#this is what all the stem kids at my high school look forward to since their first day.

[wtylas]

i need to scream in a field for a bit

[serendertothesquad]

The Ultimate Serendipity-Odd Squad Lore Post

Because you people keep asking for my entire story.

No, no, not my life story. Christ sakes, we'd be here until Gen Z'ers died off if I had to reiterate my whole life story.

No, I'm talking about my entire Odd Squad story. You know, how I got here to begin with, how I rose to fame, and how I am objectively still a god without a religion, a cult, or a religious cult. That story. You all want to hear that story.

If you're an oldie, you've probably already heard my tale at least once. If you're new here to the funny kids STEM show fandom, then damn boy howdy are you in for a wild ride.

Get a snack and a drink, pop below the break, and let's begin.

Allow me to take you back to the year 2014. I was the ripe young age of 15, finishing up my sophomore year of high school, and suffering from undiagnosed depression of the "I'm trapped in my own home" variety. We didn't have cable, and so stuff like PBS Kids, NBC Kids, and 4Kids were the only things I watched on a regular basis. In the online space, I was largely chronline to the tenth degree (and note the "largely", because, y'know...school). The Internet, and spaces like Tumblr, served as escapism, and I spent a lot of time particularly in the Wild Kratts side of things.

I had first heard of Odd Squad through PBS's own upfront, the PBS Annual Meeting, that was held in May (though the show was, as I would find out much later, officially announced back in January at that year's TCA Winter Press Tour). It was the network's first live-action show since The Electric Company reboot in 2009 that got swiftly cancelled, which was already enough to get me interested because PBS hadn't taken a chance on live-action stuff since. The premise, as well, was charming and incredibly interesting -- a secret organization that solves problems using math sounded a little saccharine and thus perfect for PBS Kids, but since it was live-action, I figured it could bring a little spice to the network in a way that not other kids shows of the modern network era (read: 2013 onwards, past the network redesign) did. The fact that PBS was willing to go all-in on the show, up to teasers, previews, even having two new games available for fans to play before its premiere, was practically the cherry on top.

Fast-forward to around September. By this point, teasers and promos were already coming out for the show that showcased Olive, Otto, Oprah and Oscar in action. And by this point, I was absolutely invested. On a whim, I decided to take my Sony camera and record a reaction video of me watching it. Was it weird? Yes, but I had no money for a laptop that wasn't a decade old and didn't run about as well as a computer from the days of yore. You make do with what you have.

Needless to say, when the first episode "Zero Effect" premiered, I was having a whale of a time. That's...pretty much all I remember. Aside from the swearing. Lots and lots of swearing.

(...Look, it was 10 years ago. My brain can only go on a decline after being fully developed. And the depression has been eating away at me for that long. When astrophysicists perfect the art of the time machine, call me.)

I uploaded it to my YouTube channel the day after the show premiered. No editing, just a straight-cut video of my reactions laid on the table. I figured, "Okay, so this would be nice to look back on and laugh, maybe."

And then, a month later, I got a PM from Joshua Kilimnik, the actor who plays Season 1's big bad Odd Todd.

Before I get into that, though, a bit of backstory for my channel is necessary.

I had made my channel in 2011, when Wild Kratts premiered. At the time, it was mostly hosting Wild Kratts content, mainly Top 10 countdowns of fan videos I stumbled across on Tumblr or elsewhere as well as Sparta Remix-related stuff. (Yeah, remember that old meme? That isn't as dead as you think it is? Yeeeeeeah.) Around the middle of 2015, it unfortunately got struck down pretty hard when PBS began to go Nintendo on it, viewed fanworks as threats to their IPs, and decided to rip down my videos from the 'Net in three easy strikes -- and with it, my entire channel. It stung, to see my relatively hard work go down the drain. I'd be lying if I said I had wanted the channel to stay up just so I can look back on it in 5 years and cringe at how juvenile it was. Christ sakes, I even had MLP stuff up there at one point. Why? Don't ask me. I wasn't even watching the show at the time. I truly got into it when Season 5 began airing.

But back to the PM. You know, back when YouTube gave you the option to PM people.

Getting the PM from Joshua, I was, naturally, suspect. Celebrity impersonators are all too common, and as I would later come to find out, Odd Squad was not exempt. I had to laugh, because an autistic nobody like me getting a PM from a child actor who was in the industry long before Odd Squad was like Ariana Grande up and inviting me to have dinner with her because I made a few comments about her diction. It's a miracle, people. Miracles that only happen to those with life-threatening illnesses or those who have done good for the community. I had neither of those. Unless you count me going to high school as doing the community a service, in which case I have one of those things.

I read the PM again. And again. And again. And something in me thought, "Maybe...just maybe...this guy is actually legitimate. Maybe he's telling the truth about the entire Season 1 cast and the show's crew members, creators included, seeing my video. I mean it's 2014, what creator wouldn't look to the Internet for first reactions on their show?"

Fuck it. iBalled. I went for it. I reached out to Joshua.

And by God's oddness-laden utopia, am I so happy I did.

We immediately hit it off, taking our conversation from YouTube DMs to Twitter DMs (no, my current Twitter is not that ancient -- my time on birdsite-now-saltyman-hellhole is a whole different story) and discussing our hobbies and what we did. Joshua confided in me that he helped disabled kids, which, honestly, is a green flag in my book off the bat as someone who is, in fact, disabled. I told him about my animal shelter work and how I loved the show.

At the same time, I had posted on Tumblr about the show. Don't ask me what the post was about -- I honestly couldn't tell you, and combing through the tag is something I'd need a hell of a lot of motivation for -- but it somehow, by some astronomical means, took off. People came in like a small trickle. It was small, but over time, we built a strong community. I didn't exactly know how big my impact on people was until I read "how I got into Odd Squad" stories and saw my name pop up enough times to the point where I could safely say I was an inspiration to more than one person.

At some point in 2015, I had created a Wiki for the show. Fandom -- or Wikia, as it was called back then -- wasn't exactly new territory for me, as I had visited other show Wikis before. However, my Odd Squad Wiki didn't take off, and someone else ended up making another one that became far more successful.

...Yeah, you're surprised, aren't you? Figures. But not even I can lay claim to everything.

When the other Wiki took off, Joshua decided to dive right into the fire and engage with the fandom directly. Now, for any big-name fandom, this is everyday normalcy. The My Little Pony fandom has fans directly engage with cast and crew members who answer their questions, for example. But for small fandoms of niche IPs -- and oh believe you me, Odd Squad was incredibly niche back then -- a cast member interacting with fans was a huge deal. The hype only increased when Joshua was named an administrator, along with a few others, myself included.

Needless to say, Joshua being involved boosted the fandom's activity exponentially, and not just due to his spectacular acting on the show. Fanfics, fanart, fan videos...it was a bustling time of fan content. I can recall some of the most notable works just off the top of my head. The fandom got to be so busy that I made a news blog just to cover every bit of news, shifting away from my Wild Kratts news coverage to focus on a different show instead. I enlisted a few old friends to help me out, converted them to be oddballs (which, I will say, was a stroke of luck), and put them on the "staff team". My aim was to create something akin to Equestria Daily, but on a smaller scale. We did editorials, episode followups, and scoured the Internet for any and every bit of Odd Squad news we could find. It became a reliable source for many, especially considering PBS's horrible track record with even the most basic of news -- cancellations, renewals, and other such announcements. Not to brag, but I like to think I did a better job than them at actually giving news to fans who deserve it. (Hell, I still do. My hunger for even small crumbs of news is very strong indeed.)

I can easily recall when Season 2 was announced. Me and my friends were ecstatic. For me, I never thought Odd Squad would get a Season 2, and the Season 1 finale -- affectionately named OINFO (don't confuse it with "O is Not For Old", that's a different rodeo; this is "O is Not For Over") -- made sure of that. Originally, it was set to air in May, before it got shifted to June to coincide with Season 2's premiere.

And even long before that, the movie being announced blew our minds. I genuinely couldn't believe this niche little IP, birthed only several months ago, was getting a movie. And not even one of those specials that PBS markets as a movie as a ratings stunt. No, no, this was a full-blown theatrical movie. With A-listers to boot! And it was a damn good movie!

(...Okay, unrelated, but man, I'm reading through all my old posts and comments on the Wiki and cringing. God, did I really type like a 10-year-old back then when I was in high school? Egh gross cringe. The "let her say fuck" was strong with me back then.)

Of course, as most actors do, Joshua largely moved on from the show as the years went on. Most long-timer fans stuck around until the end of Season 2 before either other interests caught their eye or real life just got in the way too much. A majority of these fans dropped off the face of the Earth like an introvert who suddenly disappears mid-conversation, though they still popped into the Discord server a few times and I reconnected with one or two on Twitter. Hell, some of them even made a "hey, I'm back, and here's what's up" post on Fandom that made me ask if their accounts got hacked.

As a result, when Season 3 premiered, the fandom had slowed down to a crawl. Anyone who's bore witness to it, whether an episode or a nugget of criticism, can probably guess why. (And anyone who hasn't can feel the wrath of my "trust me bro" card, thank you.) It was like I willingly leapt off of the boat, it sped away without me, and I was trapped in the middle of fuck-all nowhere with sharks. So, you know, like Open Water if it was actually good. But the point stands in that I was pretty much all alone. I couldn't crawl to anyone for the sweet release of death after seeing just how hard S&P tried to avoid The Shadow's very obvious murder attempt by way of hacking into a car to make it fall into a lake of green goo. All I could do was scream and cry into a mic, edit, upload to YouTube, and let all the unsupervised kids looking for free episodes come to me in droves.

Oh, and post to Odd News. Until I accidentally deleted the account.

By that point in time, my old friends had all left due to real life commitments, and only one, Angelica, remained. But even she drifted away, and I was stuck running it all alone. So, I made the difficult decision to let it rot, and frankly...I haven't touched it since. Largely because I left Tumblr entirely and only just now came back. On the news front, I expanded my coverage to PBS Kids as a whole network, just as I do on Twitter.

It wasn't until the back half of Season 3 premiered that the fandom slowly but surely began to grow from planted roots, and I could connect with people again. Seeing people flood the Discord server and Tumblr, sharing art and news and theories, was amazing. Not for Season 3, though -- it was because of the past two seasons. Honestly, to say there's been more talk about Otis and Odd Todd than about any other character in the entire franchise is a hell of an understatement, because it dominated pretty much 98% of the fandom.

From there, new fanworks, fanart, and other pieces of fan-created media were created, and many still continue to be created to this day. Though hyperfixations can be yoted off the cliff and die in an instant (with deepest apologies to Shroom), it's great to see a burst of activity in such a small fandom. Hell, it even got big enough to where we had a Secret Valentine's exchange a couple months back, which was a real joy because it gave me a chance to flex my writing chops even if it did leave me on the verge of a third panic attack. And...the fandom being revived did land me a solid interview for a college assignment. Which, to me, is my own equivalent of getting a dedicated panel at a convention.

But this isn't a whole entire story about fandom lore. It's a story about me.

And honestly...I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little tired with Odd Squad myself.

Between the choking responsibilities of adult life (yay work), the state of my mental and physical health (yay depression and anxiety), and the franchise being fucked over sideways to Pluto and back by numerous entities (yay TV industry), I really can't just focus on Odd Squad anymore. Now, I'll give a fair warning to you and tell you to make no mistake -- my enjoyment of the franchise will die with me and my entire bloodline if the franchise itself doesn't die first. But I've found other special interests and hyperfixations that have grabbed me more than the funny kid agent franchise has. I derive more joy from binging the 90s Frasier series, Pretty Cure, and Neighborhood Wars than I do with the funny kid agent franchise.

Now, does this mean I'm leaving the fandom? God no. To do it on the verge of the franchise's 10th anniversary would be utter blasphemy. And I do plan on weaponizing this blog for more Seren's Studies, including episode reviews and character analyses I can't do with the limited resources I have. But the drive for Odd Squad is just...no longer there for me. I did not, unfortunately, get the "Odd Squad forever" autism. I got the "childhood is hell, but okay, sure, I'll make you a functioning competent adult to a certain degree" autism.

Maybe one of these days, amidst the countless new pieces of media that keep releasing, I'll be able to rewatch Odd Squad. It's worn out its welcome nostalgia-wise, but I find it to be a pretty enjoyable view when I take off those glasses and put on the "my God is an awesome God and that's why I try to attend church every Sunday" ones. I'm still making crossover fan projects to other IPs like MLP, Super Monkey Ball, and Precure. And of course, I'll be seated for Odd Squad UK to see if it's good or not -- I'm more than happy to take the bullet for people who don't want to see it for whatever reason, just as I did for the back half of Season 3. But for now, the drive is pretty much gone.

I will admit, I'm likely missing some stuff. My memory is absolutely terrible, and I had to go fishing for a lot of stuff to refresh it (one of the reasons why this took so long to release in the first place). But this is what I can dredge up.

I'm honestly proud of the little fandom I birthed. I could work a hundred jobs in my lifetime and still say that founding the Odd Squad fandom is by far my greatest accomplishment. I've met so many amazing people, seen so many amazing things, and really, I'm hoping to see more people in the years to come. If the aim is to introduce Odd Squad to new generations of kids, teens, young adults, and adults alike, then I'm all for it. Expose them to goodness. None of that Cocomelon shit.

Thank you for reading, and to all of the people in the fandom both old and new, thank you for touching my life in ways I never thought of. If you've got any further questions about my story, send 'em my way; I'll be glad to answer 'em.

See you all in the next Seren's Studies, whenever that may be.

[angelosearch]

Every time I finish a writing session, I think to myself, "I can't wait to write again."

I cannot explain how good it feels to think that. I am near tears right now. I've fallen in love with writing again and I am so incredibly grateful.

As a kid, I loved writing. It was amazing to me, how words could evoke emotions. I looked forward to making people laugh or cry with my poetry and fiction, mostly in the form of over-achieving creative writing assignments and cards for family members. When I was 11-13, I lost so much family through death and estrangement, and I lost all of my friends because I moved. I was a weird kid, so I had trouble making friends in my new middle school. I felt alone in the world. Writing and fandom made a space where I could connect with others. A place where I could feel like an insider instead of an outsider.

Writing was my main hobby as a tween and that continued through high school. At that point, writing was a domain that held all my academic confidence. I went to a vocational high school for math and science (my two worst subjects) and literally had the second-lowest grades in my class of 41 students. My STEM-focused classmates made me feel like an idiot (sometimes on purpose, sometimes not) but I destroyed them in English or whenever a non-lab report paper was due.

So when it was time to select a college/major, writing felt like the only thing I was capable of. Undergrad Writing BAs (as opposed to English BAs with writing concentrations) are not common (at least as of 14 years ago, in the US) so the program I got into had basically every teenager who wanted to pursue writing on the East Coast in it.

I went in believing I would write "the next great American novel."

I came out thinking I was only good for writing technical stuff and marketing copy, if that.

Don't get me wrong, I learned a lot from the program, my professors, and my peers, but my peers were so skilled, and some of my professors were so ruthless, and some of the classes were so challenging that my confidence was obliterated. Writing was no longer something fun and expressive that could bring joy to others--no, it was my meal ticket and nothing else.

For years after my graduation, I tried here and there to get back into creative writing, but I was so burnt out on my jobs that creativity felt like a burden. Then, I spiraled downward with my mental health... I forgot I could love anything, nonetheless writing.

Journaling was the first thing to get me back into writing. And then personal essays. But the true joy came when I started writing fanfiction again, and it's been fucking magical.

I am obsessed with taking the ideas in my head and showing them to others. I love having to do deep research to understand something enough to write about it. I'm evoking emotion again! I'm connecting with people! And even my confidence is back thanks to the support of the amazing individuals who read and comment on my writing. ❤️

And maybe (specifically FFVIII) fanfiction is my main focus now, and maybe it always will be. But for the first time since I was a teenager, the idea of publishing something fictional or otherwise--publishing something that I WANT to write--feels obtainable.

It's cheesy, but hell, I feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do. When I write, I feel like I fit in my body, like I can tune out my anxious thoughts, like I am home. What a gift. I hope everyone can find a hobby that makes them feel this way.

And I know writing will frustrate me at times. And someday it may not feel magical to do it. But for now, I am just so excited to release my words into the wild and see what they get up to out there.

Thank you all for being on this journey with me! Now, I'm going to go write. :)

[fabulous109]

My Light- Embry Call fanfic

Part 1- How It Began

Emily belonged to the Cullen family, although in all regards she was hardly known by that family name. Her known last name isn't truly important, but what is important are the friendships she developed in Forks, WA.

As it happens, her friend group circled the same as Jacob Black because he was her "cousin" or "adopted sister of the summer" as they were fond of calling it. The Cullen family knew of the wolves and legends by meeting the Quileute tribe decades before, but their personal relationship with Billy Black stemmed when Carlisle came to him for Billy's help. Emily was five and they knew she was old enough to be around other kids who weren't vampires without telling the secrets of their kind. They couldn't trust many humans, if any, and knew that Emily's choice of mortality would be her own after becoming an adult. They wanted to protect her long enough to make that decision, and also show her what her life can be like without vampires. They preferred to show her that away from the chance of wolves, but beggars can't be choosers.

Billy had a boy Emily's age, along with two older girls to help mother her when Esme wasn't around. As for the school days, Emily was homeschooled and traveled with the vampires. She loved the adventures, but truly looked forward to summers on the rez. Often she begged to stay, however she knew it was senseless. Emmett adored her too much to not have his turn. Rosalie dragged him on their summer long anniversary trip to a new place every year. She hopes to go to every place on the planet one day. Is it bad he hoped they would not live that long or at least she would get tired of the idea after another random island without WiFi for his video games during the daylight or the African desert at midnight again? In truth he loved her to the ends of the Earth, literally, and it showed Emily what she should set the bar for in a man. If she didn't, he would. Which is why he hasn't personally spoke to Embry.

Thankfully the agreement was that the vampires would not move back unless wolves phased or Emily lived here permanently after high school, as well as not being able to contact any of the tribe to hide their identity and protect the humans.

Overall, the family loved her, yet only Carlisle and Esme were allowed to truly parent her since it would be easier to move back to Forks as siblings for the rest. Not to mention, they treated her as their little sister. She was the princess, but not stuck up. Quite cheeky and often can be manipulative only in good humor against her brothers- blame Rosalie. Fashionable but preferred T-shirts and vans- Alice loved and hated this, but the shopping sprees Emily willingly agreed to made up for that.  Those girls loved to shop! Alice and Jasper always lent a shoulder to cry on and she seemed able to talk to them more than anyone, maybe the calming methods the blonde vampire often used on her? As for Jasper- it's strange or fate that he didn't seem to mind being around her since she was a baby, and her blood didn't seem to burn his throat like all the other humans. Edward taught her piano, in turn she taught herself guitar and drums. He loved watching her grow as a person, even loved watching her obsession with music bloom over the years. When all else failed between them, they often disagreed especially once Bella was in the picture, they had music. It often cured their disagreements. As most would wonder with Edward, he tried to respect her mental privacy. Eventually he noticed she learned to flip a switch between when he could and couldn't read her mind. Same for Alice and Jasper, although she preferred Jasper calming the anxiety and depression she felt since a young kid. On the rez though it seemed to disappear. As for Emmett, let's just say he got in as much trouble as Emily if not more. He was her best friend, but couldn't compare to Embry. Simply because she could complain to Embry about them all because he knew nothing of them. Yet.

Her mom and dad weren't perfect, they didn't spoil her either, but honestly as much trouble she got into with Emmett, she had just as much fun and love with her parents. They were cool parents in the scheme of things, but they still kept her restricted in her life. She was never alone and part of that was the fact that her family were vampires and had many friends that would visit unannounced. She didn't get to do many things considered dangerous even with so many vampires protecting her. She did however travel the world because it was more of an education than formal school. Emily received homeschooling from mostly her siblings and their own interest. Not to mention the history and critical thinking she learned from the tales of their lives. To be considered a high school graduate, she was required by her parents to pass a test from the top high school in the USA. In other words - she was smart but she didn't necessarily have a choice with everything she experienced. She wouldn't have retained any of it if she hadn't been a visual learner. Thank goodness her siblings did a great job at trying to make her well rounded through education, including math and science. Emily hated that part preferring reading or history. Story telling in all forms was her specialty. Her life was above what most people dream of from the outside. She had wants and wishes still, most involving Embry, overall Emily was happy.

As for her real family- she didn't know who they were or why she was with the Cullens. She didn't particularly care either because if she somehow ended up with vampires, she definitely knew that her parents and their death would cause more heartache than closure.

As for the reservation, Emily was one of their own and Billy Black made sure of that when he agreed. He knew Emily was special from the first meeting. Unlike most she didn't exactly say hello. More like threw you into a hug as much as a five year old could. She could make you feel at home instantly and if she wasn't smiling or talking, something was wrong. She made friends quickly, but only kept a few close. Although he wouldn't have asked for reimbursement for her stay, the Cullens provided more than enough to his family and many other community resources in return for his kindness. But kindness was not the only reason, it was also in return for the promise of protection for Emily.

Ultimately this is the story of Emily and Embry. They fall in love, grow up together, and soon fall apart. They come back in the end but that vision isn't as rosy as they had planned as children. In truth, Emily will come to see that through the darkness comes Embry- the light.

[collinsappsley]

[ Hunter Schafer, trans-female, she/her ] — whoa! COLLINS APPSLEY just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for TWENTY SIX YEARS, working as a MODEL AND ARTIST. that can’t be easy, especially at only 26 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit CHILDISH and SCATTERED , but i know them to be EFFERVESCENT and GENEROUS. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to BROOKLYN!

Bullying tw, homophobia tw

Born to Hunter and Payton Apsley, Collins had was most people would see as the all American upbringing. Coming from a family who were comfortable financially she went to a good kindergarten, grade school, and high school. Except internally Collins always felt that was something that set herself apart from the boys at her all boy school, and it was a conflict that she was conscious of rooted inside her from a young age. Collins’s grades at school were never amazing but she managed to get through without any major issues - happily coasting in the middle of her classes average. It was enough to keep teachers off her back but still have time to socialise with her friends. She wasn’t overly popular but again she had a good number of friends, basically Collins was distinctly average for most of her childhood. Getting along fairly well with her little brother Tanner it wasn’t until Collins was about eleven she did what her parents considered ‘rocking the boat’.

The uncomfortable way she felt about herself when she looked in the mirror, to put it nicely, that set her aside from the other people she hung around with was only growing stronger. Two years of intense therapy later she was placed on hormone blockers, starting the long road to becoming who she knew she really was. Thus Collins became more than just a phase her parents had crudely assumed their child would grow out of. The road wasn’t easy, fraught with some thoughtlessly horrible bullying from classmates the blonde decided that instead of resisting the label of ‘different’ she would embrace it. It became a defence to be the weird kid because beating others to the punch was a way to stem the insults thrown in her direction, it really took the wind out their sails when it rolled off her like water off a ducks back. At least outwardly.

When Collins was eighteen she finally managed to get to the stage where she was approved for top surgery, something she never thought she’d get to see become a reality. What she had hoped to be a euphoric time in her life was brutally hard, the recovery not straight forward in her particular case, and for about three months she battled a series of infections before being medically considered healed. Ask her today though and she’ll tell you it was worth every second. As was the recovery when she completed her aesthetic transition with bottom surgery at the age of twenty. Thankfully something that came with less complications despite being a far more invasive procedure. From then on she started to morph into the girl she’d always wanted to be with even more confidence, doing what she called ‘letting her freak flag fly’. Her humour became more prominent, any filter she’d had left over what she said dissipating completely, the desire to have fun growing tenfold.

She was scouted when she was only nineteen to model and saw that she could use that platform to do more than just sell clothing, she could also spread awareness. Although over time the name of the brand became more important than what she could say with her choices simply because she needed to pay the bills - especially since her passion had been art for a long time, dreams of being a full time artist, but it was hardly something that paid well. At least not back then, when she was about twenty three the girl sold a painting to a well known dealer and that coupled with her public profile from modelling made her entire profile rocket almost overnight.

Bubbly, sweet, eccentric, a little bit of a mess and kind of scatty, Collins isn’t into material things per say but of course she does love fashion. Like thrifting and stuff. Not labels or what is coming down the runway in Paris ironically considering she herself often comes down said runways, but the moth eaten coat that is in a dumpster on its way to the dump until she yanks it out to patch up in her free time. People find her a little weird sometimes, but she doesn’t care too much, always felt like the odd one out anyway so now it’s just part of her MO. Does she have a ring hoarding issue? Yes, a little bit. She especially loves to find really different ones from all kinds of countries and time periods.

Another little oddity she is being the kind girl that makes the most random like diaries full of drawings, writing, ticket stubs, random addresses, photos she’s taken of weirds tuff, handwritten notes from friends - anything she gets her hand on. If Collins is walking behind you in the street and you drop your shopping list the chances are she scooped it up to stick into a diary, making up a story based on the items on there about who you are as a person.

As for her loyalty? Throughout her entire journey has been her big brother Elliot, who the blonde believes truly walks on water. The most supportive sibling a girl could wish for the two of them are best friends, siblings, and confidants all rolled into one. He's opened her eyes to ways of the world as well as ways of accepting herself which is something Collins will never be able to properly thank him for. Not to mention his daughter, aka her niece Sawyer, who is the light of the woman's life.

And if you have her protection she’d willingly go into battle for you, but if you don’t? Well…you might want to work on your cardio because chances are you’ll need to run, and run fast. After all Collins Apsley enjoyed keeping fit herself so most mornings you could find her jogging to clear her head. She’s the life of the party when she wants to be, and a sloth the rest of the time, it’s truly a tale of two halves when it come to the confusing blonde. She sure knows how to have a good time though, so if you’re down to explore the unexpected with someone who considers boundaries a mere suggestion - you’ve come to the right place.

[ryan-waddell11]

TW (ED)

This week is very important to me. The week of Monday, February 27 until Sunday, March 5 is Eating Disorders Awareness Week. I don’t want sympathy. I just want to spread awareness.

mentions of disordered eating (Binge Eating Disorder) and bullying

I have struggled with disordered eating behaviors and body dysmorphia since I was 11 years old. Over half of my life. I never realized I had a problem because I wasn’t actively aware. I wasn’t forcing myself not to eat so it never seemed like a problem. I just ate when I felt like it. Many people only associate eating disorders or disordered eating habits with people who are thinner or are actively conscious about it. This is not always the case.

In MY experience, I was taking a required class for school. I had to document a week of eating in my life. Although I didn’t eat badly and there would be days when I would eat more than others a lot of my eating behaviors were that of a binge eating disorder. I was always told not to eat if you’re not hungry; sadly, I was never hungry. When I did feel hungry, I would eat as much as I could, and then ultimately feel guilty about doing that, and I would always have to rationalize as to why I was being this way. After the assignment was complete, some faculty became concerned and talked to me about these behaviors and told me it wasn’t normal or healthy. I began looking into people and how to get looked at because I didn’t understand whether what I was doing was wrong or not healthy.

Ultimately, I kept up with these eating habits through the remaining years of high school. Flash forward to 6 years later and I’m a junior in college. I’m instructed to do that assignment once again and then share it on a discussion board for my classmates to read. Now I could easily lie on these assignments, but to be honest, I forgot to do it most of the time because I didn’t eat. After this was exposed to my peers the seriousness of it all set in. It was humiliating to read the discussion board and have people I didn’t know openly critique my health habits. They made me feel incredibly guilty for being this way, but a classmate was kind enough to message a professor and see if they would reach out because they were concerned. This was when I was again made aware that the things I was doing were unhealthy.

Thinking back to those assignments, I realize that the behavior stemmed from earlier trauma. I was never the girl that people asked out because they liked. I always asked as a joke. I was constantly bullied by adults and my peers because I had developed early and had no control over the weight that I was gaining.

In elementary school, I developed a crush on this kid. When I was younger people said (never him) I would stalk him just because I said I had a crush on him. This stemmed because they felt I was bigger. In middle school, I still had a crush on this kid, and I was told by peers (never him) that no one would date someone as enormous as me.

In seventh grade, I was tormented in the locker room by my OWN teammates and called a fat pig and some of them go out of their way to slam me into doors and throw food at me.

It was also in seventh grade when my friend was showing around someone new. When I talk to my friend at lunch that day, I noticed this kid was next to him, and when I introduce myself, he refused to give me his name because he said, “I don’t give my name to ugly fat girls.” I was trying to be polite and ask for your name, not get in your pants. I still don’t know this kid’s name. I’ve called him an asshole ever since (I still don’t feel bad about that one).

There was one “joke” that always stuck with me. I was in the eighth grade, and I was in art class. My teacher at the time was also my volleyball coach for the school. she had to go talk to another teacher and she asked me to grab the copies out of her back room and then shut the door when I was done as it would lock from the outside. While I was in the room, I shut the door so that nobody else could run in and when I walked out, I turned around to shut the door, and suddenly, a bunch of guys slammed me into the door, crushing me with desks. I was surrounded, and I couldn’t lift myself over them, and they thought it was funny. I felt so miserable. That pain doesn’t disappear. The games like “pull a pig” or even asking someone out as a joke are HURTFUL. Even if we don’t show it, the pain and damage is done.

Reflecting on my personal journey I realized that the root of my problems began when I hit puberty and was bullied for developing young. It was something I couldn’t control and I felt like a monster. I remember making the promise to myself not to eat if I wasn’t hungry, which didn’t seem unhealthy, but reflecting now I realized how damaging it was. I kept that promise, but I’ve never been able to free myself from those habits. Even when I look at my body, I see the damage that I’ve done that feels almost irreversible. I have rib flares from where I sucked in my stomach so much to try and look thinner. I have the habit of not eating for hours and days on end and then shoving food in my face the second I feel hungry until that feeling goes away because I don’t know when I’ll be hungry again. it’s incredibly hard for me to break these habits, but I am working to better myself every day.

This is still something I struggle with every single day. I’ve consistently been the same size since I was 14. This is hard to let go of since I’ve been a 6-10 for so long. The number on the scale or your pants size shouldn’t matter, but it always will to me. It’s how society pushes its horrible and unrealistic beauty standards on young men and women. So, while I am currently trying to work on my recovery from these behaviors, I’m not fully recovered, and I don’t think I ever will be. I’m afraid I will slip back into my old behaviors. It’s something so difficult to deal with. I never want to say I’m fully recovered because I know that if I do slip into these behaviors I’ll feel like a disappointment.

There is still a lot of stigma and misunderstanding about eating disorders. Although conversations around this topic have changed, there’s, unfortunately, an underlying view that it is somehow the person’s fault, and that if they could only learn self-control, they would recover easily. This just isn’t true. Eating disorders are serious mental illnesses that require care, treatment, and respect to help sufferers cope.

A major reason why others and I don’t look for help/support is because of the negative messages we receive from friends and family. I, like many others, didn’t want to be treated differently or make the comments that say, “it’s all in your head,” “she’s not losing any weight she must be faking it,” or “I could never do that. I love food too much.” These are always circling in the mind and sadly this prevents so many from getting the help they need and deserve.

It’s one of the scariest and bravest things you can do, but I want to reassure you. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Please remember to be kind and mindful when you look at someone’s body. You have no idea what they’re going through. 

Thank you.

[camiilatte]

Building My Future: An Overview of My Future Goals

Hi, I'm Camille Sorita, a student at Saint Paul University Philippines. For the first time in my 16 years of life, I’m excited to share my dreams and aspirations with you. This blog will explore my personal journey, my goals, and my feelings. I look forward to your feedback and hope you find the content both informative and engaging. Enjoy reading my blog!

First up to explore is where do I see myself 10 years from now?

As I look toward the future, my vision cannot still see a clear vision, but I would say. 10 years from now, I see myself as a fulfilled, successful pediatrician—one of the leading professionals in my field. My dream is to be a source of healing and encouragement for children in need and to inspire future medical students. I can also see my proud parents and siblings who are complete, happy, and healthy, of course. For my personality, I can view a woman who is shaped by her experiences in life that results in a brave woman who is ready to face any kind of battle; whatever God gives me, I will face that with determination. A woman who is dedicated and will try her best to be the best.

Second, was my learning in SPUP vital to where I'm leading to?

My journey at Saint Paul University Philippines is vital to where I'm leading because the education and experience I am gaining here are not only preparing me academically but also teaching me to become prepared outside the world. Saint Paul is shaping me into a simple, responsible, and disciplined person. Being simple and focused on fundamentals can open doors to unexpected opportunities, and I am committed to embracing these values as I pursue my goals. Remember, don't ignore small things, because who knows that small thing will have a big impact on your life?

Third, was ABM/STEM the best choice after all?

A lot of students are choosing STEM for the reason that the courses under STEM are in demand in other countries and the courses under have a high cost. This strand is making it an ideal choice for someone who is aiming to enter the medical field. So as for me, yes, the STEM strand is the best choice in choosing strand for the reason that STEM is broad, and I will never regret choosing the STEM strand since I want to pursue medicine. STEM can help me get ready for my college course since one of our major subjects is general biology, which is connected to my dream course, pediatrician. In the STEM track, I could explore a lot of career paths in the future if I had a change of mind in medical school.

And lastly, what course will you take in college and why?

My desire to become a pediatrician is inspired by my childhood experiences. Back when I was a child, I really dreamed of becoming a pediatrician, because from a young age, I was often ill and saw pediatricians and doctors regularly. I was so truly impressed by them since they have the ability to heal and help kids who are sick, and I said to myself one day I will become one of them and I will help and heal kids who are sick. My love for interacting with children, coupled with my determination to help them, makes them super lovely to talk to. Additionally, my goal extends to ensuring the health of my family to help them live longer. As a doctor, I would be able to monitor and improve their health, providing them with a better quality of life.

I hope my blog inspires you to plan your futures!

[toomanysurveys9]

What was the last thing you spent more than $20 on? I got groceries and dog food that cost over $20 total, but none of the items themselves were $20. 

Give us a lyric from a song you’ve recently listend to: I don’t remember what I last listened to.

Do you wear actual designated ‘pajamas’ to bed? I do not.

When was the last time you were tempted to do something you’d later regret? I don’t remember.

Have you ever had feelings for someone who was seeing someone else? Nothing serious.

Have you ever had feelings for your best friend’s significant other? No.

What color is your hairbrush? It’s gray and green.

How many times did you ride in a car today? A few. I went to the gas station, work, the store, and home.

Who was the last non-relative to call you? I don’t remember.

Are you comfortable in your own skin? Nope.

What are your plans for tomorrow? Work. I don’t know beyond that.

Are you in a good mood right now? I’m getting overstimulated so no.

When was the last time you had an ice cream cone? It’s been a few weeks.

Did you eat breakfast this morning? I did. I ate a banana muffin.

Have you ever been in a cemetery at midnight? Probably.

Do you live on your own? If not, who do you live with? Nope. My parents, siblings, sister’s fiance, nephew, my kids, my husband, and all our animals live here right now.

How old are your siblings, if you have any? 28, 27, 20, 10, and 10.

Can you tie a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue? Nope.

Have you ever used your cell phone as a lightsource in the dark? All the time.

Is your birthday in less than 6 months? Yes. It’s in, like, three-ish.

How old will you be in 3 years? Almost 33.

Do you remember who you were dating in August 2007? No one.

Why did you cry the last time you did? Just life.

Where are your parents right now? Probably at my brother’s house.

Would you rather be able to fly or breathe under water? Fly for sure.

Have you ever had a crush on a sibling’s friend? I already answered this today.

Do you know where your calcaneus bone is located? I can’t remember. It’s been awhile.

Have you donated blood in the last 2 years? Nope.

What was the last free t-shirt you received from? My friend bought me a couple tshirts and gave them to me on Friday if that counts.

Have you kissed your 10th contact in your phone? I’m not looking, so I can’t say yes or no.

When did you go to bed last night? I have no idea.

Is there anything you are looking forward to at the moment? Next Friday.

Who was the last person to piss you off? Jacob.

Are you a Scorpio? Nope. Are you an Atheist? Something like that.

Are you Asian? Nope.

Are you blonde? Nope.

Are you taller than 6'0"? Definitely not.

Are you fluent in another language? I wish, but no.

Are you in the military? No.

Are you female? I am.

Are you single? Nope. Married.

Are you a parent? I am. A parent of three.

Are you an artist? As much as I wish I was artistic, I am not.

Are you a musician? I can kind of sing. Sometimes.

Are you an athlete? Nope.

Do you like winter? Not especially.

Who did you spend last New Year’s with? My family.

Did you do anything special for St.Patrick’s Day? It’s Wyatt’s birthday so we celebrate him.

Did you have a Valentine last time Valentine’s Day came around? Jacob and our kids.

What is your relationship with the last person to comment you? I don’t know?

Who was the last person to sit on your bed? Probably Wyatt and Eliana.

Do you have a favorite flower? Lilacs.

What is the best gift someone can give you? I love handmade gifts.

Was your last kiss a mistake? Nope.

Would you rather be stuck on a desert island with your ex or a python? Ex I guess. Although I would definitely prefer neither.

Do you kiss on the first date? I don’t really know. I’ve been with Jacob since just before high school.

Would you rather visit Norway or BrazilI? Both. But I think I would want to go to Brazil first.

Name three objects within your reach? My phone (but Eliana has it), a blanket, and my Harry Potter word search.

What jewelry are you wearing? My bracelet for suicide awareness that also has Justin’s name on it and the year he killed himself.

Would you get a shamrock tattooed to your forehead for $5000? Nope.

What do you smell right now? Rat cage.

Are you very flexible? Noo.

Where was your display pic taken? I don’t remember.

Do you like Chinese food? I do.

Where was the last place you went that was more than an hour away? Why were you going there? Chicago for the Taylor Swift concert.

If your best friend asked you to marry them what would you say? I don’t know that I have a best friend really. It might just be Jacob at this point and we’re already married.

Are you under the influence of anything at the moment? I am not.

Would you consider yourself open-minded? I think so.

Who was the last person to tell you you looked nice? Jacob. But it was just because he was trying to get me to either have sex or give him head.

Have you ever been to a nude beach? Nope, and I don’t want to.

What time is it? 9:24 PM. I’m probably going to take Nora and Cookie to bed.

What are you going to go do now? I might do one more survey and then take the tinies to bed.

[blancetude]

Of Rain & Lilacs

Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!Chubby!Reader

❝ I broke my rules for you. ❞

* This is a chapter prequel for an upcoming series ‘Autumn Leaves’ OT7 x Omega!Chubby!Reader

**NOT PROOFREAD**

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: When Jeon Jungkook first met the strange Omega everyone had been whispering of she looked every bit like a delicate butterfly, not knowing he would eventually pluck her wings.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: strangers to lovers to estranged (?) Angst, Eventual Comfort, Fluff, Verbal & Physical Bullying, Fat Shaming, Eventual Dubcon Smut-ish, Lots of Tears

𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

If you were to ask your high school classmates to describe you in one word they would all say the same thing: Strange.

Now fast-forward four years later and ask your university peers the same thing. This time they would all say: Definitely strange.

Growing up you always knew you were a bit different. If it wasn’t your mother constantly reminding you to stop saying good morning to all the trees you passed or apologizing to a rose bush for picking a drying stem off of it because people don’t like different, they’ll laugh at you.

Your father would console your mother telling her it was you just being a kid, that you’ll grow out of it when you presented, but that was just the beginning.

Nights were filled with screaming matches from your mother as she picked at your clothes and hairstyles deeming them embarrassing to your family, that your siblings are too ashamed to be seen with you cause who wears huge sun hats and knee-high boots together? It was already bad that you’d presented as an Omega in a long lineage of Alphas.

Your family lived in an uber religious rural town in the countryside so imagine the utter scandal you caused at age 15 when you showed up to church sporting a pink buzz cut with cute little red hearts after your mother yelled at you the night before for wanting to give yourself an undercut.

You still traced the scar on your arm you got after your father threw a bottle at you for daring to humiliate him like that.

Their constant ill-treatment didn’t stop after you’d graduated and moved to a university 6 hours away however. The occasional phone call from your mom or bother telling you that you wouldn’t amount to anything would remind you that yes they were still (unfortunately) alive and well.

At least now when you walked through the halls of your school in your rainbow waistcoat, people would whisper when you’d walk by and not saying something to your face.

“Hey freak! Come here!”

Maybe you spoke too soon.

Choi Gaeun. Her name means “kind” and “beautiful” you could scoff at that. Sure she looked like she stepped straight out of a magazine but she was anything but kind.

Gaeun has got it out for you since you’d moved into the city. You’d barely spoken a full sentence to the girl before the whole campus had your name spilling from their lips with sordid slander attached.

“Hellllooo? You stupid or somethin?”

You sighed and clutched your purse, ready to escape any venom dipped words Gaeun was ready to toss your way but you were too late.

You almost escaped but Gaeun was faster. She had put a perfectly manicured hand on your shoulder and shoved you back down onto the bench you were enjoying your smoothie on.

“Aren’t omegas supposed to be obedient little rats?” The Alpha girl sneered, her posse of other rich Alphas from elite families lingering behind her like ducklings.

“What do you want Gaeun?” You muttered, hand clutching the strap of your fuzzy purse tightly as you looked around nervously.

It was fruitless to expect anyone to help. Most of the other students either ignored the situation, quietly watched from a distance, or asked if you were okay after the group of bullies were out of sight.

You just wanted to enjoy your smoothie in peace before your next class but Gaeun’s life goal was to ruin any chance at peace you desired.

“Oh so it does speak, at least it’s not completely stupid.” Another girl, Jangmi if you remembered correctly, laughed from Gaeun’s left.

Gaeun crossed her arms in front of her busty chest, her eyes looking you up and down.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt your conversation with the grass?” A chorus of laughter erupted behind her as you shrunk into yourself.

Sticks and stones, sticks and stones.

“I-I have to go to class…” you made a move to stand but was pushed back down again, this time hard enough that you dropped your smoothie all over yourself resulting in a lot of unwanted stares and laughter shot your way.

A deep flush burned your ears as you frantically took your sweater off and tried to dab the mess away all the while Gaeun pointed and laughed loudly.

“Are you okay?” The crowd hushed as the one and only Jeon Jungkook, prized Alpha and most sought after student on campus, pushed passed the hoard and kneeled down in front of you, picking up your soiled purse from the ground.

“Kookie!” Gaeun chirped, her voice going up several octaves as she twirled a bleached strand of hair between her nimble fingers.

Jungkook looked back for a brief second, shooting her a friendly smile.

“I’m oka-“

“She’s fine!” Gaeun stepped between you two as Jungkook and you got up. She was quick to dust off your shoulder as if that would do anything and bat her expensive eyelashes at the star Alpha.

“She‘s just a clumsy little thing, right?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at her desperate change of attitude. You were certain she would bark if Jungkook asked her to.

Gaeun pinched your elbow hard at your lack of response making you quickly nod your head and look down at your ruined shoes.

Jungkook didn’t look all too convinced as he handed you your purse, a frown weighing heavy on his handsome features.

“But your cute sweater is all sticky now…”

Your head snapped up in surprise, not expecting the simple compliment from the most popular Alpha on campus.

Gaeun’s jaw clenched for a brief moment, a sure sign that you would pay for it later.

Before you could mutter a thank you the heavy bells rang out through the stone walls, signaling the start of your afternoon class.

Most students who stayed to watch the scene unfold were now rushing to make it to their assigned buildings.

“Oh! We have to go!” Gaeun was quick to hug Jungkook’s toned arm to her chest, not shy to press herself against him flirtatiously. “We need to go to class Kookie!”

When she saw that you weren’t moving she shot you a warning glare, her eyes flashing a dangerous shade of red.

You tensed at the silent threat and scooped up the rest of your things, wanting nothing more than to make it back to your tiny apartment and mourn your soiled sweater in peace.

“Wait, you can’t walk around like that- here.”

A tiny gasp left your lips when Jungkook slipped off his dark green hoodie, his shirt riding up just enough to tease his firm stomach.

Your eyes shot nervously between his extended arm and Gaeun’s equally shocked expression.

If you took his offer you’d no doubt be mauled by Gaeun and her pack of mindless followers, but if you didn’t take his offer you’d hurt the kind Alpha’s feelings AND have to suffer the walk back to your place in a goopy sticky mess.

Jungkook didn’t really give you a chance to make a decision before he was gently helping you tug off your garment, his sweater now drowning your much smaller figure.

Your mouth open and closed, no words coming out as you tried to thank him but also save your neck as Gaeun’s raspberry scent was turning dangerously sour.

“There, much better!” His lips turned up in the most breathtaking bunny smile you’d ever seen. “See you around okay?”

And with that the boy turned and walked away, a now pouty and whining Gaeun tugging on his arm looking like a child throwing a tantrum.

You felt like your feet where melting into the ground holding you hostage. Did that really just happen? Did Jeon Jungkook of all people on this ridiculously huge campus give you his equally ridiculously huge sweater?

You would convince yourself it most definitely was a dream if it wasn’t for the scent of fresh rain and lilacs that gripped your entire being, your knees suddenly becoming wobbly and your heart rate speeding up.

So this was the smell of an elite Alpha.

Sure you came from a family of pure Alphas who had a wide variety of scents but nothing compared to Jungkook’s scent.

Jungkook’s scent seeped deep into your bones, turning your brain into mush until all your omega could pitifully whine was Alpha, Alpha, Alpha.

Oh this was not good at all.

You shut your stupid Omega instincts that preened for the boy away as you scurried off in the opposite direction to your apartment. The sooner you took the delicious smelling garment off the sooner your mind would stop racing with foolish thoughts of a certain Alpha.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning you paced back and forth in your one room apartment, fingers nervously fiddling with the sleeve of your cardigan as you thought of ways to approach Jungkook and thank him for lending you his sweater yesterday.

You had baked him cookies as a thank you, said treats were packaged in a frog patterned bag with a silky purple bow holding it shut.

It wasn’t too childish was it?

What if he didn’t like cookies, what if he didn’t even want his sweater back cause you washed it and now it smells like you and he doesn’t want his lover to think he’s two-timing them and you’d unintentionally home wreck a beautiful relationship–

You rushed to your bedroom and dove head first into your nest, desperately gathering as much blankets as you could and rolling yourself up tightly in them.

The weight of the comforters gently eased your nerves that were building up into a panic attack.

You hummed to yourself as you willed your emotions to still, not wanting to ruin your day before it even started.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t like Gaeun. He wouldn’t make you feel icky and sad like she did. His smile was friendly, not condescending like everyone else’s.

After a few minutes you unraveled yourself from your safety cocoon and gathered your things, ready to thank your savior.

Or maybe not.

You only had one class with Jungkook in the afternoon but it was almost impossible to approach the tall boy as he was always surrounded by numerous admirers.

You couldn’t blame the small crowd that followed him everywhere, I mean he was Jeon Jungkook for God’s sake.

Jungkook came from a family of Elite Alphas, much like yours. Elite Alphas were the top of the food chain, many becoming A list celebrities, doctors, or important business people.

To be born into an Elite Alpha line was nothing short of a great honor. Except for you.

Omegas weren’t rare but being born an omega from an Elite Alpha line certainly was. Omega’s we’re almost always looked down upon if they weren’t anything but obedient little caregivers. The highest position an Omega could have was a model, but only because they were already seen as objects to dress up and gawk at.

You got the short end of the stick Gaeun would tell you often. Not only were you an embarrassing Elite Omega but you were fat, nasty, ugly.

Sure you were curvier than the average student on your campus, your thighs thicker, hips wider and tummy softer but you weren’t a monster.

You always knew that although you had Elite blood running through your veins, it meant nothing as long as you were an Omega.

You peeked around the corner of the wall you were trying to hide behind from as you watched Jungkook bid his friends goodbye, no doubt making his way back to the Alpha dorm for his zero period.

Waiting three Mississippis, you half jogged down the hall to catch up to the raven-haired boy, slightly out of breath as you called out to him.

Jungkook pulled his earbud out from his right ear before turning, his head slightly tilted in surprise before he gave you the same friendly smile from yesterday when he saw who called him.

“Oh! Hey cherry!” You stopped before him, now it was your turn to tilt your head. “Um, cherry? Why am I- oh!” You awkwardly laughed and lightly smacked your forehead with your palm.

“Cause of the cherry smoothie I spilled all over myself yeah-“ oh this was painful.

Jungkook laughed lightly, clearly meaning the nickname with no ill intent.

“Was it that obvious it was cherry? Oh no did I really walk around smelling like that?” You thought out loud, Jungkook quirking a pierced eyebrow up in amusement at your rambling.

“No it wasn’t that strong you smell more like-“ He suddenly leaned in close giving you a clear reminder of how much larger he was compared to you. “Old books and sweet coffee. Cute.”

You squeaked and jumped back, your eyes wide as Jungkook leaned back, loud laughter rocking his shoulders happily.

You frowned and pushed the bag containing his sweater and treats into his arms.

“I was going to thank you for helping me yesterday but now I’m second guessing my decision…” you grumbled at the boy.

Jungkook wiped an imaginary tear from his eye before catching the bag in his arms.

His big eyes sparkled in interest as he dug his inked arm into the bag, pulling out your gratitude cookies.

“What’s this?” He smiled inspecting the cute packing.

“I’m bad at words so I hope you like cookies.” You explained with a shy smile.

Jungkook wasted no time in shoving the rest of the bag under one arm, his fingers working open the bag and popping a whole cookie into his mouth, moaning softly at the sweet taste.

You willed any improper thoughts away as you watched him savor his treat.

“These are really good! Did you make them?” He spoke around the cookie, looking like a happy bunny chewing away.

You blushed lightly at his praise, your pigtails bouncing as you nodded happily.

“Yep! I call them. Smeaches!”

Jungkook stopped mid bite into another cookie as he looked down at you muddled.

“A who?”

“A smeach!” You corrected him, “a sugar cookie but with a smidge of peach so you know, smeaches.”

You stated it so matter-of-factly that Jungkook almost felt foolish for questioning you.

There was a pause between you two before the Alpha erupted into another fit of laughter, getting the attention of a few passing students wondering why he was even talking to you.

“Smeaches, oh man that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year.” He groaned as his laughter was starting to cause an ache in his tummy.

You tried to look offended but his laughter was too infectious so you joined in with your own light giggle, happy that Jungkook liked his gift.

“Thank you for this…” he looked a little unsure, eyebrows raised a bit as he tried to remember your name.

“(Y/n)!” You introduced yourself with a shy smile.

“Oh right! Sorry I know we have a class together, I don’t know why I didn’t introduce myself to you sooner. I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. It’s a pleasure.”

He held out a hand for you to shake which you didn’t hesitate to do, trying not to think too much about how his hand practically swallowed yours whole.

Of course you already knew his name, I mean this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about, who didn’t know him?

“The pleasure is all mine Jungkook.” You politely stated, a bit reluctant to drop your hand to your side awkwardly.

“Then, I’ll see you around yeah?”

You tried not to show the disappointment on your features as he took a step back, fixing the bag that was under his arm.

Maybe this would be the last time you got to talk to him, considering his popularity and how hard it was to get him alone.

Oh well, you paid his kindness forward that’s all you needed to do anyway.

“Yeah, see you!” You waved him goodbye, watching as he continued down the path to the dorms, happily munching on the cookies.

Except it wasn’t the last time you would run into the Alpha.

It wasn’t even a week since your last talk that he plopped down onto the bench next to you in the courtyard as you were writing a paper for your sociology class, catching you completely off guard.

He didn’t come alone, happily introducing you to his Beta friend Yugeom.

You learned that they were both majoring in Ethnomusicology, something that had you thinking he couldn’t be any cooler than he was now.

The three of you chatted for a bit before you needed to head to your next class, a promise to finish your conversation another time.

Slowly but surely your path would cross with Jungkook’s a friendly relationship blossoming between you both much to your excitement and Gaeun’s frustration.

Her bullying got worse the more you and Jungkook spoke to each other. What started off as verbal harassment was bleeding into a shoulder shove here or a jab from her elbow there.

You willed yourself to ignore her as much as possible. You were used to her commenting on your looks and bizarre mannerisms but when she poked your exposed arms and told you that nobody wanted to see a fat pig running around, you’d hug yourself and walk away as fast as you could, not daring to let her see the tears stinging your eyes.

You couldn’t help that your body was shaped different, that the trees bid you good day, that the clouds and the sky smiled back at you and that you were positive the stray cats you fed understood you.

You had a friend or two growing up but it was nothing compared to how Jungkook almost seemed to seek you out, a new friend trailing behind him waiting to meet the odd omega he would often bring up.

Even his friends thought you were strange. Not in a bad way of course, in an almost refreshing kind of way.

You weren’t afraid to speak your mind, you always gave them weird but yummy home baked treats and you didn’t seem to swoon over the fact that they were Alphas.

Most other people would try to use their sub-gender as a means to talk to them, always with the intent of mating or being close for future connections but you weren’t like that at all. You liked Jungkook and his friends for who they were.

Jungkook often thought about how it seemed like this was the first time you even had friends to begin with.

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter ten

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5700

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: canon typical violence

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Masterlist

The next morning, after a late flight to the Austrian Alps the night before, we readied ourselves for the attack on HYDRA’s head base. I made sure my two guns were loaded and secured in their holsters. I did the same for my bo staff. Everyone had been keeping their distance from me since I had entered the meeting room yesterday. The only one who never really left my side was Steve. He didn’t hover around me like I was incapable, I was grateful for that, but he was always within an arm's reach. Right now he stood a few feet away putting things into the saddlebags of his bike. I walked over to him and leaned up against the bike without saying a word. He looked up and patted me on the shoulder then went back to what he was doing.

I reached my hand up to a small golden heart locket that was clasped around my neck. I fiddled with it mindlessly for a minute or two before I took it and pried it open. A small picture of Bucky in uniform was staring back at me from the right half and on the left was a picture of him with his eyes scrunched up as I gave him a small peck on his cheek, we were both drenched in water. I let out a small laugh, remembering the events of that day.

It was a very sunny October day in 1941, which had started like any other. Breakfast had been eaten and I had gotten ready for the day ahead. Steve had gone off doing God knows what. He never tells me where he’s going. Bucky was coming by after a while for a quote “ Very special date” he had planned. While I waited for him I cleaned the house a bit and read a few chapters of a book Bucky had given me to read called ‘The Hobbit. I had only agreed to read it if he read ‘Pride and Prejudice’, which was my favorite book, but this book was very interesting. I had just gotten to chapter 7 when a heavy knock rattled the front door. I sprung up and raced to the door. I swung it open and there stood Bucky in a pair of dark khaki slacks and a white button-up collared shirt. His hair was slicked back and he held out a single red tulip.

“Well, aren’t you all dressed up. I feel underdressed now.” I said grabbing at the fabric of the light blue pinafore dress.

“You look beautiful as always, Doll. Here, I picked this on the way here, it made me think of you.” He stepped up and gave me a kiss then handed me the flower.

“Thank you, Buck. Let me put this in a vase and then we can head out.” I turned to walk into the kitchen, Bucky right on my heels. There was a small vase already on the counter sitting by the sink, so I reached out for it, filled it with water, and gently placed the stem into it. I placed it on in the sunlight that hit the window sill. I turned around and reached over to my purse on the dining room table.

“Are you ready?” He asked, grabbing the apartment keys from the hook by the door.

“Let's go, I’m starving.” I grabbed his hand as we went out the door and waited for him to lock up. We walked down several blocks and finally came to a stop at my favorite small community Italian restaurant. We had been coming here since we were kids before mom had died. It held a special place in my heart, like everything that held her memory.

We ate and talked for an hour or two before leaving and just walking down the street. We came to one of the small parks scattered around close to the Brooklyn Bridge and stopped to take a seat on a bench.

“I know I tell you this all the time, but I love you so much,” Bucky let out.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.” I looked over at him. He was bouncing his left leg vigorously up and down, and he bit at his bottom lip nervously. “Is everything okay Buck?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, it’s more than fine actually, I just have to figure out how to say this.” He said then took a deep breath. I watched him curiously as he slipped off of the bench and onto one knee. When he started to reach into his pants pocket was when I realized what he was doing. “Doll, from the day Steve brought me home from school to meet you and your mom I knew I liked you, then that like grew into admiration, and quickly after that, it turned into love. The strongest love I have ever felt. I hope that you will allow me to experience this love for the rest of my life, and give me the greatest honor you could ever give by becoming my wife.” When he had finished he pulled a small golden heart locket attached to a tiny delicate chain from his closed hand. I let my hands snap up to my face before he could see me cry. All I could do was nod furiously, in fear that if I spoke now nothing would come out. He carefully pulled my hands from my face and peered into my eyes. He was giving me the biggest smile I had ever seen.

“Yes,” I croaked out finally. “I’ll marry you.” I wiped my tears off with the back of my hands and then held my hair up so he could fasten the necklace around my neck. When he had it secured his hands clasped around the back of my neck and head and I was pulled into the most heated yet loving kiss I had ever experienced.

That's when I felt a drop of something wet hit my forehead. Pulling away from the kiss, we both looked up into the sky. It had gotten cloudy suddenly and sprinkles of rain had started falling down steadily. I let out a hushed giggle before pitching myself up off the bench and helping Bucky back onto his feet.

“Come on, we need to find somewhere dry before it really starts pouring,” Bucky said, not even a second afterward, the bottom fell out and the rain came down in hard sheats.

“You were saying” I called out over the loud rain. He made a gesture to the sky to say ‘why now of all times, then he started running and pulling me along.

It didn’t take long for us to find shelter in a small photo booth. I was surprised to see one here, they were still so rare outside of Manhattan. We both stood in the small booth sopping wet and catching our breath.

“Bucky, do you have twenty-five cents?” I looked up at him.

“I think so, why do you need twenty-five cents?”

“Don’t you see where we are? I want to preserve one of the happiest moments of my life.” I put out my hand, palm up, he shook his head and reached into his pocket for his loose change. Once he found the two dimes and nickel he dropped them into my open palm. I gave him a quiet “Thank you,” in a sing-song voice before turning around to dispense them into the coin slot. “Now when the light in that square comes on you have to be still and look into it okay,” I instructed him while pointing to the large square in the center of the panel in front of us.

The light came on a second after and we both stood smiling. When the light went out Bucky let out a breath. “You do know you can breathe while taking these pictures right?” I asked, laughing.

“I know,” He gave me a dirty look. The light came back on for a second time and caught the moment. “Look now it's going to be messed up because you were moving”

I ignored him and leaned up close to his ear, “Smile big,” I said then pressed my lips to his cheek for the third picture. When I backed away he looked at me lovingly. He turned slightly and leaned down to my height to press his lips to my cheek. I smile the biggest smile I could for the camera. When the fourth light finally went off, we waited a minute for the photos to develop. When they were tossed out of the slot I grabbed them quickly to look at them. Bucky peered over my shoulder at them as well.

“I’m taking those two,'' he said, pointing at the one where I was laughing at him and the one where he was kissing my cheek.

“Good because I’m putting this one in the locket.”

I came from my daydream when Steve shook my shoulders. “Hey, kid, you okay?” I shrugged in response. “We’re fixing to head out, so I will get everything situated.” I turned from him and closed the locket then stuffed it back under the collar of my suit.

“I’m ready to go,” I said quietly as I straddled the back of Steve’s bike and waited for him to do the same.

The closer to the HYDRA base we got, the more my heart pounded. I could hear the rising of my blood in my ears over the loud hum of the bike and the wind. I was itching for a fight, and I knew I would get one very soon.

The vast woods kept us concealed for a while until we came upon an outpost a few miles away from the main entrance to the base. Steve drove the bike as close as he could to the building, hoping to attract as much attention as possible. It must have worked because not even a minute later a group of six men on high-tech bikes came speeding after us.

“Step on the gas Steve, they're on our tail,” I shouted out. Steve didn’t respond, he just hit the throttle harder. In order for me to sit on the back of the bike comfortably, I had his shield strapped to my back, and I was thankful for it when the HYDRA men started shooting at us. Several shots ricocheted off the shield before Steve maneuvered us out of their sights.

Looking back at the group of men, Steve pressed a button on the handlebar, allowing a long cable to shoot out and attach itself to two trees. When the line pulled taught, two of the men hit it and were thrown from their bikes. Soon after, Steve ignited a flame thrower from the back of the bike, which took two more men off our trail.

Speeding down the dirt road I watched as the last two men sped through a separate trail and came out in front of us. Steve hit the gas and we raced in between them. I took one of the unscrewed sections of my staff and gave the guard to my right a good hit to the head, knocking him off the bike. Steve reached over to the left guard’s bike and pulled out the pin to a grenade that was attached to the man's bike. We bolted forward to get out of range from the blast. I looked back to watch. Looking back in front of us, the entrance was there, tucked into the bottom of a mountain. A tank sat between the two ramped gunman stations.

“Hand me the shield.” Steve held out his hand and I unclasped the shield from around myself and gave it to him. He placed it on the front of the bike. The tank started shooting at us but missed us by several feet. As the bike carried us closer, Steve pressed another button and sent out two small missiles, which decimated the tank. Swerving around the debris, we headed up the left ramp. When the bike launched from the top into the air, I swiftly jumped off, doing a sort of backflip in the air before landing on slightly bent knees. I took out both sides of my staff and quickly joined them together.

I watched closely as I was flanked by three guards. I waited patiently, staring them down until a man on my right made the first move. I swung out the staff, striking him in the neck. Before he fell to the ground two more men with guns came at me from behind. Taking the staff I swung it around my neck, catching it with my opposite hand, and used the momentum to hit one of them in the chest. He stumbled backward into one of the trucks that surrounded us and hit his head, knocking him out. The second guard grabbed onto the outstretched part of my staff and yanked. I went with it, just enough to latch my other hand onto the end so I was holding it with both and then stood firmly. When he pulled again I let myself be moved. I followed the motion and continued going forward into him. He stumbled in surprise, which gave me the time to pull my arms back and swing them back again, hitting him in the side of the head.

I brushed the loose hairs out of my eyes before running to meet up with Steve. He had thrown his shield to hit a guard and it bounced off in my direction. I caught it and held it in front of myself to take oncoming fire. I backed my way up to Steve and I noticed the firing stopped. Handing him his shield back I noticed why. Two large men were standing on either side of us, encircling us with jets of fire. They let off the triggers and a whole unit of men closed in on us.

Two men came up and took my staff, guns, and Steve's shield. Then four more men came to hold each of our arms down. They began to walk us through the giant doors that Steve had managed to blow open with the bike, and up into the base. We ascended several flights of stairs before we were forced into a large open room with a desk in it. I could only assume it was Schmidt’s office.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. His bright red skull was hard to miss. He was saying something that I couldn't hear, I was so angry seeing him that I couldn't hear anything but a loud ringing. The ringing was made worse when I watched him strike Steve across the face and forced him to the floor by punching him in the stomach. If I wanted to I could have easily forced my way out of the grasp the two guards had on my arms, but even though all the anger I knew now wanting the time. We had a plan and I was going to stick to it if I was going to see this whole organization burn to the ground. As Schmidt pulled a gun from his belt, everyone suddenly looked to the large window at the other end of the room. Several small figures were ziplining towards us. I smiled, it was time. Schmidt was frozen in shock as Falsworth, Dugan, and Gabe came flashing in through the window.

Using the distraction I effortlessly ripped away from the two guards and tackled Schmidt. Even to his surprise, he was able to hit me hard in the nose with the grip of the gun. I flew backward, landing on a guard. I tried scrambling to my feet but the guard I landed on had a hold of my left leg. I started kicking at his hands with my free leg in hopes to loosen his hold. He quickly let go after I bent one of his fingers so far backward that it broke. I crawled up to where his head was and started punching until he was unconscious.

Coincidentally he was the guard that had taken both my staff and guns, so I reached around his back and grabbed the staff he had somehow attached to himself and retrieved my pistols from his belt. Standing up, I looked around to try and find Schmidt in the chaos.

“Where’d he go?” I shouted at Falsworth. He looked over to me and pointed down the hallway.

“That way, Steve already went after him.”

I started running, faster than I ever had before. I followed the sounds of gunshots through the twists and turns of the gray halls.

“Steve!” I yelled out, hoping he could hear me calling for him.

“I’m here!” I heard him loud and clear, he must be in the next corridor over. I kept my pace as I rounded two more corners then stopped as I saw Steve trapped in a corner by another one of those men with flamethrowers.

The flames were so big that the man hadn’t seen me sneak around him. I pounced on his back but he threw me off. I landed on the ground across from Steve, before I could get back up to try and take the man out again, he was shot down. Steve and I both turned around to see Peggy standing in the middle of the hallway. I picked myself up and jogged over to the door where the shield was stuck. I yanked it out and the doors slid open. Steve wasn’t far behind me. We ran down the hallway with several other soldiers into a large air hanger. The only aircraft in the place was whirring to life and starting to move.

“Steve, he’s in there. We have to stop him from getting away.” I started running through the chaos of the battle, no caring if anyone was in my way. I pushed them back and swung out my staff at a few before finally making it into the clear. I was running fast but the aircraft was faster. I slowed to a stop and a few seconds later Steve stopped beside me. We looked to one another in worry, but before we could think of another plan, Colonel Phillips and Peggy drove up beside us in a fancy car.

“Get in, we don’t have much time.” The Colonel orders. We both hopped in quickly, Steve in the front and me in the back with Peggy. I unscrewed the two ends of my staff and places them in their holsters so I could have my hands free to jump.

“We’re not gonna make it!” I said worriedly as the aircraft kept getting closer to the hangar door.

“Like hell we are,” Philips stated as he pressed a button next to the steering wheel. The car jolted and was propelled forward. We were gaining on the aircraft now. Steve started to stand up in his seat as we got closer and I did the same.

“Keep it steady,” Steve instructed.

“Wait.” Came Peggy’s voice. I watched as Steve turned to look and she grabbed onto one of the straps around his suit and pulled him in for a kiss. I smiled, happy for him. He turned shocked at me and I just shook my head.

“Don’t look at me, I'm not kissing you” Philips said as Steve gave him a look. I let out a laugh.

We were inching closer to the underside of the aircraft and Steve was slowly maneuvering his way to the front of the vehicle. I let out a gasp as one of the propellers scratched the shield on his back. Philips maneuvered the back end of the car between the propellers, allowing me to crouch up onto the trunk without being hit. We were nearing the end of the hanger when Steve jumped as the aircraft left the ground. When Philips drifted around in order to not fall off the side of the mountain, I jumped, using the force of the sharp turn to propel me forward and grab onto the tire right under Steve. I held on for dear life as Steve struggled to reach down and pull me up. When I was finally righted up on my feet atop the wheel, they started to be pulled back up into the hull of the aircraft. I carefully made my way off the wheels and onto the sturdy floor without any help and waited for Steve. Looking around I noticed we had a big problem.

“Steve, you’re gonna want to see this.”

“What is it?”

“Bombs. Labeled for different large cities in America. We have to stop him and fast.”

Just then a door slammed open and four men in gas masks ran in. Steve and I hurried to hide. They came jogging down the catwalk. When they got close to us Steve knocked one done by swinging into him. I stayed where I was, waiting for a moment to attack. Steve fought the men in unison before one of them ran off to get into one of the bombs. I quickly made my way over to the control panel, before he could get inside, I opened the shoot and both he and the bombing plane fell into the abyss. Steve threw another one of the men out the hole as well. I noticed another one going on one of the other planes, but before I could do anything I was tackled to the ground. I hit my head against a rail and blacked out for a moment. When I came to moments later, Steve, the guards, and the bombing plane were nowhere to be seen.

I looked out of the shoot to see if I could spot anything and I did. The plane was flying under me, but I saw Steve dangling onto the wings. Thankfully he hadn’t fallen to the ground. I left the railing and made my way to the door. There was no time to wait for Steve to make his way back inside the larger aircraft, I had to go.

It didn’t take me long to reach the cockpit. The inside of the plane was simple, the cargo hold and the cockpit were connected by just two doors. Before I entered the second door I reached for one of my guns and checked the ammo just in case. I took a deep breath and kicked the door in.

“It’s over Schmidt, I’m here to kill you.” I heard laughter coming from a dark corner to my left.

“Do you truly think you can beat me? You’re just a child, what could you possibly do to me?” HE walked out of the shadows holding a large gun. “If you know what's good for you, you’ll throw your gun down.”

“No, I won't.” I made a start to turn to him, but he shot the gun right from my hands and stalked towards me. He grabbed the back of my neck and shook me hard.

“You forget, I also have a version of your super-soldier serum running through my veins. I’m stronger than you think. If you struggle it will only end worse for you, now be quiet and stay still.” He commanded as he took his hand from my neck and wrapped it around my head to cover my mouth. He drug me with him back into the shadows.

I kept trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he was right, he was strong, probably stronger than I was. Every time I moved his hand clamped down harder and he shook me more roughly. That was until Steve came through the door. I was walked back out of the shadows and watched as Schmidt raised the gun to shoot at Steve. Steve whirled around and when he caught sight of me he went wide-eyed.

“You don’t give up, do you?” asked Schmidt.

“No, I don’t. Now let her go” Steve replied.

“I don't think I will. She’s my leverage in this situation.”

I looked at Steve, hoping he could see what I was planning in my eyes. All I needed him to do was walk to Schmidt and I could use that to break free without being hurt. HE gave me a short nod before he started at us. Schmidt started shooting, but Steve blocked him with his shield. I used the distraction to grab Schmidt's hand with both of mine, I ducked under and twisted myself around, still holding his hand. I felt the bones in his arm fracture, this made him drop his gun in pain.

I backed off, gaining my breath back, and watched as Steve took over the fight. They were all over the place and before I knew it they had fallen into the control panel and the aircraft started to descend rapidly. I held on tightly to one of the beams closest to me. I looked over and Schmidt had gotten away from Steve and was fixing the flight path. I landed back down on the solid ground after that.

“You both could have so much power if you joined me. You are fighting for a flag, in what you think is a war of nations. Well, I have seen the future and there are no flags!” Schmidt walked around the platform, waving his gun around. He gave off two shots in Steve's direction. I hurriedly grabbed for my second gun, still in its holster. I held the gun up in my hands and pointed at his chest. I let my finger pull the trigger and the bullet missed his heart and hit his shoulder, thanks to Steve hitting him with his shield. Schmidt flew backward into some type of power converter directly in the center of the room. Blue wisps of light started to flow out from where he had crashed.

“What have you done!” he cried holding his bleeding shoulder with one hand and reaching from a glowing blue cube with the other. When he held it up in front of himself an image of the galaxy appeared out of thin air. All I could do was stare as the light of the cube started to consume Schmidt. As it reached his face, he started to scream until he was wholly encased in light. That same light was sent beaming into the space image and then quickly dissipated into nothing. All that was left behind was the cube, tumbling to the ground. It started belting through the floor before I could get a good look at it.

I looked to Steve, “What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea, but we have to stop this plane.” I followed him to the control panel, he sat down and looked at all the buttons and switches. “We’re headed straight to New York.”

“This plane is more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen, we may have to contact Stark, he might know what to do,” I said studying the panel. Steve took out his radio and brought it close to his mouth.

“This is Captain and Agent Rogers, do you read?” The line was quiet for a moment before Peggy’s voice came through.

“Steve? Is that you? Are you both alright?”

“We’re fine, Schmidt is dead.”

“What about the plane?”

“That one is a little harder to explain. It’s so advanced, neither of us knows how to safely land this thing.”

“Well, I can send you some coordinates for a safe place to crash land. We can bring in Stark to try and talk you through the landing.” Her voice sounded a little shaky.

“Peggy there isn’t going to be any safe landings, we don’t have the time. We have to put it in the water, that's the only way.” I looked wide-eyed in his direction.

“Steve, we have time to figure this out.” Peggy pleaded.

“We are in the middle of nowhere right now, but if we wait any longer a whole lot of people are gonna die.”

I butted in then, “If you’re going to do this, you need to put her down now. We have about twenty-five minutes before we make it to the States.

“Peggy this is my decision” He stated and she never gave a reply. He looked over his shoulder at me. I moved closer to him and placed my hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Don’t be sorry, this was my choice as well. I’d rather go down with you than live by myself without you and Bucky.” I felt him place his left hand on my right and squeeze before placing it back into the control column. I braced myself as the aircraft descended rapidly. The icy ground was getting closer every second, I couldn’t look away. The only thing that kept me calm was my grip on the locket around my neck. Memories flooded my mind as we descended farther and farther.

As the aircraft made contact with the ice, I was thrown back into the far wall behind me and then everything suddenly went black.

I woke up to the sound of a radio in the distance. My eyes fluttered open but I instantly shut them again because of the bright sun beaming in through the window. I brought my hands up to rub the sleep from around my eyes and tried to open them again, this time I kept them open. The room I was in was small, Steve was in the cot to my right and there was a window looking out at some buildings.

Getting up out of the small bed I stepped closer to the window to look down at the street below but found no street. The buildings just stopped at the floor. I looked side to side and the image stopped after a few feet. I held my breath as I turned and ran to Steve. I placed my hands on his upper body and shook violently.

“Steve, wake up,” I whisper yelled. He jumped slightly before springing into an upright position.

“What is it. Is everything okay?”

“I have no clue what is going on, but something isn’t right. Those buildings,” I pointed to the windows, “Those buildings aren't real, they’re being projected somehow onto a screen that ends just out of view.”

He took a second to think before looking over at the radio. “That game, isn’t that the one we went to in forty-one?”

I listened intently to the broadcaster calling the score; the Dodgers and Phillies were tied four to four. The whole thing sounded like I had heard it before. Suddenly the doorknob turned and a woman came in. Even if I hadn't seen the screen out the window or recognized the game on the radio, with one look at her outfit, I would have known something was up. Her skirt was too tight, too straight, and the look of her bra under her blouse was not something you should have been able to see. She was also wearing black tights in her uniform, we were only ever allowed light or dark tan. Any woman from the forties would have known she looked a little strange.

“Good afternoon you too. Glad to see you’re both awake.” She stepped further into the room.

“Where are we?” Steve and I said in unison.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.” Steve and I gave one another a skeptical look as she said this.

“Where are we really,” Steve interrogated further.

“I'm not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“The game is from May of 1941. I know, because we were both there that day.” Steve informed me, standing up from the cot.

“Those buildings you have out the window aren't real either, so tell us where we are,” I added in. I watched as her face went into complete shock.

“Who are you?” Steve almost shouted at her. She backed away and immediately two large guards came through the door. One came at me and the other went for Steve. I barely had time to think before I was grabbing hold of the man's arm and throwing him through the wall to the left. I started running, leaping through the hole the man had created in the wall, I stopped in shock looking around me. We were in a large room, void from anything other than the screens and the room we had escaped from. Steve was beside me now, pulling my arm as we ran through the nearest doorway and into a crowded lobby. I spotted the front door and moved for it. We ran, barely escaping all the men that came running at us.

Outside the building, I was overwhelmed with noise. Steve pulled me out into the road where we were almost run over by what I could only assume was a weird model of a car I had never seen before. Sprinting further down the street, we made it to a larger area with more people. The buildings were tall and had lots of flashing and moving pictures all around. We stopped running, confused about where to go next. That’s when we were surrounded by more of the strange model cars.

“At ease Soldier, Agent.”

We turned sharply, looking to who had called out to us. A tall dark-skinned man with an eye patch covering his left eye stood a couple of feet away. He came strutting towards us at a fast pace.

“I'm sorry about that little show we put on, we thought it would be best to break this to you both slowly,” he said in a straight tone.

“Break what slowly?” I demanded.

“You both have been asleep for the past seventy years.” My eyes went wide at that, my breath caught in my throat. This couldn't be real. That was impossible, no one could sleep for that long. Steve looked like he had not aged a day. I assumed that was the same case for me as well. “Are you two gonna be okay?”

I nodded, looking all around me at whatever this future New York was. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Tag list: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae

[amor-immortalem]

My Adoring Fan Chapter 8

chapter 7

Arella was busying herself with housework that needed to be done. From picking up scattered toys that their youngest hadn’t put away before his brother had taken him out for the day to finishing up laundry from the previous night- she needed something to do to distract herself from worrying too much about her husband. It was just one of his bad days where he couldn’t focus on things very well and the world just didn’t feel real to him. He had moved past the incident that brought their oldest child into their life but the effects of the trauma he endured still plagued him from time to time. It was rare for an episode to be this bad however. He hadn’t had one on this scale since their twins were four. He would get better in a few days; all he needed was rest.

As she turned to pull the clothes out of the dryer, she could hear her phone ringing. Reading the caller id, she sighed as she picked up.

“Azalea, you had better be ringing me for a nonsense reason and not because you’re in Lord Diavolo’s office and I need to come down to get you.” Arella said in a whisper. With the condition he was in today, the last thing she wanted was Mammon hearing her and getting himself worked up.

“Well... at least I’m not in the office this time... but I did get kicked outta homeroom.” The girl said. “Can ya come pick us up... please?”

“Who is ‘us’, darling?”

“Me, ’Relius, Max, and Zulima. We had a good reason this time, Mum, I promise.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Let me see if Dad needs anything and then I’ll be on my way.” After they said goodbye and hung up, Arella stared at her phone. “My stars, I wonder what happened for Aurelius, Max, and Zulima to get kicked out of class as well.” She went into the bedroom to check on her husband. “I have to go get the twins, Zulima, and Max from RAD. Do you need anything before I leave?” She asks as she rubs his shoulder.

Mammon only shakes his head as he looks at the clock. “It’s 8:30 in the morning. What the hell happened?” He starts to sit up but Arella just places a hand on his chest.

“Just stay in bed and rest, Dear. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I’ll handle it when I find out, okay?”

“Fine.” He lets out a sigh. “Let me know when you find out, please.”

“I will. I’ll see you in a bit. I love you.”

“Love ya too, Treasure. Drive safely.”

After that brief exchange, Arella grabbed the keys and left for RAD.

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“So, I want you to tell me exactly what got the four of you kicked out.” Arella asks as she drives them back to their home. “And no lies, please.”

“Well,” Azalea started wondering where exactly she should start, “It all started when I came into class a half-hour late... apparently the old hag took exception ta that. She called me out on bein’ late ‘n I mouthed back ‘n next thing ya know she’s calling me a brat ‘n stupid ‘n forgetful ‘n a delinquent ‘n spoiled- which ta be fair, she’s not wrong ‘bout some of that stuff... but then she took it a step further by callin’ me a half-breed ‘n tryin’ ta take my cane claimin’ it was a weapon so I couldn’t have it on my person ‘cuz -ya know- all the fights ‘n shit I get inta.”

“And then when we tried to stand up for ‘Zay,” Zulima began, “She turned her sights on us.”

“She called us trash and abominations on top of calling us that stupid slur too.” Aurelius leans his head against the passenger side window.

“She said she’s going to write all four of us up saying it was her word against ours so it’s probably going to be wildly fabricated.” Max says as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I have most of the exchange recorded, if you want to listen to it Mrs. Morningstar.”

“I would love to hear it, Max, thank you.” Arella stopped the car, having arrived at home. “We’ll listen to it now.” Max pulled out her D.D.D. and played back the audio. About half way through, Arella’s jaw dropped in surprise. “And she speaks to the three of you this way on a regular basis?” The three half-demons nodded. “And what about you, Max?”

“This is the first time she’s ever said anything like this to me.” The human frowned.

“And it’ll be the last time too if I have anything to do with it. Azalea, is this why you were always late to your homeroom hour last term, honey?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m tired of bein’ berated ‘n called slurs and insults for an hour... I bet if she was the teacher in any of m’classes, I would have flunked them...”

“We all are,” Zulima says as she hugged herself tighter. “And whenever we try to defend ourselves or each other, she takes it out on us in the one other class we have with her. She almost failed me in world language claiming an airhead like me couldn’t have written such a high-level thesis in Latin of all languages, Auntie. I worked so hard with Uncle Satan on that thesis too! I felt so horrible.”

“And me in potions as well,” Max sighed. “And she gave me the wrong ingredients so I would be assured to fail.”

“I was this close,” Aurelius pinches his fingers together as he talks, “to flunking her Curses and Hexes course last term. I’m telling you, Mum, she’s an absolute witch of a demon. I think if Lord Diavolo hadn’t looked into it himself after I talked with Uncle Lucifer that I would have failed. Her excuse was that when it came to the end of term exam, mine was the last that she graded and she ‘accidentally’ used the wrong key.”

Arella had a look of realization on her face. “I know exactly who this teacher is. She absolutely hated me and your father. She was our curses and hexes teacher too.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “She never did anything too extreme because we shared a class with three of your uncles and if word ever got back to Uncle Lucifer, she knew there would be hell to pay.”

“So she takes it out on us because of you and Dad?” Aurelius looks over at his mother. “That’s pretty shitty.”

“Not to mention, she’s a racist and a xenophobe on top of it all,” Zulima growled in disgust. “How ugly.”

“Let’s go in now. Please be quiet when you walk in. Dad’s having one of his episodes and it's really bad this time so let him rest. I’ll make lunch in a bit.”

All of the kids nodded as they got out and headed into the house. Immediately Azalea pulled max around giving her a tour of the house while Zulima went up to Azalea’s room to make herself comfortable and wait for Aurelius to stop by his room to grab some spell books so the three of them could work on their magical studies together since there wasn’t really anything else to do.

--------------------------------------------------

As the house tour came to a close Max and Azalea climbed the stairs headed up to the second level where the bedrooms were located.

“You’re having a much better time with the stairs now; I’m starting to notice.” Max says quietly.

“Yeah, I still have trouble with the ones in my room though. With these, the steps are more closed off where the ones in my room have that opening between each step, ya know? With these types of stairs, I can jus’ slide my foot forward until it hits the base of the next step and that way, I can know how far my foot is out and whether it's safe ta step up without bein’ afraid I might slip.”

The human nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Makes sense.”

As they passed through the hall and by Azalea’s parents’ room, Mammon called out to her. “’Zalea come in here please. I wanna talk to ya ‘bout what happened at school.”

“Are ya sure? I know yer havin’ one of them bad days...”

“It’s fine. C’mere please.” Mammon says as he sits up on the bed and runs a hand through his hair.

Max hands Azalea her D.D.D. figuring Mammon might want to hear what was said before heading straight down the to her girlfriend’s room where the other two teens were waiting on them.

“Please tell me you didn’t get yourself and the others kicked out of class because of a fight.” The demon asks as his daughter climbs up next to him on the bed.

“I didn’t. Not this time. The teacher just had a stick up her ass ‘cuz I was late for homeroom... And then things escalated from there. Ta be fair, I kinda had some fault in it ‘cuz I got mouthy with ‘er but still she said somethings... And she then told me ta get outta her class... The others stood up for me ‘n that’s why they got kicked out too.”

“What kinda things?”

“It’s easier if I jus’ play the audio Max took of the exchange.” The half-demon unlocks the phone and plays the audio for her father. She watches him carefully just to see his reaction. It’s not any different from her mother’s except she can feel anger rising within him.

“I can’t believe she’s still workin’ for the school... If I’m rememberin’ her voice correctly, I know exactly who that is and she was decrepit when yer uncles and I were students there. There wasn’t nothin’ I could do right with ‘er. And this has been every day since ya entered this year?” Azalea only nods at his question. “I’m sorry ya gotta go through that, kiddo. We’ll take care of this for ya. Ya know none of that horrible stuff she said ‘bout y’all is true, right?”

“Yeah... but it still bites when people say it.” Azalea leans her head on Mammon’s chest, tucking herself up under his arm as he pulls her into a side hug. “Like all we’ve ever done is just exist and both demons and humans won’t even let us do that! There’s always somethin’ they got a problem with! It's unfair. We’re not demon enough to live here in the Devildom and not human enough to live in the human world. It’s like we don’t belong in either realm. Like we don’t get to be.... happy.”

Mammon would only hug his daughter tighter as he tucked her head under her chin. He wanted things to be different. It always broke his heart to hear his own children- even his nieces and nephews- talk like this. It all stemmed from the oldest generation of demons too- the ones that had existed even before he and his brothers had lost the war, fell from grace, and became demons. The ones that remembered what it was like long before Diavolo started pushing for peace between the three realms, long before the exchange program. Just like the humans they looked down upon, they were just as resistant to change, passing down their ideology to their offspring and so on and so forth as time went on. And the Devildom was doing just that- changing in many ways. From the exchange program that started over 20 years ago that was still going to this day to the advances in technology that put them on par with the human world... as much as the elderly demons might protest it, they couldn’t stop it. Once they all had kicked the bucket, the Avatar of Greed hoped things would get better. They had to.

And the youngest generation was proof of this- unpoisoned by their great grandparents’ and grandparents’ beliefs, Mammon could see how eager they were to accept the changes and the fact that half demons were becoming more frequent among the Devildom's elite- even if his kids themselves couldn’t see it themselves just yet.

As they sat in silence, the demon began purring- not in a way that showed contentment, but rather a deep rumbling purr that resonated through his chest that was often used when a demon was comforting themselves or their young when they were hurt or scared or ill or just upset in anyway shape or form. For his children, it often calmed them enough to put them to sleep for at least a few hours- more if they were sick and needed the rest. It always worked most for Azalea even back when she a baby, especially when she was this worked up and upset about something. He misses those days. The days when the twins and even Cyrus weren’t yet aware of things like racism or discrimination or hatred. Part of Mammon wishes all three of them could have just stayed that age forever.

As the half-demon was falling asleep, she tucked herself closer to her father mumbling a soft “Love you, Papa...” before she was out completely.

“Love ya too, my little Magpie.” He smiles softly before yawning and settling back down for a nap himself.

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find more on my masterlist

[dropintomanga]

The Evergreen Shonen Story

A short while ago, there were some online conversations about the popularity of shonen stories. Almost all of them are based around the experiences of youth and some adult fans wanted action-oriented stories based around their life experiences as adults. Reading stories centered on teens and kids as the main characters isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, I’ll admit that. But sometimes, I think shonen stories are somewhat of a reflection on what adults have been telling kids for years and how some/most of their advice has failed youth.

Life begins in the womb. We come out to a world of many possibilities. As children, we’re immune to bias until adults decide to tell us about the many differences of various people out there. Some adults may not care and have trouble dealing with their own pain, They may resort to substances like drugs and alcohol to cope. Under the influence of drugs or alcohol, these adults may start to abuse children and/or neglect them entirely.

There’s a term that relates to the overwhelming negative experiences of children growing up. It’s called ACE - “adverse childhood experiences.” Examples of such experiences include physical/sexual abuse, parent separation, physical/emotional neglect, and living with an adult with substance addiction. I look at a bunch of shonen flashback stories and many of the traumatic ones revolve around physical and emotional neglect.

Why is this important to acknowledge? Because some adults do a bad job in raising their children or guiding kids to become responsible individuals. We’ve seen examples of bad parenting in anime and manga. There’s also the fact that adults have been full of dreams themselves when they were kids, but have been fed advice on how the “real world” works. They’ve been told that they can’t make their dreams come true and/or they need to behave a certain way to get by. It’s a vicious cycle. A colleague of mine told me that when she sees young people with vision and a desire to smash the status quo end up being a part of the status quo themselves, she wondered if that’s due to those individuals seeing how hard it is and how long it takes to generate the change they want to see.

One of my favorite shonen characters in recent memory is Satoro Gojo of Jujutsu Kaisen. He was a student of Jujutsu High and ends up becoming a teacher there. Gojo is considered to be a prodigy, but he remains humble. He’s also willing to speak up to authority as he has gotten into disputes with upper school management over the fates of cursed students (particularly Yuji Itadori and Yuta Okkutsu) whose potential have yet to be realized. Gojo has once said that he needs to remind himself not to be a bitter old adult as he ages.

A good number of shonen stories drive the point that adults shouldn’t be bitter old ones. Or maybe more importantly, don’t be dismissive about teen experiences. I listened to a podcast a while back about loneliness and how much it affects mental health. There was a discussion point about adults ignoring teens that feel lonely with regards to dating. Here’s a quote from that discussion.

“The number one way that we do this (being dismissive of loneliness) in America is every single 30-year-old up completely dismisses the loneliness that a teenager feels about not having a significant other. Because once we hit 30, we realize that your 16 year old significant other is nonsense. It’s just nonsense. You’re gonna be in love so much in your life. You’re gonna love everybody. You’re going to date a million people. It’s gonna be fine. You’re going to realize how insignificant this relationship is. 

The key word there is you’re gonna realize it. It’s a future thing for them. So when every 30, 40, 50, 60 year old looks at the 16, 17, 18 year old and says, oh, you just broke up with your boyfriend? Yeah, who cares? That’s a meaningless relationship. I don’t care. That exacerbates the loneliness. It exacerbates the disconnected feeling because it really, really, really, really matters to them.”

I honestly think adults being dismissive towards teens’ current experiences is one reason why shonen stories still resonate with many. We’ve all been through those times where adults just shut us down because ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Yes, there comes a point where we have to move forward. But a good amount of emotional pain stems from adolescence and it lingers. Most mental disorders begin to happen around those years. Unfortunately, most of us don’t know how to give back in ways that stop the cycle. I do think mangaka are trying their best to give back the way they know how. 

Yet I think the biggest reason for the enduring popularity of shonen stories is friendship. We all know the Shonen Jump tropes - friendship, hard work and victory. All three are important, but friends are what really keeps us alive. The harsh truths are that hard work doesn’t always get you where you want to go and victories do come at the cost of important relationships. Over the years, I noticed that in my neck of the woods, friendship is frowned upon. When you’re ranking important relationships in life, first is your mother, then maybe your father, then your romantic partner, followed by your children. Friends are last. There was a nice read I found that listed a good amount of studies on the importance of friends (especially for those who are LGBTQ+ and faced stigma from immediate family). 

We don’t live on an island, contrary to what neoliberalism says. Families aren’t enough. Friends are what keeps us alive and helps build our sense of identity. 

Maybe the fans who want more mature/adult-centered stories with shonen action just want to see more nuanced stories about friendships in adult settings. Friendships are so hard to make and maintain as adults. There’s some glimmers of hope for those kinds of stories - in video games. Yakuza: Like a Dragon is a great example of an adult hero in a genre dominated by young protagonists, the Japanese RPG. The story is about a 42-year old ex-yakuza who gets exiled into a unfamiliar city and manages to make something of himself with the help of new friends he made there. It was refreshing because the whole cast were adults who were unemployed and/or stigmatized due to underworld ties. They managed to save Japan from a vicious political alliance with action elements that felt shonen at heart.

I’m all for more adult-centered mainstream shonen stories because seinen material can be a bit too blunt for some tastes, but there’s a lot of focus on the mindset of youth lately than in decades past since there’s concern on how they will manage in a world that continues to disappoint them.

I love shonen because I honestly don’t feel like I’m an adult due to my depression. My development felt stunted. I feel that I have more in common with 20+-year olds than people my age. I want to be around people who are youthful at heart. I wonder about those who still enjoy shonen past the target demographic - what still draws them to it? Is it due to them embracing their inner child more likely than most people? Or do they just like to follow simple action stories that have a lot of heart (something that some people don’t have)?

Looking at shonen’s enduring mainstream status does make me think about the the feedback loops between adults and teenagers. I’ll end this by talking about an incident that happened a couple years ago where a somewhat prominent Anitwitter figure (I am NOT going to mention their name here, but you may know who I’m referring to), who made a lot of friends with people in the anime/manga industry, was outed be a sexual predator who went after young naive anime fans at fan conventions. One of the reactions from someone that was once close with them was how can older anime fans better connect with younger anime fans when needed. I know from personal experience, I sigh on seeing the behavior of teens at conventions at times. But I learned that by saying things like “Kids are so dramatic,” “Boys will be boys,” “She’s being emotional.” gets harmful in a hurry where proper context is warranted. Maybe they are being so-and-so, but it doesn’t hurt to ask and give validation to their concerns. Teens are the lifeblood of anime conventions right now.

Shonen is a gateway introduction for youth on how to process pain in a way that helps themselves and other people with the help of said people. It’s an escape from the distress and trauma of reality. That reality, which has situations like the incident I mentioned, is controlled by adults who don’t always have it together, can’t admit their flaws, and sadly take it out on the world. That’s why shonen is still so powerful today despite all the criticism the genre gets. And that’s the evergreen truth.

[sign-from-god-complex]

Self-Control

Summary: The sound of footsteps pad across the landing above and though Virgil has come all this way he’s suddenly struck with the feeling that he’s not ready. It’s been 15 years since they’ve seen each other—so much can change in 15 years; so much has changed in 15 years.

Though, maybe things haven’t changed quite as much as Virgil thinks.

(AKA, a past-punk moxiety AU)

Pairing: Moxiety!

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smoking, homophobia and nondescript injury. Vague allusions to past abuse (or at least mentions of terrible parental figures). Brief discussion of a parental figure having died.

AO3 Link

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It isn’t at all the place Virgil imagined for him. The flower pots all sit in a row on the steps, red ivy climbing up the fence like spider webs and a garden hose curled up on a perfectly manicured front lawn. Everything about it is picturesque—almost to the point of insanity—and as a butterfly floats by and lands delicately on a ladder leaning onto the fence from the backyard, Virgil wonders what in the world could have changed Patton so drastically to have led to this.

There’s an image, in his head, of teenage rebellion—of 2 am milkshakes and stolen bicycles, of broken glass and laughter, so much laughter, as they took advantage of what time they had left to live. It doesn’t fit in with this pastel blue sky in this pastel blue neighbourhood full of pastel blue people but he knew that it wouldn’t. He knew things would be different.

Though, that doesn’t make it all that much easier to comprehend.

Vaguely, Virgil hears the sound of excited squeals coming from the yard and he ducks his head over the fence just a bit, catching sight of a young girl flying off of a trampoline at a hundred miles an hour—hair a mess and grin bright.

The kid must be Patton’s—it’s unmistakable, that dark skin and reckless look, like she’s ready to take the world on at any moment—and Virgil can’t help but remember the nights the two of them spent drinking and talking and vowing to never tie themselves down to anyone or anything. 

He supposes no one really does know what they want when they’re young.

It takes Virgil a while to gather up the courage to knock—he’s all too aware of his leather jacket and patches, his dyed hair and piercings. He couldn’t feel more out of place in this suburban neighbourhood and he hadn’t thought that around Patton he could ever feel out of place.

In the end, though, the choice is taken out of his hands. The young girl throws open the door, clearly looking to haul ass across the street to the park—the kind of place he and Pat would have smoked, once upon a time—but is stopped short as she notices Virgil standing in her way. There’s a moment where he’s afraid she’s going to scream or cry or something else he would have no clue how to deal with but instead, she just grins cheekily.

“Dad!” she yells, barely turning her head to face the soft white interior of the house, “There’s a man here for you!”

The sound of footsteps pad across the landing above and for a moment Virgil is so afraid that he’s gotten the wrong house or that Patton won’t want to see him and though he’s come all this way he’s struck with the feeling that he’s not ready. It’s been 15 years since they’ve seen each other; so much can change in 15 years.

“Riley, what do you mean? What ma-”

And then, there he is.

His face is void of any of the makeup he used to wear, his hair faded from turquoise to its natural black and left curly in a way he wouldn’t have been caught dead with once. And, over the top of a graphic t-shirt displaying some characters Virgil doesn’t recognise and unripped light-wash jeans, Patton had thrown a familiar blue flannel.

Virgil remembers that flannel, worn under heavy coats to help fight the evening windchill, tied around Patton’s waist as they scaled fences just to see if they could and left in a pile on the floor in his room as they finally escaped back to comfort and warmth. Honestly, he’s just surprised it still fits.

Patton does nothing but stare at him for a moment, his lips parted in shock and his eyes big and wide and god, looking at him now is like falling in love all over again.

“Virge?” he breathes, a melody of disbelief in his voice. Virgil can’t exactly blame him—it isn’t as if he’s someone Patton was expecting to see.

Virgil rubs over the fabric of his jacket, a nervous tick he’d had even back then. “Hey, uh… surprise?”

And in an instant, has Patton pitched forward right into his arms. Virgil catches him—of course, he catches him, he’ll always catch him—and Patton laughs, displaying some level of joy Virgil hadn’t known he’d needed to hear until now. He can feel Patton breathing against his neck as they hold each other and, distantly, the sound of light footsteps echoes away and up the stairs.

They pull apart, eventually, the separation like trying to peel a sticker off of a concrete wall—the easiest kind of graffiti to enact while still being tricky to remove. The distance Patton puts between them seems almost reluctant and Virgil wishes he had the courage to tell him to stay.

“What are you doing here?” Patton asks. It’s soft, like the white fuzzy carpet of his new home and Virgil realises suddenly he’d been so caught up in him that he’d forgotten that this him wasn’t the same.

Patton had always been soft but not soft like this. He’d been soft in redirected conversation and distractions, in Virgil’s favourite TV show on in the background and stolen chocolate bars in his pocket, guiding hands mimicking steady breathing. This Patton seems soft around the edges—worn down, almost—and Virgil feels those 15 years as more of a lifetime.

He doesn’t answer the question—truthfully because he’s not sure how, not sure where to start with the mess of events and near-misses and regrets that finally brought him here to Patton’s doorstep—and instead replies with one of his own. 

“My mom died. Did you know that?” It’s a stupid thing to ask, they hadn’t spoken to each other in 15 years, there was no way he could have known. Virgil asks it all the same though. “I have her money now. Didn’t write me out of the will even after everything we went through. Guess she didn’t want how much she hated me and my “lifestyle” to come out even after she’d kicked it.”

Patton just looks at him. There’s something sad in his eyes, maybe, something regretful or sympathetic, something holding years worth of apologies and love confessions in not so many words that every night they'd pretended they hadn’t said.

Maybe not, he isn’t sure. He’s never been very good with stuff like that. 

“You owe me a party,” Virgil continues impulsively. Patton grins and shakes his head and the urge to kiss him is so strong for a moment Virgil can’t breathe. “You promised me when she was dead and I didn’t have to worry about her anymore we’d have a party. With cheerio sausages and expensive liquor and-”

“Sparkling juice and bad karaoke,” Patton interrupts, “I remember.”

Nobody speaks. Patton doesn’t invite him in and Virgil doesn’t ask for fear of being turned away. 

He knows there’s an element of worship in the way he looks at Patton. It’s worship like the way farmers pray for rain in a drought, worship like how sailors are drawn to the rough turn of the sea and worship like teens relishing in the night when they’re bored and alone and angry, yearning for freedom that only comes in years they feel they don’t have left.

But now, dark eyes gazing at him and breath catching in his throat, Virgil thinks maybe he isn’t the only one who feels it.

“I have a kid now, you know?” Patton asks and Virgil knows instantly that question isn’t about the party but everything that comes after it—all of the hundreds of possibilities that stem from this decision that neither of them can quite voice out loud, “Single parent. I made a lot of bad choices in those 15 years—gave myself away to a few people who didn’t deserve it, maybe—but she’s… helped. I want to be better for her.”

Virgil nods. It’s a little hard to reconcile teenage Patton with this one but he tries anyway. He has to; he owes him that much.

(In truth, he owes him so, so much more than that but right now this is all he feels he can give.)

“Yeah, uh, Riley, right? Seems like a sweet kid, if not a bit mischievous.” Virgil smirks slightly, somewhere between teasing and nostalgic. “Kind of like you were.” 

At that, Patton grins and he laughs and it feels right—feels like early morning rainfall and crackling log fires, like the burning in your lungs as you run and the way your eyes slowly drift shut against your will when you’re up too late, like every ending and beginning in just a moment. 

He shakes his head again, almost affectionately chastising and there’s a stuttering of Virgil’s hand as he goes to reach out, to brush a strand of hair away from Patton’s face but stops himself halfway through.

Patton doesn’t seem to notice. Virgil once thought Patton never noticed—never saw the longing in his eyes and the flushed red of his cheeks as they sat side-by-side on a park bench in the middle of winter, running from the heat of harsh words and high expectations.

He wonders if maybe that was naive. 

“Well, I’ve gotta make sure to raise her right,” Patton jokes and his smile is amused—fond and familiar like the worn leather of Virgil’s jacket between his fingers, “If she’s not questioning authority and getting me called down to the office at least once a term then I’m doing something wrong.”

With that, there’s a flash—just a moment—of principal visits and angry rants, of cutting class to sit with the other in the silence of the school office and knowing, that outside of the two of them, there was no one else to come. And he thinks of Patton—this Patton, not his Patton—taking up the empty space of that office with kind reassurances and defensive words, protecting and protecting and protecting, fighting for Riley the way he had Virgil.

Parenthood suits Patton more than he’d first thought, perhaps.

“Ah, office visits.” Virgil nods sagely and can’t resist the quirk of his lips as Patton giggles. “A hallmark of a punk child. Next thing you know she’ll be dyeing her hair, running off to the park in the middle of the night to meet up with boys.”

It’s obviously a joke but still, Patton quietens, taking on a more contemplative look. It seems as if he’s remembering something and Virgil needs, all at once, to make sure he’s more to Patton than simply that expression on his face in the midst of just another day.

“Yeah,” Patton finally says, “Yeah, she was thinking purple actually.”

Virgil doesn’t reach up and drag a hand through his own purple hair but it’s a near thing. He hums—soft and low. “Good taste.”

A heavy silence rings in his ears—an echo of all the memories they share and all the memories they don’t, a collision of black and pastel blue on a canvas already painted with teenage angst and first love—and Virgil can't stand the way it feels like it may be too much to overcome. It isn't; he won't let it be.

He takes a step closer and Patton doesn’t move away, just lets Virgil crowd him against the doorframe till their chests are pressed together and each shuddering breath is a joint effort.

“I’d like to get to know her. If you’ll let me,” he murmurs and he’s so close that he can hear Patton’s heartbeat pick up as he slides a hand up to brush at the strands of hair against Virgil’s neck.

The air between them is tense and pulled tight—gazes tracing over freckles and foundation, their skin warm with each point of contact and the rushing of blood in Virgil’s ears drowning out the pounding of his heart. Each second that goes by without comment feels to Virgil like sinking into quicksand, like fingers losing their grip on the edge of a building and threatening to let him fall.

But, before he can draw away, throw up his walls and stumble his way through apologies like they’re nothing more than kids again, Patton tugs him forward and, softly, he brings their lips together.

The kiss is a teenage fantasy come true, the culmination of every moment—under streetlights or under blankets or under nothing more than the cover of night itself—where Virgil longed to reach out and tell Patton that he wanted to kiss him until the world faded away and all that he could focus on was the taste of cherry red lipstick and the joy and love pounding in his chest like a second heartbeat.

It's the comfort in late-night knocking, Patton taking Virgil in and patching him up and holding him as he cries because he has a mother that doesn’t love him and a father that’s always absent and a world that doesn’t care, muttered reassurances a quiet backdrop to his sobs.

It's the warmth in drinking their way through meagre retail paychecks, Patton’s soft touches like fire against his skin and the thread of restraint holding Virgil back from blurting out a love confession worn down to something as thin as a spiderweb and just as delicate.

It's the exhilaration in grocery store runs with no money and bags filled with spray paint cans, their gloved hands clasped tight as they race against the biting evening wind, giving in to the urge to let out a cry of victory that bounces off the empty alley walls.

So, yes, it’s the culmination of years of pining but it’s more than that too. It’s an apology, it’s acceptance and it’s an offer of a future, to stay here with them. 

“I think I’d like that,” Patton gasps as he pulls away and Virgil’s so enamoured even after all these years that he barely knows what to say, “For you to know her, I mean. She’d like you. She’s like you, or at least the way you used to be—always a bit loose with self-control.”

Virgil doesn’t tell Patton that all his self-control had been going towards keeping himself from telling him he loved him. He doesn’t think he’d know how.

Slowly, Virgil blinks and he nods and it’s all he can do to keep himself standing as Patton beams up at him with a smile reminiscent of stars colliding—bright and beautiful enough to take his breath away. And suddenly Virgil feels like maybe he can fit in here, that maybe he can fit in anywhere he needs to if Patton keeps looking at him like that.

He smiles back, smaller than the one he’d received but the way Patton’s eyes light up makes Virgil feel like maybe that doesn’t really matter. “Okay, yeah. I want that; I want to stay.”

“Okay,” Patton parrots and he’s barely holding back giggles, Virgil can tell. It’s okay though because he feels it too—that sense of happiness and disbelief that has almost no other way to present itself—and giving in feels more like an inevitability.

So, laughing and hands joined together, Patton pulls Virgil inside to the soft white of his suburban home. And he closes the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @camcam774 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @welpweregonnadie @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @harleyquinnamiright @localtransgrape @fandomsofrandom @gattonero17 @airiervessel @ollyollyoxinfree @tired-and-probably-crying .

[chandelier-s-notebook]

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist for Assassinate But Nah, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.

Taglist: @sleepysnails

Ao3 link

----------------------------------------

“My name is Tubbo Jacobs. My father is Karl Jacobs. He works as an editor for the Houver Mailer. That’s also just true. My name is Tubbo Jacobs. I’ve just moved in with my father. I was living with my mother for my whole life, but I wanted to meet my dad after the divorce when I was three years old. So now that I’m sixteen, they arranged for me to move in.” Tubbo looks out the window of the Honda Civic Karl had driven him to school in. “My name is Tubbo Jacobs, and I am the new kid.”

Tubbo opens the shotgun door and steps out.

“What? Not gonna hug your old man?” Karl teases.

Tubbo glances back at him. “I will.” He slams the door behind him. Karl speeds away unfazed by the cold teen.

Geez. He’s gonna need to pretend that guy is his actual dad later. Tubbo shakes his head. Do normal teenagers hate their parents?

It’s been a while since Tubbo has been to school. Intellectually Tubbo knows that Hollywood movies are incorrect in their portrayal, but what does he have to base his expectations on. Ever since his grandpa died and his debts to the Jays were passed down to Tubbo’s father in the inheritance, his life was shit.

He was taken out of school in order to pay the debts off. Schlatt used him as an errand boy for the first year. Then on a supply run gone wrong he killed someone. Captain Maron was a homicide investigator and regularly brought home work. Tubbo had spent years reading up on serial killers and their signatures, and he had kept enough of his wits about him to frame one of those guys still on the streets.

After that, Schlatt gave him a new purpose: the Jays’ invisible assassin. Tubbo was a cop’s son, if anything the fact he was invisible helped his dad keep his job.

But, killers don’t have good social skills. And there’s nothing that’s transferable between assassin and high school student. He supposes that technically reading someone’s body language and copying it would be a transferable skill he had.

From emulating serial killers to high school students. He sincerely hopes he’s as good at the latter as he is the former.

In the atrium there are four masses of printed paper taped to the walls. There are larger decorative letters above these, and Tubbo makes his way to the one that says “JUNIORS.”

He runs his finger along the Js section, looking for his name. There he was. “Tubbo Jacobs, room 234, English, Ms. Chu.” Tubbo turns to find a stairwell. “Now where is 234?”

Tubbo’s a little on edge as he wanders the school walls, but who wouldn’t be? Tubbo decides he’s going to forget the whole “must assassinate Thomas Rough next semester” thing for the time being. Right now he’s going to focus on being the new kid; figuring out how to socialize, and befriending Ranboo Alastair.

He knows Ms. Chu’s door when he sees it. It’s the one with tissue paper flowers and bright colours on it. The first thing he sees upon walking in is a seating plan. Back corner, nice. And his deck partner is his mark.

Nope. Not calling him that. Thomas Rough is the mark. Ranboo Alastair is the collateral, the current target.

Tubbo sits down. Ranboo enters the classroom.

If all goes to plan, Ranboo Alastair will be Tubbo’s first friend in six years.

Ranboo throws his bag to the floor and pulls out his phone. The two of them sit silently in their corner of the room while people file it and start talking to their classmates. Tubbo notices that everybody in the class glanced at them at least twice, each.

Tubbo is pretty sure it’s because they all must have gone to school together for years and were checking out the new face, but it seems like Ranboo is getting just as many looks at Tubbo. And it’s not like he chose to sit next to the new kid.

The early bell rings.

“Sorry about the looks.” Ranboo says, still texting. “That happens.”

“It’s fine. I expected it. New blood ‘n’ all.”

“That happens too.”

Tubbo wonders what he was referring to the first time.

“Good morning class, welcome to junior English!” Ms. Chu says over the voices of the class ocne the late bell rings. “We’re going to do attendance, then I’m forcing you to do an ice breaker with your desk partner.”

Tubbo’s head falls forwards slightly while the class groans. How was he supposed to come up with something for ice breakers?

Ms. Chu puts her hands up placatingly, kinda smile on her face. “I know I know. No one likes ice breakers. But we can start reading MacBeth instead if you guys want?”

This got a much louder negative reaction.

“That’s what I thought.” Ms. Chu pulls up the attendance sheet. “Ranboo Alastair?”

“Here.”

Tubbo checks out as he tries to come up with experiences. The problem is that all good lies stem from the truth, and that he needs to remember these stories for later. Tubbo flits through his life from before he started working under Schlatt and a few normal moments from his life after.

“Tubbo Jacobs?”

“Present,” he says without really thinking or hearing her.

“Tubbo?”

“Yes. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. I’m not laughing,” Ranboo says, definitely stifling a laugh.

“Stop.” Tubbo smiles, good naturally he hopes. “Your name is Ranboo. You can’t laugh.”

“Sure I can.”

“No you can’t!”

The teacher clears her throat.

Tubbo and Ranboo look at her; the latter with a confident smile, the former with an apologetic one.

“Good morning Ms. Chu,” Ranboo says, “Don’t let us interrupt you. Please go one with your lesson plan.”

“You got a mouth over the summer Mr. Alastair,” the teacher jokes.

“Nah Ma’am. I got confidence.”

Tubbo breaks. He purses his lips in order to not laugh.

Ms. Chu, completely unoffended and obviously ready to play, sits back in her chair. “Save it for tomorrow when there’ll be a lesson to disrupt. Everyone else, turn to your partners and introduce yourselves. Tell each other about your summers for the next ten minutes.”

Both Tubbo and Ranboo seem to have the same idea. Everyone else turns but they stay staring at Ms. Chu.

“Yes boys?”

“You said ‘everybody else’ what are we doing?” Tubbo asks, innocent as can be.

Someone from a nearby desk stops their sentence to laugh.

“Mr. Jacobs was it?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Tell Ranboo about your summer.”

“Of course Ma’am.”

Tubbo may be an assassin, but he’s still a teenager who’s been told what to do for years; cop’s kid, dealing with the fucking Mafia, the pinnacle of controlling adults. As far as he was concerned, any punishment he’d get from talkback here was nothing. Tubbo was going to be the smartass-talkback kid. Fuck.

“So what did you do this summer?”

Hack into the Roughs’ personal database to learn everything he could about Thomas Rough by going through Dan Rough’s archives on his son’s life. “Coding,” is what he says instead.

[dulce-pjm]

clean up on aisle seven!

word count: 3.3k

genre: casual fluff :)

summary: you really didn’t want to go on this grocery trip. and now you’re stuck trying to track down that last thing your mom needs while the clock is ticking before she checks out. but something (or someone) might just make you lose track of time. 

This is your worst nightmare. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths were shallow and staggered, and you could feel droplets of sweat quickly accumulating on your forehead. You’d just suffered finals week and you could definitely say this was the most stressful situation you’d experienced in your life.

This might be where you die. 

Actually, if you died now, your mother would drag you back from the grave and kill you again for being so dramatic. 

You were standing helpless in the middle of the produce section of your hometown’s grocery store, desperately looking for the red potatoes. And while you frantically scanned for the vegetable- Are potatoes vegetables? Maybe they’re starches. Or a root. It isn’t important. What is important is that you have no clue where they are and your mom is currently in the checkout line, wondering what’s taking so long. 

Onions, leeks, asparagus, radishes, cabbage. . . 

Maybe you were looking in the wrong place. You circle the aisle, hoping you don’t look like a madwoman as you wring your hands and tug at your hair. 

You were a STEM major, for god’s sake! You just crushed your sophomore finals (maybe. probably. you completed them, it’s all that matters), you were not going to let some stupid red potatoes and a fear of abandonment you’ve harbored since childhood distress you in this way. 

Spinach, lettuce, carrots, celery. . .

You know, you never should have agreed to go on this grocery trip. Just an hour before now, you’d been comfortable in bed, sleeping in to your heart’s content. But it’s the holidays and you know your mom likes to run her errands with someone and the guilt was just too much. So you let her drag you out of bed and you barely got to brush your teeth before she was dragging you out of the house, too. You probably looked like a wreck. You sure felt like one. 

Tomatoes, avocadoes, peppers. . .

Normally by now you’d suck it up and ask an employee for help like the adult you were supposed to be, but, just your luck, the entire section is void of any workers. Honestly, good for them. You’re sure they’re tired of dealing with hopeless idiots like you, anyway. 

Garlic, strawberries, blueberries. . .

Who puts garlic next to strawberries? And how did you end up in the fruit section? Even you could do a better job organizing this place. Or maybe you have poor observational skills. You decide not to dwell on which thought is more correct. 

You rush back to where you started, begging your eyes to actually work and help you with this one task. 

And then: a miracle. Yellow potatoes! You scan the vicinity and... 

No red potatoes to be found. Maybe there’s no such thing as red potatoes. Maybe your mom just wanted you to go away for a while. Well, no, that can’t be it. You’re certain you’ve had red potatoes before. 

The stress was getting to you. By now, your mom was probably loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, annoyed at your slow pace and mind. 

You know, in many other situations you’d actually consider yourself good under pressure. Put you in a lab coat and in front of a titration and you were a goddamn genius, if you did say so yourself. But once you weren’t poring over textbooks or analyzing data, you felt completely useless. Ask you to cook and you’ll set the kitchen ablaze. Anything more athletic than a casual jog is off the table. Your friends often joke that you can’t even be trusted with a microwave. For good reason. How were you supposed to know those chicken sandwich bags can’t go in the microwave? They’re made of paper. 

Other shoppers bristle past you to grab their own groceries, but all you can do is reply with a few murmured “sorries” and stand in the middle of the place looking like a lost puppy. To them, you look utterly distressed. A few shoppers consider asking if you’re okay, but little do they know there’s only one question plaguing your mind. 

“Where are the motherfucking red potatoes?!” 

You didn’t mean for it to slip out, but at least there’s no one close enough to hear-

A giggle rings from the other side of the waist-high aisle you’ve been staring at. Your eyes slide up to meet the gaze of a boy not too much taller than you- kind of cute too- but the important thing is that he’s staring right at you. Very obviously trying (and failing) to fight an uncontrollable grin on his face. 

Your cheeks heat like a furnace. All you can do is stand and stare, caught red-handed cursing over produce at the corner grocery store. 

The boy with full, boyish cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a very cute smile that you might consider infectious in any other scenario leans forward on the tips of his toes and peers at the side the aisle you’ve been intently gazing at for the past several minutes. To your horror, he lifts his finger and points just inches from where you were just looking. 

“Maybe right there?” It isn’t said sarcastically or with even a hint of ridicule, but despite his genuine nature you only grow more sheepish. You wish you could shrink into your sweatshirt and never come back out. 

You lower your eyes to the direction he’s pointing and lo and behold, there are several bags of red potatoes just under your nose. 

“Oh. . uh. . Thanks.” You tentatively reach and grab a bag, your eyes not leaving the boy’s face. You can’t help but notice the line forming between his eyebrows and the way he cocks his head to the side. Now, that you think about it, there’s something distinctly familiar about him. 

“Wait, Y/N?” Your eyebrows raise, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs to know that you somewhat recognize him too. “I’m Jimin!” He continues when you don’t respond. “We were best friends when we were, what, six or seven?” 

The memories immediately begin rushing back. Though many of your memories from back then have faded, you can remember very distinctly the elementary days full of you and a younger version of the boy across from you causing mischief. More specifically, the two of you thought up increasingly risky pranks to play on your parents and friends until one or both of you got the scolding of a lifetime. You’d nearly completely forgotten about him. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” you finally manage. “It’s been a while.” Jimin circles to your side of the aisle. 

“Oh my god! When was the last time I saw you?” Jimin thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t it your birthday party? When we hid in the bathroom cabinet and it took them hours to find us!” The memory has the both of you giggling.

“Yeah! My mom would have grounded me for scaring her so badly if it wasn’t my birthday.” The atmosphere is comfortable. Almost as if it had been no time at all. 

“I think if anyone was scared, it was you. Weren’t you terrified of the dark?” You blush despite the ridiculousness of his teasing. 

“Hey! I talk to you for two minutes after all this time and you’re already back to making fun of me?” Despite their legitimacy, the words carry no malice and you’re grinning from ear to ear. A smirk plays on Jimin’s cheeks and you catch yourself studying his features. It should seem normal, but you’re slightly struck by how much he’s grown up. His baby fat is long gone, replaced with a striking and defined look despite his sweet and boyish features. His brunette locks are neatly cut, his bangs complimenting his cheeks and forming a slight heart shape on his forehead. He’s cute. 

If you weren’t so caught up in your own embarrassment, you might have noticed the endeared look he’s giving you as he studies your face at the same time. 

“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “You’ve always been easy to tease.” You scoff, shifting the bag of potatoes in your arms. 

“Speak for yourself, crayon-eater.” Jimin’s giggle is infectious, drawing a snort or two out of you, though you desperately try to play it off as just a cough. 

“Where did you end up going? I never saw you after that.”

“Ahh, we moved to the other side of the city. It was pretty sudden.” Jimin nods in understanding. 

“I guess you moved again for college, too?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to your sweatshirt. You glance down at the university logo before meeting his eyes again. 

“Yeah, I’m just back for the holidays. You?”

“I go to university in the city. Just picking up some groceries for my family. I tend to do our grocery shopping on weekday mornings anyway, since most of my classes are in the afternoon.” You learn that Jimin is a communications major, which you think suits his personality spectacularly. Jimin is not even close to surprised to find out you’ve dedicated yourself in chemistry. 

“And to think, just yesterday we were making potions from mud in your backyard. You’re practically a prodigy. Can I get your autograph? You know, for when you become a famous scientist saving the world and all that?” You shake your head, noting that Jimin is just as ridiculous as you remember him.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you muse. “But I’m leaning more towards education. I’d like to teach high schoolers one day, maybe college students too.” Now that strikes Jimin as a surprise, evident by his shocked expression. You can’t help staring at the way his lips puff out in an unintentional pout.

 “Really? You want to deal with those brats? We just left high school and you already want back?” If your mom thought you were a drama queen, Jimin had you beat tenfold. He’d always been a bit of a class clown, always supplying exaggerated expressions and stupid jokes to garner as many laughs as possible. You roll your eyes. 

“They’re not that bad.” You pause. “Well, they are pretty bad but I think I could get through it if I knew I could make at least one kid excited about science, you know?” You inwardly cringe at your mini-spiel. Normally once you get talking about your love for chemistry, your friends zone out or casually change the subject to avoid massive boredom. But to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed at your sappy, nerd-ish outlook on your career. Instead, he’s nodding with you, attentive and interested. 

“That’s. . . really nice.” You blush, stopping yourself from going on a further tangent, sure he has much better things to be doing than listening to you go on and on. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You twiddle your thumbs and Jimin tugs on the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Do you still have that cat? What did you name him... Snuggles?”

“Chubbles!” he nearly shouts with a massive smile. “And yeah, I do. He’s still overweight as ever. And old as hell. But I love the grumpy thing to pieces.”

“He was so cute! I remember cuddling with him while watching cartoons together.”

“Oh my god, yeah! That was the only time my mom would let me eat in the living room. I swear those waffles tasted better in front of the tv screen.” The story sparks a memory in your mind. 

“Hey, wanna know a secret?” Jimin leans in slightly, confused but definitely interested. You pause for effect. “My mom didn’t let us eat in the living room either. I only said that because you wanted to and I thought it’d convince your mom.” Jimin feigns a gasp, putting a hand on his chest. 

“Are you serious? I was jealous of you for years after that and it wasn’t even true? You said your family always ate in the living room.”

“I may have exaggerated a lot of things back then in order to impress you.” 

“No way. Then do I really know you at all? Was everything a lie?” You find yourself laughing again. Talking with him is easy, like being kids again. 

You shrug. “I like to maintain an aura of mystery.” Now Jimin’s the one rolling his eyes at your antics.

“Hey, speaking of Chubbles, do you want to see a picture of him? My mom posted the best picture of him on Facebook the other day.” Jimin whips out his phone. While others might find a college student doting on his cat and his mom’s Facebook a bit dorky, you find it all too endearing. 

“Um, of course!” You step towards him to peer at his phone. But instead of cat pictures, all the two of you see is an endless loading screen. 

“Shit. My service sucks out here. I’m sorry.” He gives an apologetic look, but you’re quick to brush it off. 

“No, it’s okay. You can just send it to me later.” The connotation of your words hit you like a freight train and you’re about to not-so-eloquently take them back, but Jimin beats you, a smile is plastered across his face. A part of you wants to reach up and squish his cheeks together, but you don’t need to create any more reason for the other shoppers to think you’re unhinged. Also, personal space. 

“Oh, great. I’ll just get your number-”

“Y/N.” You freeze, your head whipping around behind you to where your mother stands. She glares at you with her hands set on her hips, no groceries in sight. 

“Oh, um, oops.” You muster the best smile you can but your mother is anything but amused. “I found the red potatoes!” You hold up the bag that’s been making your arms ache, as if that would magically fix the situation. She scoffs. 

“And while you did, I checked out, paid, put the groceries in the car, and realized that we’d already gotten red potatoes. They were just piled under all that sugary cereal you insist on-” Her eyes flicker to the boy standing awkwardly behind you when she lets out a scream of joy. “Park Jimin!” She nearly shoves you aside to wrap him in a hug, instantly recognizing him despite years of not seeing him. Though if Jimin’s mom is active on Facebook, you guess your mom has seen plenty of Jimin via social media. While you stare incredulously at your mother, Jimin is staring at you, internally laughing at your expression. 

“How’s your mother? Is she well? Healthy?” Jimin nods with a charming smile.

“Yes, she’s great.” Your mom is clutching Jimin’s hands as if she’s in her seventies and not her forties. Jimin awkwardly shifts his grocery basket to his elbow, but your mom pays no mind to the uncomfortable position he’s in. 

“Oh, you’ve grown so much! I can still remember the days when you two were taking baths together!” Your face blanches while Jimin chokes. Knowing the volume of your mom’s voice, you’re sure the entire grocery store knows your and Jimin’s history now. “You know, I was just thinking about your mother the other day. When we were pregnant with the two of you, we-”

“Hey, Mom.” You place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you think we should get going? The groceries are in the car...” 

“Oh! You’re right, sweetie,” she smiles. It seems that all it took was Jimin’s charm (and by charm, you mean standing there with that grin of his) for her to completely forget about your previous transgression. She turns back to Jimin. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Please tell your mother I said hello. We really should have a get-together over the holidays, don’t you think?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. L/N,” Jimin says, his eyes trailing to you. “Sorry for keeping your daughter. We were reconnecting and lost track of time.”

“You’re too sweet. I’m sure my daughter was the one babbling on about whatever popped into her head next. It’s no wonder she got lost looking for potatoes, she’s so easily distracted. You know, we had to put her on a leash as a child.” Your cheeks flush red while you get the sense that Jimin is enjoying this a little too much, despite his awkward smile. 

“Oh...” You can tell he’s doing his best to spare you the mortification, but if anything his efforts to conceal his laughter only make you more eager to end the conversation. 

“Uh... Mom... Groceries...”

“Fine, fine. You didn’t seem to care that much when you were flirting in the produce aisle.” Now that is the final straw. 

“Mom! Oh my god, let’s just go.” You feel like a teenager again, embarrassed and at your mother’s mercy. “Bye, Jimin! It was nice seeing you!” You grab your mother by the elbow and nearly drag her out of the store, tossing the red potatoes back onto the aisle as you go. You barely catch Jimin’s weak wave as you storm out. 

“He really is such a sweet boy, I’ll have to give his mother a call.” Call. That’s right. You forgot to give him your number. 

On pure instinct alone, you spring around, abandoning your mother in the parking lot to sprint back inside. 

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back! Start the car!” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. You imagine she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering how her child still acts like a seven-year-old chasing after butterflies. 

You find Jimin not far from where you left him, skimming through the juices. You do your best not to show how heavy you’re breathing or how you’ve nearly broken a sweat. And you curse yourself for not using the university gym more often. Upon seeing you reappear, Jimin’s face lights up, albeit somewhat confused. 

“Oh, hey.” He holds up two jugs of orange juice. “Pulp or no pulp?” You freeze for a moment.

“Pulp. Obviously.” Jimin nods in agreement, putting the jug in his basket. He looks at you expectantly. “And I forgot to give you my number.” You quickly catch yourself. “For that Chubbles pictures.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jimin’s hand rises to the back of his neck nervously as you punch the digits into his phone, making a contact for yourself. If your friends saw you now, they’d think you’d been replaced by aliens or finally gone over the edge. But something in you just had to do it. 

“Send me that picture, yeah?” You hand him back his phone. 

“Of course.” Jimin gives you a salute, making you giggle shamelessly again. With nothing more to say, you spin on your heel and speed walk out of the store to be mercilessly interrogated by your mother. 

Jimin shakes his head and smiles to himself as he watches your retreating form. He makes a mental note to go through his mom’s scrapbooks to find a childhood photo of you two to use as your profile picture. 

While your mom is berating you for wasting time and questioning your intentions with Jimin, you couldn’t be happier, grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t Jimin say he did the grocery shopping on weekday mornings?

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” You nod vigorously, which is enough for her when she switches to ranting about gas prices nowadays. 

But in reality, you’re not listening at all. You’re planning your next grocery trip. 

At least next time you’ll know where to find the motherfucking red potatoes. Though you doubt you’ll need to remember. Something tells you Jimin will remember this for a long time too. 

[centrally-unplanned]

(Spoilers ahead) Partner and I finished Season 2 of the Fruits Basket modern remake this weekend. I had only seen the, uh, 2001 original anime (2001? It was 20 years ago? Fuck), with no exposure to the manga, so a lot of the plot elements were new to me. I liked a lot of the show, but I have some big complaints about it handles its villain, Akito:

1: Akito occupies a very awkward place in this story. He (don’t worry, ill get to that) is the head of the main crew’s family and constantly inflicts abuse on all of its members, and is therefore the source of conflict for the plot, both in past trauma and present attempts as control and gaslighting.

Okay, so stories often have to walk a tightrope with abusive characters like this. Stories are normally pushed along and resolved internally - the main cast is going to experience the pain and drama, and fix it themselves, because that is the arc. For many plots that is easy, but if the story revolves around an abusive sibling/parent figure like Fruits Basket does, you will always be asking yourself the question “uh, why doesn’t anyone call the cops? or why don’t they just leave?” There is a tension between realism in the setting and the needs of the plot.

You can in fact resolve this tension in a lot of ways. If the abuse is primarily mental, slowly building, inflicted out of sight of responsible parties, etc, you can make this work. Lots of people don’t report abuse to authorities, or just move out of their house, but instead deal with it due to it being normalized. Other ways include making the characters teenagers - they don’t think of the world as having authorities outside of family (or school) and its much harder for them to reach outside of that bubble - the classic highschool bully problem. So Akito can work if he is subtle, slowly ramps, and controls his surroundings to hide his abuse from relevant authorities.

Anyway here is Akito pushing a 17 year old girl out of a two story window shattering her back and hospitalizing her for months:

And here he is threatening a 17 year old boy with life confinement in a literal cage unless he, uh, wins a duel with his cousin?

These are the worst moments but they are far from alone. This person is a raving lunatic, which fair enough that the 17 year olds don’t know how to handle that, but Akito himself is no older than 20. And the cast of characters who know everything that is going on includes:

-27 year old *published author* Shigure, who directly cares for both Akito and two of his abuse victims

-27 year old completely-independent business owner, Ayame, who is the *brother* of one of the abuse victims

-27 year old licensed medical doctor Hatori, who lives with and is the physician of Akito.

Hatori is violating every ethical obligation of his profession on the daily, dude is stone cold! This again could work if these characters were bad guys, but they aren’t - they are sympathetic protagonists or in Aya’s case even comic relief! The show wants you to think they are doing their best, Shigure even has a secret “plan” to deal with Akito that he has been planning for *years* and they all have "reasons” why they feel stuck due to the Zodiac curse yadda yadda. But you have to memory hole the fact that they are functioning adults in 21st century Japan, because otherwise Shigure and Hatori in particular reach levels of negligence to the children they care for that it tips right on over into being evil itself. 

These kids go to public school, guys!

Now I know what any defender would say - “its the curse!” The whole cast carries the curse of the Zodiac where God invited them in long-ago times to a dinner, Akito is the current manifestation of that God in some form, and so they are bound to him to enact that “dinner” metaphorically in some way by staying by his side (also they transform into their respective Zodiac animals when chest-on-chest contact occur from the opposite sex, because Anime). Again, you can make this work! Show Akito exerting a magical force on characters who stray too far from him, or a compulsion locking them to being forever near the Sohma estate where he lives. Something showing that yeah, the relevant authorities could not handle this and dragging Akito away in chains won’t work. But sadly the show just...doesn’t bother. There is a “curse” but we are two seasons in and any negative consequences of the curse beyond Akito Being An Asshole are Footage Not Found (Kyo is an exception, but not a relevant one), despite everyone pretending like there is. Everyone wants to break the curse? Fine, kill Akito. Then you all get to live in peace and transform into adorable animals when you’d like, curse broken. Just throw “doesn’t cuddle or do missionary position” on your OkCupid profile to make your love life work, no one is gonna bat an eye, and some people will be, lets say, readily down with your particular transformation fetish.

None of this is fatal to the show per se, you can suspend disbelief. But the show takes itself so seriously that you can’t help but think these thoughts, and it colors in particular how the older characters act. And it would be so easy to fix! They just didn’t bother.

2: Can someone explain to me, in the year of our Zodiac Lord 2021, how a character secretly being a girl is a “surprise reveal” worth ending a season on? The final shot of Season 2 is that our resident asshole Akito has some female-presenting nipples, which is apparently a Big Deal? (maybe the show takes place on Tumblr, *zing*) Its the villain, they are an abusive maniac and also metaphorically/actually a divine being. Why does doubling their X chromosome count affect or change anything? I can envision plots where that is relevant, but this was not one! Maybe the next season will build that into the arc, but they haven’t done that yet, so the moment itself falls incredibly flat.

Yet people obviously feel differently from me - as is my habit I checked the reddit threads for the final episode and they are replete with people commenting on how shocking a twist it was, how they looked forward to it as manga readers, etc. Its a classic suspense trick I think, of how you can just have an event be surprising without it being thematically relevant, and it will work as long as you add the right drama bells around it. This was just a pretty egregious example of it. 

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Between these problems, Fruits Basket has this aura of laziness around its none-core characters that does drag it down. Which is sad since I do actually like how it treats its core cast, even if it is stretched out over twice as many episodes as it needs. I am just guessing here, but beyond just “not caring” and doing it for the drama, I think it stems out of adapting the manga “faithfully”.

So Fruits Basket got an anime adaption in 2001, and the author (Natsuki Tayaka) haaaaated it. It was only twenty six episodes, a ~third of which got consumed just introducing the zodiac cast, so its plot had to be mixed around and truncated, and it was much more comedic and zany in tone. It was still very popular, so demand for a “better” adaptation of the full manga was high, which eventually happened in 2019. This time around Tayaka insisted on a high degree of control and faithfulness - I would bet it was essentially a “shot for shot” adaptation, and I have seen manga/anime comparison compilations to that effect.

The problem lies in how manga are made - they are almost never planned out start to finish. You pitch like a chapter, it gets picked up, and then its being published in tandem to its own production. That means that its pretty rare for the ending to be thought out, and the story figures itself out as it goes. Early manga Fruits Basket is pretty zany! Which means it plays fast and loose with its worldbuilding and its adult characters act silly most of the time. Once the high drama kicks in you realize that doesn’t work anymore, but you have already published it all months ago, no way to revise it now, so you just have to bite the bullet.

An anime adaptation would be a good time to clean that up! Its what Kare Kano did - a manga that starts as a cute highschool romcom and ends in sexual assault, for the anime they tried to create tonal consistency right from the start and change plot details around accordingly. But when the author, burned by a past studio, insists on Complete Accuracy...well then the anime has to bite the same bullets the manga did. And so you get Fruits Basket (2019), a show destined to never rise above its source material.

But hey, if Season 3 ends with Tohru just whipping out a gun, shooting Akito right between the eyes, and walking off into the sunset with a harem of zodiac hotties, then all will be forgiven.