#anyways here!

[gloombeaches]

Sweet 1600 scrapbook (apparently a key reward item. Monster High website, archived via Wayback machine)

[uglyduckling339]

[rubienne]

Day 64 - 65 of drawing the KFC Gang til Deltarune ch 3 comes out

[offarawaysnfuturedays-inmydreams]

Pia Douwes’ characters + loss

LES MISÉRABLES [1991]: Fantine ELISABETH DAS MUSICAL [2001]: Kaiserin Elisabeth 3 MUSKETIERS [2003]: Milady de Winter PASSION [2004]: Clara REBECCA DAS MUSICAL [2012]: Mrs. Danvers DER BESUCH DER ALTEN DAME [2014]: Claire Zachanassian

"the price of love is loss, but still we pay. we love anyway" –Next to Normal

[cabeswater]

hey @quensty remember when i said i’d make this like 2 months ago

[redhairedhobi]

Solo Cups and Summertime | Punk Jungkook!! au

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 949

Note: I wrote this at like 1am for a friend,, enjoy!!

***

You saw him at a party.

More specifically, your usually calm friend's first real party to mark the end of Sophomore year. She had begged you to come and even offered to dress you for the occasion. "Let loose for a day, we all deserve it." She smiled at you.

You assured her that you'd be there as long as she had a booze-free punch. Alcohol was never your thing.

The first thing you noticed when you walked into her house at 7pm on a Saturday, was how deafening the music was. You could barely feel your own heartbeat as the speakers blared sounds that vibrated your insides.

The second thing you noticed, after making your way inside, was your friend dancing on her table. Half drunk and exhilarated after her finals were over, she definitely put the loose in 'let loose'. Red plastic cups were strewn everywhere, and you still couldn't wrap your head around the fact that she, the quiet bookish student in class was dancing barefoot to EDM.

"High school's wild," you mumbled to yourself, making your way over to the table full of snacks and drinks.

The third thing you noticed, well, you were in the middle of pouring orange soda into a cup using a ladle when you saw it.

Or rather, him.

A single large purple streaked curl in messy, half spiked, jet black hair; pouty pink lips and sharp winged eyes, a black leather jacket and ankle high boots. He was leaning against a wall in the back, away from the crowd of hyper teens grinding their bodies to a rhythm.

Third time's the charm.

You made your way over to his spot beside the couch. Sitting down on the armrest, you gazed at him.

Let loose? Oh, you will.

You traced each shadow accenting his jaw with your eyes, following from his multiple silver and black earrings, to his soft rosy hued cheeks, to his bottom lip jutting out ever do slightly, a silver ring clasped around it on a side and- oh OH shit you were staring.

His eyes flickered to you for a moment and you quickly took to sipping your soda. You licked the sugar coating off your lips, lifting your head again to face him

"Hey." You said nonchalantly.

"Hmm," he nodded in acknowledgement.

Don't start don't stare don't stare-

"I like your piercings!" You blurted out before you could assess the words that escaped your mouth.

He smirks. "Thanks, usually people tell me I look too feminine or think I'm in a gang."

You almost snorted your drink, trying to imagine the rowdy punk boy in front of you as a soft feminine one. "Nope. I like it. The whole look I mean. It's...fresh."

"Blunt, I like you. Are you sure you haven't had too much to drink? No one ever compliments my outfits." He eyes you warily.

Now you snort. "I don't drink. At least, I don't like bitter drinks. Or a foggy mind. Or hangovers. Or really, and I mean reaaally bad decisions that I regret in the morning."

Okay you were rambling, but this boy is literally twO steps away from you, casually standing all alone instead of, oh, say riding his motorcycle into the night or beating up his friends for fun. Nope, he's right hEre, wiTh yOU. You manage a smile as he chuckles.

"I drink sometimes." He murmurs, turning his head. "I'm Jeongguk, by the way."

"Y/n." You spoke simply, pushing yourself off the armrest you had made your seat. You remembered the name, a familiar sound that you might have heard before in the gossip-filled school hallways. You could see the corners of Jeongguk's lips move upwards ever so slightly, the ghost of a genuine smile.

"Nice to meet you. Although, I think we have Chemistry together."

"Real smooth, genius. Swept me off my feet there." You rolled your eyes, before it sank in that this could have been more than a pick up line.

"Want to read the attendance list next time?"

He caught you off guard as he took a step towards you, leaning in. His lips rested an inch away from your ear. "This party's getting a little too wild for my taste. Let's go outside." His warm breath made you tingly. You nodded, and he took your hand.

Stumbling between hoardes of people, you find yourselves out in your friend's backyard.

"So, Jeongguk. Any reason for being a punk?"

He shrugs. "Any reason for you to be a teacher's pet?"

You ruffled his hair, gel smearing on your fingers. "Great now you'll get it, punk." You sneered. What he said was true, you always were a 'good student'.

"Hey I spent...five minutes on my hair okay whatever." He grabbed your hands and playfully pushed you away.

You laughed. "I wish I weren't such a goody two shoes."

His eyes met yours. "Why? Everyone adores you. Meanwhile I'm an attention magnet, but not in a good way."

You contemplated your answer. "I want freedom."

Something behind his eyes glimmered. He placed his hands on your shoulders, lowering his head. "Freedom?"

"From expectations."

"Huh." He tapped his lip, fiddling with his piercing. "You're blunt," He grinned. "I like you."

You breathed slowly, listening to the faint beat coming from the other side of the glass doors, the chirps of crickets, the slight nightly breeze that came with summer. "I got that summertime, summertime sadness." You hummed slightly, singing to the song that came on.

Jeongguk's eyes never left yours. His cheeky grin turned into a softer smile. "Kiss me hard before you go." He sang quietly. You swore your heart stopped.

(I want freedom.)

(I'll share some of mine.)

His lips crashed onto yours- or yours onto his; either way a spark of electricity went through both of you as you leaned into each other.

You kissed like it was your last day on earth. You felt fireworks, excitement, and above all...

Free.

[fortruechaos-moved]

a series of june 19ths.

the first.

ruby eyes calypso open and into a new world painted blue. that was the color of the test tube you were in, wasn’t it? and then there’s white labcoats and smiles and people hugging each other (but never you) shouting words of praise and excitement. some people slap each other’s hands, maybe you’d think that would hurt but as it stands you don’t know anything about this world you’re braving.

your gaze tilts upwards when he approaches you and refers to himself as “gerald.” then he smiles at you and places his hands on your shoulders and gives you your first set of instructions.

“your name is shadow. you are the protector of mobius and the ultimate lifeform.”

the second.

maria is sick again, with her feeble hands clutching so desperately at a blanket, trying to keep warm. you huddle up next to her and keep her warm with all that chaos energy circling through your body and hope that it’s enough. it isn’t, she still shakes violently.

she looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes riddled with whatever new pain medication they’ve put her on. “sorry i can’t play with you today, shadow,” she apologizes. she’s always apologizing to you for something so outside of her control. “i know it’s your birthday.”

birthday? you know what a birthday is, you celebrated maria’s a few months ago. but you are not organic material, you are artificial, crafted in a test tube and made from wires and fake blood.

“it’s not my birthday, it’s my date of creation,” you explain and snuggle closer to her trembling body. she coughs and opens her mouth to protest, smiling weakly at you, but then sleep swings its scythe through her and maria is left to dream. you stay with her for three days and three nights until she is well enough to move.

the fourth.

you wanted to end the world on the day your life was given to you. after all, you were made to destroy everything, that was what gerald told you when you entered this world. you watch out that window you and maria used to look into, staring eagerly, waiting. hoping.

until amy shows up and begs you to protect the planet and the promise comes rushing back through you like water entering a bathtub. you’re horror-stricken. the promise, the real promise, swallows you whole.

you can’t let it end like this. not today--this isn’t what maria would have wanted. so you run and you imbibe chaos energy and paint yourself yellow, the color you’ve always admired, and then--

you fall in the hopes that you’ll see her again.

happy birthday.

the seventh.

you have since regained most of your memory and made a quilt from it, hoping it’s enough to pull yourself together. there’s shame and guilt and disappointment and you look outside into westopolis’s sunset, quietly sipping hot tea from a mug.

you don’t call it a birthday, it’s just a date of creation. still just a normal 24 hours. and rouge insists otherwise. you don’t know how she knows. you never tell anyone. but still she bothers you about it and complains “you need to do something.” luckily for you, omega gets it. he feels the same way. he, too, is artificial.

rouge never pushes the matter more than you need. so when you finally snapped at her and told her to mind her own business, she looked at you with pity (which you hate) and hugged you and apologized and then left you alone.

you stared out that window at the stars speckling the night sky, so like the light pattering against your weary heart, and wondered: am i a worthy legacy?

the tenth.

right when you promised to make things right and protect this world and live up to that title you hold so close to your chest sonic is ripped away. this is war and you have opted to live with the everlasting cloud of guilt pressing on your mind. but you want more. something else.

“happy birthday!” everyone says so cheerfully (damn you rouge for telling everyone) and you grimace and try to ignore it and push people away. just get the mission over with. stop treating me like i’m special. i’m not. i’m not like you. i wasn’t born. i was sewn together.

so you lock yourself in your apartment and wait it out, staring at the mushroom clouds in the distance. eventually you fall asleep to the reciting of battle plans in the other room, muffled and unsteady, waiting for june 20.