as Ortho Shroud. He asked if Mami would like to play with them to which she unhesitatingly accept. She was supposed to join a study session, but the two boys are just so adorable that she couldn’t possible reject! So Mami brought them to the gardens of Pomefiore when Cheka mentioned that he wants to pick a bunch of flowers for his uncle, papa and mama. The boys immediately dash off for the many flowers Pomefiore offers while Mami and Kyouko sat near the well. As they talked, Mami notice that Kyouko is actually attentive to the kids whereabous; her eyes would glance over at the patch of flowers and Mami could sense her magic wraps protectively around Cheka and Ortho. Mami didn’t need to ask to know that they remind Kyouko of her lost little sister. She will spare her from the pain. 

Ortho then ran up to them, asking for some blue flowers that he wanted to give to his older brothers. He flash a couple of holograms of the types of flowers he’s looking for. Since the flowers that he wanted are at the gardens on the otherside of the dorm, Mami offer to bring him there while Kyouko entertained Cheka with making some flower crowns for Jack and Ruggie. 

Mami help Ortho gather a bunch of cornflowers, irises, periwinkles, gentians until the two have a huge bouquet. She uses her yellow ribbon to tied the flowers beautifully. The two of them cheer at their hard work. 

Mami adores Ortho and Cheka. She loves listening to Ortho talk and praise endllessly about his cool, awesome older brother and how friendly the Ignihyde students to him. 

(Now that Ortho mentioned it, Mami couldn’t recall when the last time she spot a student wearing a blue coloured school uniform.)

Ortho’s magic also react strangly with hers. Nothing malicious; it just feel like a film of oil above a clear pool of water. 

Later that day, when Ortho burst into Idia’s bedroom to present the bouquet of flowers to him, he would regale his day to the Dorm Leader. The flowers look a bit out place amongst his gadgets, mini workshop, gaming consoles and many monitors, but the brothers managed to quickly create a mechanical vase and Idia put the flowers beside his bed. When he was untangling Mami’s ribbon, Ortho suddenly recalled her words. He told Idia that it’s a magic ribbon - one that can shrink and lengthen its size according to Idia’s wishes - and that he can use it to bind things and that almost nothing can cut it. 

You can bet that Idia would have a lot of fun testing it out, trying to unravel the principals behind Mami’s magic. 

Among all the girls, he and Idia would only meet face to face when the situation calls for it. While the other girls would stumble upon him or Ortho push them to visit Ignihyde, these two would need an event (Ghost Marriage and etc) to meet up. It’s nothing insidous, just one of those things that happen. 

Although she had never met Ignihyde’s Dorm Leader face to face, judging how much Ortho talks to her about him, Mami readily believes that he’s kind to his little brother and a brilliant introvert. It’s alright; Mami trust that one day she would meet him. 

As for Idia, he knows he’s going to faint once he meets Mami. It was bad enough having to deal with the fact that Homura and Kyouko would sometimes drop by his dorm for a visit, to have the most beautiful girl in NRC physically in front of him? Idia’s certain that Vil would try to murder him if he so as much breath incorrectly around Mami. No, he doesn’t need the stress, thanks!

DIASOMNIA!     

How Mami was introduced to the Diasomnia gang is actually through Malleus, of all people. 

Mami was requested by Vil to find Rook when the Vice Dorm Leader refused to answered his phone or reply his texts. This displeased him (and Mami saw the worry behind his cold eyes) since Rook is not known to ignore Vil’s calls. Since Mami had no plans for the day, she accepts and went out to search for the hunter. 

She had gifted the hunter her ribbon during their recent shooting practise and Rook made a grand show of tying it around his bow. So she only need to follow the trail from her magic ribbon. Sensing that Rook is somewhere deep in the forest, she waste no time fetching him. The longer they keep Vil waiting, the angrier he gets. 

The forest is quiet, safe for the chirpings birds and rustling leaves when the breeze pass through. 

However, when she sense that Rook is close by, she also sense a really powerful magic. The sheer power of it reminds Mami of Madoka’s. Yet unlike Madoka’s, it’s dark and a beneath it’s calm surface there’s a maelstrom ready to be unleash should the user so wishes. This had Mami immediately summoning her muskets out of caution when she finally come across the owner of such magic. 

Her eyes widen and her muskets are lowered slightly. She knows this senior. She often seen him around Madoka after all. 

“Oh? What interesting weapons. It’s been so long since someone dare to point their weapons at me.” 

It’s Madoka’s Dorm Leader! Mami hastily puts away her muskets and apologise. She didn’t mean to attack him; she sensed something unfamiliar and dangerous and her Magical Girl training kicks in. 

Malleus hums and ponders to himself. Usually people flinch away when they sense him, but it’s truly rare that someone would be brave enough to challenge him. And so he introduces himself because this human girl deserve it and it delight him that her heartbeat is calm and her words sincere when Mami introduces herself and said that it’s a pleasure to meet Madoka’s senior. 

Strength comes in many form, Lilia once told him. And after observing Vil and those that under him, Malleus understood the strength behind all that are beautiful and glittered. And while Mami does share the same strength, she also possess something else. Something dark and terrible should she falters. Malleus wonders if her friends realised this. But apart from her magic, Mami is a good conversationalist and company during every tea time. Both of them prefer quiet and simple activities and Malleus appreciate that despite his dark magic, Mami continue to be a good friend. They don’t actively seek each other’s company, but whenever they crossed path, they would take the opportunity to catch up. 

Mami look up to Malleus the same way she looks up to her seniors; polite, respectful and friendly. Mami had never really met someone who fits the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ trope but really, it fits Malleus so well. Although he’s not Trey, Mami finds his little musing and odd jokes to be charming. It’s clear that this senior is not that good at socialising so whenever they talk, Mami would do her best to make him feel comfortable. 

Because of their friendship and Madoka as their connection, Malleus announce that he would like to invite Mami to their next midnight picnic. This intrigue Lilia, Silver and Sebek since Malleus had never invite someone before to their gathering! (That and Malleus smugly keep his friendship with Mami a secret up until now because a tiny part of him wanted to show off to his family that he can make friends all on his own).

(Someone please give Malleus a cookie for doing a good job at socialising). 

Madoka is very excited to have Mami join them for their picnic. Everyone is very welcoming to Mami. Well, in their odd ways. Mami quickly pull the plate of scones away before Silver could face-planted on his food and promptly conked out and she readily cover her ears with her palms and smile widely when Sebek gets loud whenever he’s excited. Mami is always ready to roll with it and she’s enjoy every seconds she spend with her new friends. 

Silver likes Mami well enough. He’d seen Kyouko and Sayaka fight before (spar with them even) and all the girls had mentioned more than once before how strong she is. It’s not every day that there’s a Pomefiore student with strong magical ability. And since she’s docile and Malleus treasure their talks, Silver doesn’t mind her quiet company. 

For a human, Mami reminds Sebek of one of the noble’s ladies back at the Valley of Thorns, beautiful but you know she’s just as magically strong. He’s slightly envious at how compose and pragmatic at everything Mami does; be it in classes or fighting. He’s looking forward to see just why the other girls readily admits that Mami is the strongest out of them all. 

Like Malleus, Mami finds Silver and Sebek to be delightful companies. Honestly, nowadays she’s very happy to have lots of wonderful friends. Really, what more could a lonely girl ask for? 

To know that these two are knights and that Malleus is their prince and future king, it feels like Mami had stepped into a fairytale. When she admits it, Lilia suddenly thought of an idea. To help Malleus, Silver and Sebeke ease into their future roles, they should role play as his court during tea time! Always down to play dressed up, Mami let herself be swept away by him. 

Now, Mami sees Lilia as a wise senior (he always have some word of advice or just know what to say to cheer Madoka up) but strangely, his mischeviousness and playful smiles makes it so easy for Mami to talk about anything with him. From the most mundane things like the new hairstyle that Rook taught her to her quietly admitting that sometimes it’s difficult for her to make decisions that could potentially harm her friends. She finds immense comfort at Lilia’s assurance and patience. So she treasures every advices that Lilia give her; yes, even if it ended up pranking her in the end. 

As for Lilia, he couldn’t help but take Mami under his wings. This reserved girl who is force to carry the burden of leadership for someone so young. Her mastery over her own magic and impressive fighting prowess both impressed and saddened this ancient Fae. So Mami better get ready to not only being look after by him, but watch out for his pranks because Lilia whole heartedly believe that kids should be kids. Mami should not have to worry about being a good leader to her friends or worry over their well being all the time; she should just be a student and have fun!    

 - 

I was rushing to edit this part, tbh. Wanted to post it on Monday originally, but I had plans with the family on Sunday for the whole day and since today (Wednesday) is a public holiday. I thought to try and make it this week.             

[bilgisticallykosher]

Prediction: it's jam, right? We all know it's jam. Or, jelly. Crofter's. It's Crofter's. Loganberry re-release and three others for the three others. 

Thumbnail; Yep. Pfft, why does Roman's pic have a car??? Ahaha oh it's a zoom call, isn't it. Logan's looks like a classroom? Patton's a kitchen, Virgil's is… uh, igloos with windows, I have no idea. Ohhhh their little logos on the bottom left. Video start! 

Translation: this is not anywhere in the current timeline. wheeze Oh my god, Logan. I love his jam eating, uh, face? Noises? All of the above. D'aw, Roman's still pouty. I'm ready for a squeal of joy soon, though! Splash zone pfft. Like he'd waste Crofter's that way. Roman pasting his own face on. Patton! I'm stealing that definition of marketable. He had facts, last time, I think.

Oh. Oh, hello. We're in a lab? OH IT'S THE PATTON BOARD! He says I am helping. You're doing a great job, sweetie. Science… rocks? Looks like rocks instead of rules. Pfft, big board of tidbits, it's mostly drawings. Con...consume. 

Chromatography? I need to look that up. 

Trees nuts, Patton. Ooh, wait, I know all the allergens! Technically shellfish is separate from fish, and they're missing coconut, wheat, uh, wait there's more isn't there? That's all I can think of offhand. Oh yeah, he's writing righty!!! That all sounds great, still not kosher. Oh hey just realized Patton's got his hoodie over a lab coat. 

Home commercial! This is not Thomas's kitchen. Patton you have no children. Is. Is Virgil the kid? Oh wilted flowers, neat, nice aesthetic. Oh!!!! Flavor reveal!!!! Oh peach. Someone on a discord server said Pattonfruit like passionfruit, and I totally agreed. Too bad. Oooh alliteration. 

Is. Is Virgil going to train Pokémon? Oh my gosh. He's being. Like. 90s commercials. And about as much skateboarding ability as I figured. Boo-berry cranic attack. Sounds like a good combination of flavors tbh.

I love Logan's nerd outfit tbh. (Post video addition; I have seen that this is, in fact, Roman.) Eighties com- GREY POUPON??? IS THAT WHAT'S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?????? I happy flapped. Ooooh, cherriot. Extreme teen. Patton is saying everyone did better. Just. Everyone. Logan's excitement over more! Roman is too happy to function. That is… so many patrons. They sound like fitting flavors, yeah. AWWW, Roman!

[thestudentfarmer]

So I totally spaced on taking pics throughout and after (no lies, aI was doing several things at once and forgot, sorry everyone!) but this is the start of yesterday's lunch!

We like to call it......

~RANDOM STIRFRY~

Garlic (minced)

Onion (sliced)

Carrot (sliced)

Bell pepper (cubed)

1 cup cooked brown rice (though any kind can be used)

About 8 oz chicken, cooked and cut into bite sized peices

Oyster mushrooms, cut into bite sized

Snap peas

Bok choy

5 spice powder

Red pepper chile flake

Soy sauce

I dont give much on measurements for this dish, save for a few things for personal health reasonings. You can use as much or as little veggies, meat or mushroom as you want. And often I add spice as I go. You can also use pretty much whatever veggies or meat you have. Fresh, half froze or frozen (veggies) is okay too! We happen have chicken, bok choy and specifically oyster mushrooms right now. I've switched stuff for beef, tofu, seafood mushroom, shitake, enoki, kale, broccoli, spinich whatevers, its flexible promise!

Start with a tidbit of cooking oil, I usually do a half tablespoon or less of lard.

Get the oil of choice warmed in the pan and plop however much garlic and onion you want. (For me about a tablespoon minced garlic, a quarter of an onion) let this sweat/ lightly color change a few minutes.

Add your carrots and hard veggies, stir. And cover for a few moments to soften them.

When hard veggies are softened a bit, add your meat, stir, then add the rice (wait to add tofu if using, I find it breaks easily) stir again.

Add your seasonings, the ones I shared are the base here. I wouldn't go more than a tablespoon for the 5 spice. A small pour of soy sauce round the pan. A few shakes of red pepper flake (if you want to you can replace with 1-2 chopped hot peppers of choice or not use it, we like a bit spicy) stir it up again, take a lil taste. If its stronger than you want that's okay, you still got veggies you can add.

I add the bell pepper and snap peas now and put a lid on the pan. Checking and stirring every couple of minutes till the pods are shiny and sort of limpish.

I add the soft greens last (and tofu as well) plop on top, close the lid and let it steam a few minutes (if you need to add a bit of water or broth of choice, not too much though!). Stir it until the veggies are the level of wilted you want.

Viola! Done! Put in your serving vessel of choice and you've some tasty random stirfry!

It's a great way to use up veggies that are in season or are affordable or going to go bad soon and still makes a super tasty, super customizable dish~

We eat this several times a week and it keeps fairly well for meals preps and lunches too!

👩‍🍳🍽Happy Gardening and Cooking!🍽👩‍🍳

10.13.2020

[highsviolets]

breathless, chapter 3: an obi-wan x 90s!reader au

summary: in which you and Ben discover that nothing is like the first time, but maybe time is a construct anyway

word count: 3.2k+ 

cw: kissing. light references to smoking, a lil angst, some language  

A/N: this could not have happened without @afogocado​. Thank you for encouraging me to continue this lil fic and an endless supply of ewan pics and listening to me ramble and omg ilysm 

 references // previous // next // series masterlist 

“my curfew’s at midnight.”

Ben doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, he does. Just not right now. He’s busy at the moment, tinkering with something in the hood of his car. hunter green t-shirt — auburn hair — something out of goddamn salinger novel ((or maybe dos passos))

you look up at him. you’re settled on a skateboard ((he’s far too trusting of your ability to remain upright)). listless currents from a fan — somewhere, in the garage, you think — ripple in that nomadic space between his t-shirt and your skin.

remarks are so curious a thing, and you watch yours descend upon him. not quite a cascade. not quite a pittance of cleansing summer rains. it’s something other — but not ethereal — it’s here, it’s now, it’s taking you, too, holding you in thrall — words bump into skin ((sinew and sin)).

“it’s about doing the right thing.” the grind of one metal locking its relatives, corollaries, corrosions, into place has ceased. or maybe only paused. you’re not sure the car is done. but Ben looks at you, and you know he’s done. done explaining himself.

the skateboard’s wheels squeak and cry out against the pavement when you adjust. legs stretched out — ragged vans pointing above ((wherever that is)) — violet tipped hands clutching the back edges — knees exposed — just kissing the faintness of tangible ((affection or affectations, what’s the difference?))

“i know.” freckles gaze into the sun, his eyes, reflections. he expects your explanation to be plaintive. institutional. it’s not. “i just wanted to know why.”

Ben shakes his head, once, twice, thrice — face still half-soaked in the shadow of the hood — astonishment is plain to see in the flatness of his cheeks — the waltzing of his tongue on his upper lip.

Two seconds later he is right there, crouching ((muscles straining)) next to you, the leather tips of air jordans exotic and smooth against the external lateral bone of your left knee. His eyes, screwed up at the invasion of the sun against their tranquility, stare at the meeting of his shoes and your body and then he is gazing at you.

angels manipulate his mouth into a smile — Ben’s yours, now — hands are clasped — battles halt in the ceasefire. “I should really stop underestimating you.”

Ben reaches out. Two fingers ride the length of your cheekbone. They still as skin morphs into frizzled, sun-bleached hair at the crown of your head, in that space between your ear and eyebrow. your head nudges into his terms of surrender. “That would probably be best,” you say. The pause between conditional tense and adverb is like the space between you and him, an assured hesitancy, caught between becoming and being, trapped in an interstitial existence.

it’s so fucking americana it hurts.

hair , secured by a scrunchie the same shade as your fingertips, is given a light tug. let’s get you home, he says, and your presence wilts in upon itself , he senses the rush of photosynthesis exiting your body and brings your lips to caress his.

it doesn’t feel like the first time — nothing ever does — familiar in semantics — murky in meaning — singeing and sweet — a transfusion of significance between you and him.

the breaking away comes with a solemn sigh. he’s rising and bringing you with him. you resist the urge to stage a coup and use the skateboard to rocket yourself into his arms ((a safehouse you’ve found)).

___

time: a nebulous concept for you. it’s pages dogeared and how many days until the next cd is shipped to the store and how many t-shirts you’ve accosted from oaken drawers.

it’s a far more solid object for him. a tangible weave of textures and patterns that he notices in the scrunchies now in the car’s island of misfits ((he still hasn’t told you the make and model)) and how many times you guide his hand around your waist while you eat ice cream ((vanilla in a cone with sprinkles)) and the pens he’s busted through since you first met ((he knows the number , they’re immortalized in a tin cup on his shelf))

Ben’s holding one that has yet to join its brothers in the tin graveyard. The clicker rests against his teeth. It looks seductive in his mouth. Like he can make you keen with just an imitation of the real thing, with words and ideas. Words twirled around the air have power. You both know this.

You’re the one who’s twirling, though. spinning around his bedroom — boombox emitting a Billy Joel song at least ten years mature — mouth forming words you have yet to possess the courage to blare — so much like your kisses.

((the words come through in the translation , the body moves but he hears the soul))

he watches you and he is transfixed. he knows you do not know how much you are revealing to him. at least not consciously. but you want him to crawl into your soul and never leave. he does not see it or hear it or feel it as much as he experiences truth, the clumsy trio dotting patterns across his extremities and seeping into his essence ((what it means to be human)) like an antibiotic ointment. he is scared you will stick to things for which you are not designed. but it’s too late and he’s covered in the stuff, slick with you. unleashed in a trigonometric function of three sides ((him / you , other)). sins and signs and echoing sunlight.

your smile mimics his as you edge toward the bed where he’s sprawled out. you laugh and he matches you, shaking his head in rare & unguarded ((unabashed , unembarrassed)) regard. you are in harmony.

skin meets skin — heels arched into the carpet — he’s too strong too stubborn — and you fail and fall and spill over him — tumbling over his torso, legs mashed — the heat of his victorious grin burns the atmospheric bubble arching over the two of you.

You’re not sure if the record stops or if you’ve just ceased hearing it. he arranges you ((like a bouquet, like a song)) on the bed. he stares down at you. the eyes are stormy again, like before he kissed you the first time ((but nothing’s ever like the first time)). they say eyes are the window to the soul. Your hands whisk the hair that’s dangling there, like you can quiet him by quelling his independently-minded locks. it seems to work. he blinks and when you see the sun again it’s brighter, bluer, but maybe that’s because he’s so still now.

he does not move. He may not have danced but his soul is pressing into you like a dagger ((did you fall on a sword)). Ben cuts off your impending speech with conciliatory kiss. “i know , darling” , and the words etch themselves into reality against your body.

—-

Ben is distant and he is near to you all at once. There are corners of his being that you want to slide and drag and push to the surface. maybe if you do he will start to make sense. form follows function, he tells you, and the words feel as yellow as the pages on which they’re inked.

it doesn’t make sense to you — “you have too much sense, dear one” — elinor and marianne — but for all his purity he does not dance — no ricochets in his lever and pulley soul.

you are glass and flannel and he is steel and silk. he is not quite your sun, or your moon, or your stars, and not even your world. but you are rapidly terraforming to his sundry heights and arid permafrost and the devil’s sun that makes a home in his fingers, in his mouth ((yet he is not lucifer, nor abdiel perhaps he is raphael)).

Ben watches you soak in him. He takes note, n.b., nota bene, notes well, excellently, the stillness of your hands ((the tremors have lessened, but have they learned?)). your words are teal and vermillion and ecru and weeping with tannins. Ben deduces ease, easel, paint, art as you furrow into his chest. His mind infers souls through their bodies. Form follows function. Function follows form. Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t.

Through your mirror he sees himself with you but he does not comprehend. He is bewildered.

nails boards cones sheets — teeth fingers knees breath — swerving form yielding function clutching grasping — all so very , sine qua non — aspectu sine logos — why does the latin transform into Greek

Morpheus, he thinks, nods sagely. he hurls ticket stubs and lipstick napkins and sense ((you)) into shoeboxes and mailboxes and shadowboxes. he refuses a photo of you, with you, for you and takes your knotted eyes and throws them, too, into the nearest body of water. you are close but you are not near ((droplets on tanned skin, drowning in the water)) and it is all he can do to obey his life and he does not know that sartre laughs at him and de beauvoir pokes her lover.

you are not at the middle of your life and neither is he. the path is still obscured by the trees. is charon delivering you to this threshold of the styx ((stones, bones, death)) or the tip of the world where the stars scrape into the heavens with a different edge? he is rising: he brings you with him. so it was in the past, but does the past presage the future? if he is raphael then he is virgil ((Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t))

epic firestorm of righteous creation myths — empirical histories — imperial truths. but no. dante, where is dante, is he off in firenze, dancing in florid colors? no. dante is in exile, civitas ex nihilo : in need of virgil. guide him to transcendence.

____

you do not see him for several days. maybe it is weeks. you aren’t sure. time is not empirical, Ben has told you, it’s something you have to feel through its measuring ((sometimes vibrancy tips out of his ridges)). but you wish he had let you take a picture of the two of you. you are more like him than you realize , the truest truths are the ones you can touch.

it is the longest you have not seen him, and it is very hot. the pool, the lake, they’re not the same when you can’t thread sand through his hair and be abducted by his gaze as you read ((spirited away from his bookshelf)).

you’re running out of books — running out of time? — but time is not statistical — multidimensionality of you and him — there is no space where he does not compress himself to exist with you.

“it’s not a phase, mom,” you say, and take another bite of cereal.

“you need to make up your mind.” the crunch is effective at blocking out the noise, and your mind continues on its path. you wonder if DJ Tanner ever felt like this. hair surfaces in your bowl, and you pluck it out, grimacing. Maybe you should cut your hair. it’s hot out. DJ had short hair.

a rap on the table — spoon? knuckle? you can’t tell — strikes you. the words reality and wake up and decisions and wasteful are abrasions on your knees, still sore from too many tries on Ben’s skateboard ((he had smiled at your earnestness and kissed away the latent tears , let your body do its healing)).

you do not speak words so much as you give birth to emotions, agonizing and cruel and hideous. you do not know what you say or if you even say it ((dissociation)). but it is metallic in your mouth and turncoat shaking fingers and the sinking sound of unharnessed emotion in your ears.

it is hot and stifling and too much when you leave. nothing is feeling right — that stillness has lodged in your diaphragm again — opaque skies mock you — rain comes and you are colliding with nature and you are losing

Ben is standing underneath the overhang at the library ((it always comes back to the library)) and you wonder if you’re finally hallucinating. you voice forms itself to his name and he turns, damp hair following a few seconds later, and he drops his cigarette at the sight of you.

Exhilaration delivers specks of mud on your legs and arms but it is no matter. the time and space continuum has rectified and he is in front of you, giving you a cigarette, gray t-shirt abstracting to his muscles as much as your vans cling languidly to soggy toes.

he exhales smoke the way he says your name. it is precise and pious and it blooms over you like pink and purple hydrangeas.

Ben sees the gouges in your eyes and chastises your traitorous hands and absorbs you. cigarettes slump, abandoned, as he presses your cheek to his heart ((the conjunction of your logic and heat meeting his fervent center)). you cling to him and he does not resist but molds himself to you. time stops ((it’s an illusion)). rain continues. Ben’s kisses glide along your hairline, your forehead. it tickles and you laugh and his smile takes shape against your frontal cortex.

you pull him into the rain even as he protests ((but he’s laughing and the clouds pause, time takes a breath , are you time)) and you kiss him. it is like something breaks in him or perhaps the rain has induced erosion or maybe he is like you and there is a filigree thread connecting his head with his heart and constructing a railway through his body. Ben is all the lightning — the sky has crowned a new Zeus —  you hold him as the thunder in his soul cracks and pulls

((maybe kant was wrong about time and heidegger was right about dwelling and nothing crystallizes in his soul like you do))

the two of you alight to his car ((still unknown yet cordial, native)) and when you reach his building he opens your door and scoops you up in his arms and it is like that first time by the pool ((but nothing is ever like the first time)).

your hand makes a fist in his soggy shirt and his hair is pasted to his forehead and you cannot censor the searing, violent, desideratum swooping over you ((nor can you pause the absurd laugh that gushes out of your heart at his display of exorbitant chivalry)).

“i can walk,” you say as he wades through water that’s now folding over his skin, lapping up his electrolytes.

“yes, dearest, but you can’t swim, can you?” he likes to respond with questions, but this one’s  an answer. Ben’s clutching you so tightly that you can’t see his face but you feel the contentment in his tone—it dashes into you like the rain currently encompassing the Earth, hesitant with the effort of exertion, with the weight of metal souls. “I’m just preemptively forbidding a disaster, darling.” there’s a tenderness bridging Ben’s raw power and mischievousness —  the network protrudes — extracorporeal ((does he know?))

He cherishes the rain, Ben tells you later, when existence reduces to you and him and incandescent petrichor and the pasticcio of kisses, heartbeats, palms on skin.

___

Ben is not carefree, but he is not serious. it is like he has learned that he can take up space ((empirical)). there is less constriction, tension, stenosis in his body ((the filigree is stretching his limbs)). movements are not languid but nor are they demonstrations of correctness. not slouching — just not strictly upright.

your hair gets tangled, like his sheets, like his legs in yours, and you tell him you want to cut it. An auburn eyebrow lifts archly, and he runs a finger down the length of your arm, tracing the veins ((your life)). “how will I teach you how to swim if you chop off your legs, darling?” Ben’s voice is charcoal. gray, yellow red orange burning, glowing at the edges. He draws up blueprints for cities in your open palm.

You make a quip about the ship of state and he snorts. When he shakes his head, his other hand — the one not serving as an architect on your body — shags through his hair, tanned skin meeting with copper effervescence in a ragged tryst. “i like its hows” he murmurs against your lips and you cannot protest, not when his caustic tongue ices, soothes, pacifies your conflagration.

The two of you are at the pool, again. He’s on his break. The air’s circulation is viscous, shoving over your skins. It straps you in — like the fanny pack around his waist. Ben’s donned his lifeguard pack for work, swapping out his array of gauche accessories for the traditional red and white accoutrement now fastened at his hips.

the most important things in his life, Ben thinks as he inhales the light spice of a Malboro, start with “l”. learning, lady, library, liberty, lake, logos, love. he doesn’t know from where last word originates; he must learn ((connaître ou savoir?)). in his experience, there’s no such thing as luck. He feels like a character in one of those war movies filmed right before he was born, smoking lucky strikes in a foxhole and just trying to stay alive, goddamnit, just trying to get through the war.

The two of you are always watching each each other. The obtuse phenomenology plays out like a courtly masquerade. veritas, quid est veritas, for here both object and deception are degrees of truth. He smirks around the cigarette and you blush but your eyes hold his and you catch his approval and stuff it inside your heart.

Ben takes your hand and places it on his thigh as you speak. the two of you are straddling a lacquered yellow beach chair, offensive in its self-confidence. he leans forward and touches his forehead to yours. he likes to take initiative — he is making use of his knowledge, he told you once, mumbled and sleepy, when you had whispered the question against his shoulder late one night.

Ben brings himself nearer to you. sweat — splashes — dangling exertions — smoke — sunscreen. it all plays about your lips and in your blood and in his hands that keep yours pressed against his flesh. someone yells at him to get his ass back to work and Ben rolls his eyes.

“duty calls.” his actions, the chair: they embolden you to dip your voice, your thoughts, mayhap you actions to a lower register.

He ducks his head to peer at your face, like that first time when you were falling over ((but nothing is like the first time)). as he passes the remainder of the cigarette to you, the words he speak sound like him, carry his weight, refracted starlight from coal. “we all have a duty. even you.” Ben doesn’t need to say his duties; they are his life, his schedule, the notebooks in haphazard stacks under the bed, his tin cups of pens. you wonder if you are part of his list ((if the cables have let you traverse the journey from his heart to his head)).

when you tell him that he is diamond but you a like one of those new gems they make in labs — what are they called — moissanite, he shakes his head. “you are not so scientific, darling.” fingers squeeze yours. “you are burning skies and delimitations and biting stars — the most natural things that exist.”

((you are not sure if you believe him, because nothing is like the first time)).

[grumpygreenwitch]

Summer Gardening.

So it’s been a while, and for that I apologize to the... 200+ people who follow me. I’m sure y’all are here for the cat pics and the nekked men, but TOO BAD. Today you get to suffer through pics of my green children. Also, I do share seed. My seed list link will be up later in the year. To begin with, the summer flowers are out en force:

Echinacea Purpurea, the original echinacea. I do save yearly seed from these guys, although it’s an incredibly pointy, stabby and bleed-y job. 

Mountain Phlox. Unfortunately, all of it around the house is afflicted with powdery mildew, so I will not share seed. But it’s still pretty to look at, and the clearwings (hummingbird moths) love it. Not pictured is the white variant, who grows on the other side of the house. Look, it was hot and I was already melting.

Peppermint Balsam. This thing is basically indestructible, for an annual. It will reseed freely (to truly Lovecraftian levels) and blooms continuously from late spring until mid-fall, when the seed-pods set. There is a dormant genetic in it for double flowers, but when it pops up it’s always been sterile. It just pops up occasionally from the peppermint seed.

I may give the roommate hell over the hostas (I hate them. They’re so useful to protect toads and control weeds, but I hate them), but they do put out pretty flowers. There are several variants around the house - white-edged, blue and green, but hostas in general are very, very hard to start from seed. I will save it on request, only. We were also incredibly lucky to have a Moth Mullein sprout in our porch bed, along with some Variegated Solomon’s Seal.The SS doesn’t put out seeds, and I don’t have enough to share bulbs (yet), but the mullein has been exceptionally generous with seed pods, and it repels bugs. It repels ROACHES. It’s going everywhere. And I may be convinced to part with some seed.

Onward!

A view from a hill. Can you see the garden? That’s OK, I can’t either. Those are peach trees, on the side of the orchard closest to the house. Unfortunately a freak storm during early spring killed all the blossoms. Also, don’t mistake ‘orchard’ for ‘organized’. There’s a pear, some apples, a plum, some nectarines? And front and center are two walnuts. I’ll probably be plunking my laurel there to see if it survives winter. And someday when I have a job and money again, I would like to drop a few Chicago Hardy figs, and maybe a kiwi trellis.

This is the big garden (and fortunately not my responsibility, or I would cry). The guys are ‘handling’ it. The weeds say otherwise.

The jasmine tree and the roommate’s garden. Because of a bad back injury that refuses to heal, I’ve been helping them on and off with it. And if you thought jasmine was supposed to stay a delightful little bush, AHAHAHAHAH. Yes, that’s a light-post next to it. For size comparison.

MY CHILDREN. Please ignore the dead soccer ball. That’d be a dog toy.

Lemon balm, amaranth, and a new bed that I’ll be finishing off during fall, for use next year. The lemon balm is a permanent row - it will overwinter just fine, and it will even keep growing through the mildest part of December. Mine didn’t die back until a few solid days of sleet in January. Unfortunately the weed fabric under the amaranth turned out to be an old roll, and fell apart on me (no big, the whole point is for it to fall apart eventually), so the weeds have kinda eaten it alive.

Unfortunately, both cucumber beetles and blister beetles love the amaranth. Fortunately, it does not seem to give a damn. It’s an incredibly resilient plant, not minding weeds, bugs, flood or drought. We’ll see what the grain actually tastes like, but so far it’s looking like a good candidate for continuous growing.

The lemon balm is lemon-balming. Planted on a lark, it’s proven to be a fantastic wind-breaker - because it grows so early and so quick, it keeps the colder winds that come down through the hollow from my more fragile seedlings, like the lettuce, dill and cilantro. You can see here where the spent flower-heads are dying but there’s new growth underneath; I really have to get in there and behead it. It makes nice hot tea, meh cold tea, and hanging fresh bunches of it around the balcony keeps the skeeters off. It also seems to be a decoy for cabbage moths.

Canary Zinnia. The seed was sent to me as a gift with one of my seed orders, and this is my first year growing it. -If- I can save some, I’ll definitely be sharing and growing again. It’s a lovely plant, very sturdy, and the bees love it.

Dwarf Castor Oil. I don’t think there’s anything dwarf about it, but then I’m a short green witch myself, so maybe it’s all about perspective. Don’t let the pods lie to you, until they dry the spikes are relatively soft. However, it being castor oil, I don’t recommend it to anyone with ducks, chickens, goats, or anything that might accidentally try talking a nibble or pecking at the beans. I do, however, recommend them from jewelry if you know how to pierce things and so on. They are a gorgeous tiger-stripe pattern.

Say hello to the chard! Say goodbye to the chard! Nothing else, absolutely nothing else since the limas, has given me so much trouble. The deer love getting into my chard bed and destroying it (ergo all the forks). And once I managed to chase those off, the blister beetles showed up in force. This will be the last year I grow it - we just don’t eat enough of it to make it worth my while, and it only occasionally sold at the Farmers’ Market.

Red lettuce - Merlot and Lollo Vino, a combination of bought and saved seed. I planted a red romaine of some sort, too, but unsurprisingly it bolted in the heat. The darker reds of my favorites, though, keep bugs off them, keep deer from noticing them, and keep them from bolting. It’s just now threatening to, and at this point its kind of allowed. I need more seed for next year. Seed for this will likely be shared by the teaspoon-ful.

Calendula! I searched for a long time to find the plain ol’ calendula officinalis ancestor, rather than a cultivar where I would have no way of knowing if the medicinal principles would have been sacrificed for looks. It’s supposed to work well as poor man’s saffron (color, no taste), and I’m going to be soaking the heck outta my feet on it during winter. The plant is... not pretty. It gets leggy and the leaves get grotty very quickly. But it’s very sturdy and as long as you cut the flowerheads off as fast as you can, it’ll keep blooming until well into winter. I usually leave it to go to seed around late September.

Green cilantro seeds. You pick ‘em when they’re brown, but before they drop off the plant. Or you pick ‘em when they’re brown-ing, and put them in a paper bag so they’ll finish ripening there and you don’t end up with fifty wild cilantro plants in your garden >_> Most of the row is already gone, and I’ll be putting in a late dill crop in its place. No such thing as too  much dill!

Don’t let lemongrass lie to you. Unless you tie it up, it will not grow up neat and tidy, as most grass does. Instead it will sprawl like a dramatic wilting Elizabethan lady and do its best to end up under your feet so you’ll feel bad about it. I just tie it up with a half-blade of grass; it dries up and withers away before it can hurt the plant.

I ordered pennyroyal seed because... Well, because it’s something one should have on hand, considering the way the world is going. What I got was Creeping Pennyroyal, which doesn’t care if you step on it (mint family), smells absolutely delightful, and has the most adorable, tiny purple flowers. I plan on harvesting, drying and sprinkling it everywhere in the crawlspace under the house. Making war on cave crickets, wood roaches, and other such sundries, me.

The thyme and Spicy Oregano took a beating in the heat, but they’re slowly bouncing back. The bed behind them is more pennyroyal, desperately in need of weeding, but there’s only one of me, y’know.

SIGH. Just. You absolute, ill-mannered monster of a creature. That would be horseradish, gloriously happy to be alive, as horseradish should be. Also, NOT IN ITS BASKET. Because never mind the rules, I guess.

I don’t even know how I’m gonna dig that up come winter. With some construction equipment, I GUESS. 

Decorative gourd! It’s the only one producing so far, but being the seed was 10+ years old, I’m very pleased.

And an apple gourd (I think?), from a mixture of drying gourds that was only slightly less ancient. Snake, apple and birdhouse gourds. There’s a bunch of them competing in the basket at this point, we’ll see what we will see.

And this, I think, is a great use of a dead canopy frame (the dogs ate the canopy. No, I’m not making it up.) I hope to coax the gourds to grow me a lil’ roof so I can sit in shade, surrounded by pennyroyal anti-skeeter barriers, eating my maters.

My Peter Peppers (nrehehehehe) aren’t producing yet - it takes them a while. But my Chinese 5-Color are getting started. It’s a lovely pepper, both edible and ornamental, with (so I’m told) about four times the heat of a Jalapeno. They’re tiny, with deep purple undertones to the plant. They’ll go purple-white-yellow-orange-red.

The bullhorns, on the other hand, are fairly sizable SWEET peppers on very tiny plants, and I honestly suggest staking them while they’re young so they grow a sturdy trunk, else you might end up with all of them growing at a slant.They’re just now beginning to turn colors. Keeping in mind I’m virulently allergic to peppers (less so sweet than hot, but allergic to all of them), the roommate loves ‘em.

It’s a small pepper bed - mainly to refresh my seed on the hots, and to grow sweets for the roommate. Pardon the nekked bed, the autumn lettuce hasn’t sprouted yet. And yes, that’s a mixed basil/dill bed next to it. My basil grew in patchy holes (NEVER buying from those seed people again), so I filled the holes with dill. Unfortunately, dill seed heads are so fine that they’re hard to photograph well.

The tomato row. After arguing with them for this long, I went the extra mile. Every plant has a metal stake. There’s also a double line growing at the top supporting the stakes so they don’t fall over. And they still fell over. Because why not, you unruly children, why not.

Green, white, pink and brown cherry tomatoes. Delicious!

Two kinds of cucumbers, some of the only decent shots of the dill seed-heads, and a special guest hiding in the shade. I usually plant dill as soon as the cucumber sprouts, to keep cucumber beetles off it. Otherwise I’d have no cucumbers and a lot of fat beetles.

The Muncher is a small cucumber, somewhat delicate. It’s very sensitive to temperature changes, and it’s candy to cucumber beetles - basically, it’s impossible to grow it without a heavy curtain of dill, or a heavy duty decoy. This year I got lucky enough to have both. It’s also delicious pickled, keeping its crunch and getting a good ooomph in flavor.

The Japanese Long is, as the name implies, long. It’s also incredibly bitey, and absolutely scrumptious. It’s sweet! And unlike the average cucumber, it does not go metallic when salted.

And now for the SPECIAL CHILD OF MY HEART. Seriously. I have been lusting after Blue Tea Peas since I first saw them offered, and every single time they’d be sold out pretty much the day of. This year I finally got some and... remember me mentioning that freak freeze that killed the peach blossoms? Yeah. Guess what it also killed. But two plants soldiered on. I have them heavily shielded by the cucumbers, dill and chamomile, and really I have no words for the blue. Pics don’t do it justice. I won’t have the tea this year, I’m saving as much seed as I can, but I am so pleased to have it at all!

 Last, but not least, and it’s a poor shot of it, the chamomile. I cannot drink chamomile to sleep - it does put me to sleep, but it also gives me bad dreams. I plan on using it as a skin wash for all the bug bites, along with the calendula, and to give me some respite from dry skin during winter.

Stay green! See you in fall! Now back to our normal schedule of frogs, cats and nekked men!