#somebody stop me from sketching and not doing anything else

[cheesuschristman]

Posting thiz wip to make me feel like i accomplished smth

[narfin-frood]

Silly question but how do you art?

Or more like, how is your process to draw? Your lines and posing are so loose and show the feeling of a character so well, like, how do you make your art so real with only a few lines is what most amaze me. Anyway I hope I'm not bothering you and that makes sense, thanks for reading!<3

you're not a bother, don't worry! i'm not sure if there's an appropriately concise answer to a question like this, but i'll try to explain my process for poses a bit, and if there's anything else specific you'd like to know about my process, feel free to ask, and i'll try to answer!

for posing, i find it's very helpful to start by thinking about what situation the character is in. you don't need a location or a background or anything (unless you're being #serious about it). for this, i chose "picking up something way too heavy" (cont. under cut, wall of text ahead)

keeping it very simple is key!!! do not worry about details!!! i am very bad at this. i love to add a little detail or two, like his eyes or his little expression, but i have to catch myself before i get too into it, otherwise i'll forget the point of what i was doing and/or get bored. use just enough strokes to get the point across, and stop there (for now).

i draw fast and loose, with long strokes, which also happens to help with the problem that happens if you start with any specific part of the body. it's important to start with... everything at once, or else you won't be able to see what needs to be changed or fixed until it's too late and you've already decided on where you want the head and the left arm to be!

to display effort & strain without just contorting the character's face, you gotta think about just how heavy the object is, how one would go about grabbing it comfortably, and whether your character is smart enough to lift with their legs.

wander is great (read: BEST CHARACTER DESIGN EVAR. i love him kisskisskiss) because he's not grounded in any sort of reality until necessary, and his limbs have no bones, but he still has specific proportions and volumes to refer back to if you get carried away with the wackiness. posing a character made up of several noodles of varying widths is very simple, because you can do basically whatever you want to push and pull and make it as clear (and/or as funny) as possible.

start with your line of action, in this case the long line connecting his neck and his left foot. think about where the floor is, so you can make the feet of your character and whatever else is touching it coexist in the same reality. think about clarity: big, simple shapes are your friends, and if you're not getting the gist of the pose through the silhouette alone, try again! there's NO shame in hiding the first layer and doing a couple more sketches until you land on something you really like. Don't polish a turd, especially if you yourself think it's a turd. it'll make you feel like you're wasting time, and drawing is about having fun and experimenting, so if it's getting boring or frustrating, it's time to try something else.

wander and other characters with no bones and no rules are great for posing because you can do things like make their arms bend the wrong way just to play with the clarity of the pose. this:

un-breaks the arms and makes a little more sense for somebody with elbows, but some clarity in the action is lost when the arms don't curve upward and away from the very heavy object he's straining to pick up.

grounding your characters is both more complex and easier than it sounds, and it unfortunately requires you to think about perspective (i know. i know. i know it sucks and it's confusing. i hated it for a very long time but once it clicks, you'll have it in your brain forever)

fudging a perspective grid is fairly easy, just draw several parallel lines and have them get closer to each other as they recede into the distance, and then do it again in the opposite direction. you can use the transform tool in whatever program you use most to fudge this for even less effort, by just getting a png of a grid and fucking with it

now that you've got your floor, think about those feet. the grid makes it fairly easy to envision how a shoe would look sitting on that floor:

this is also where having an understanding of volumes comes in handy, because things farther in the distance will in fact look smaller, but it's up to you to figure out just how much smaller it would be in comparison to the other identical thing with the same volume that's closer to the camera. usually it's almost negligible, but it becomes easy to spot if it's a little off.

and here's the pose i settled on! i made his noodle arms more extreme for extra XD factor and i put him on his tippy toes for that extra bit of height!

a lot of the principles i'm talking about in this post i mainly pick up from consciously watching my favorite cartoons (and live action shows) and if i really, really like the way something is done, or if i see something that i've never really registered before, i'll screencap it or i'll pause or i'll just keep thinking about it until i draw again.

this is called "building a visual library" and it's the #1 easiest and most important way to practice. it requires no drawing, unless you want it to. look at lots of art by artists you love, and if you see something and you think to yourself, hey, this looks really good, by all means, absorb it.

art is great and it's really fun and there's literally nothing wrong with taking inspiration where you can find it!! seriously!!! absorb your favorite parts of every art style you find cool and fun and put it into your own! you're the only person who can draw the way you draw, and while replicating an art style is fairly easy (or it can be, depending), matching it perfectly is Literally impossible, so don't worry about being derivative. Nobody will notice, and if they do, it's okay to say you're inspired by them! encouraged, even!

my own art style, like everybody else's, is a frankenstein's monster containing all of the things i've loved before!!! and i think thats beautiful and if anybody tries to tell you you've gotta be 100% original and have "your very own style", they're a filthy liar and they're definitely (consciously or not) already taking inspiration and reference from the things they themselves find cool and awesome.

ANYWAY. wall of text over.

TLDR: draw quickly, use long strokes (try not to pet your lines), have a specific situation to put your character in, get familiar with volumes and proportions, and have fun!!!

[chiming-bluebells]

chiming-bluebells ⊹ a re(?)-introduction to a girl known as lexi . . .

i. a reality shifting obsédée with gouache-stained hands and a sketchbook ever within my reach.

ii. a lover of signature perfumes and the brimming potential of blank canvases. i’m utterly convinced that being romantic is my birthright.

hi hello ! again !

hejhej!! :P you can call me lexi! she/her. queer. aquarius. typed as an infj, if that tells you anything. twenty-one; an overly-sentimental artist, a reality shifter, and the physical embodiment of if you leave by daughter on my worst days and satan i gatan by veronica maggio on my best.

i’m @thalassandra and @thalassandra is me! ah well, that was up until i deactivated my blog back in april. reason? needed to disappear into the forest for a little while. to recalibrate and start anew, if you will. ( if any of my moots still remember me: hi :D missed you!! )

now then, it seems as though somebody tucked a book of necromancy up their coat sleeve and headed straight to my bog; i’ve risen from the dead at last. well-rested and shiftblr-abstinent, i snuck in through the back door just now. rejoining the party quietly, champagne glass in hand and all. i also brought tiramisu.

. . . adoration adoration adoration !

i love many things, and i constantly find new things to love, but i’m trying to not make this post read as that chapter from the picture of dorian gray, so i’ll try to keep this short and sweet.

my room is my sanctuary and every corner has its own designated journal or sketchbook. chaotic collages, pressed flowers, coffee stains, messy sketches next to intricate watercolour and gouache artworks, as well as streams of thoughts in the form of pen scribbles. i love seashells and the ocean (i do, in fact, leave pieces of my soul scattered across the shoreline after each and every visit). i have an emotional attachment to dragonflies, with lore surrounding it, and i live for summer rain and thunderstorms. i absolutely inhale fresh dates and figs like ambrosia, and carnations are my favourite flower.

i draw, i paint, i read… when i’m not haunted by my heavy course load, that is. if i’m feeling daring enough, i’ll even write.

shifting.

like most, my first exposure to shifting was back in 2020. subliminal community. amino app. dr scrips shamefully jotted down in journals and hidden underneath pillows. what else is there to say?

my entire journey has been one big whopper of a butterfly effect. to put a long story short: shifting has, with a stubborness bordering on maddening conviction, found me time and time again. i stopped resisting it just last november.

i have shifted a few times! not for as long as i’d like, yet, but a win is a win!!!! i have at most spent a few minutes in my drs. the plan is to stay for extended periods of times and eventually permashift (if i don’t decide to permashift without ever coming back here first that is… which, yeah… i’m honestly leaning towards…)

more info + dni!

english is not my first language, so bear with me if i make any funny mistakes. my grammar and choice of words sometimes fail me. excessive (and borderline faulty) use of commas and semicolons have also proven to be my trademark. i need to proofread more often. i know. i know. unrelated, but i also love writing my posts with tiny font. you can pry tumblr’s tiny font from my cold, dead hands.

dni!!! if you fit the dni criteria, support/use generative ai, and/or are an anti-shifter.

[guillotinesandroses]

Washed Ashore - Chapter 2; Ex-Colleagues

Platonic Sonic Boom x Ex-Villain!Reader.

Washed Ashore Masterlist

The sun flashes its gentle, yellow rays upon your form as you stroll through the beach. A cool ocean breeze keeps your mind fresh as the warm sand tickles your feet with each step. Two tropical birds sing and dance within the rich green leaves of a tree, concealed by flowers in full bloom. All in all, the day is shaping out to be absolutely beautiful. 

If only the entire walk to Sonic's house had not consisted of one girl bothering the life out of you. However, for the sake of keeping the situation civil, you are rendered incapable of responding like you want to, that being smacking the nuisance into next Tuesday. You do not have anything against her, but she could quit shoving her finger in your face every five seconds. 

"Who do you work for? The government? Aliens? The robot overlords?!" Sticks sticks her finger repeatedly onto your cheek.

You are about to roll your eyes for the sixth time during that walk before the finger slips into one of them. "Ow!" 

"Sticks, stop poking (Name)! It's impolite," Amy scolds. 

"Hey, chill, Knuckelina! I'm sure it was just an accident!" 

"I'm starting to regret becoming your sidekick," Amy mumbles. 

"Is it the name?" Knuckles asks, "it's gotta be the name, since I'm such an awesome boss. Don't worry, I can come up with something else! Like..." 

"Can't I just keep my own name?" 

"But that wouldn't be good for the brand!" 

"What brand?" 

"Wait, uh, what were we talking about again?" 

"We're here," you state. Like you hoped she would, Sticks quits bothering you but sends you an 'I'm watching you' gesture. You sigh as Amy knocks on the door. 

Sonic swings the door open with a yawn. You glance at him with a raised brow, it is unusal of him to be so low on energy. The reason for his exhaustion becomes evident when the resident self-proclaimed evil genius arises from the bathroom in his pink clothing. 

"Eggman?!" Knuckles raises his fists up. Sticks retreats with a hiss while Amy gets into a fighting stance. Sonic stands to the side, oddly unbothered by the situation. 

"Oh, hey gang! Didn't know you'd be visiting so early! I'm still in my evil pajamas! They've got a trapdoor on the back!" 

"Too much information already," you mutter. 

"What's he doing here?" Knuckles asks. 

"We have a truce. Tails is letting him stay here until his lair is rebuild," Sonic explains. 

"Ahem! Still waiting on that salmon eggs benedict!" Eggman calls out. 

"Coming, coming!" Tails hurries to serve the elaborate breakfast. 

"I asked for egg whites. These are yellows! See the yellow? I'm trying to watch my cholesterol! And this salmon is farm raised! What is this, prison?" 

"What kind of prison have you been to? Not a single one where I've been has ever served salmon." You cross your arms with envy. 

"It's all part of some evil plot, man! First he lures us into some terrible roommate ploy, but then wham! Out comes his fifty foot obliterator-bot and obliterates us all! We've gotta get out of here!" Sticks shakes Knuckles, who barely budges. 

"Guys, we have to help him," Amy says, "if we don't, we'll be no better than he is!" 

"Yeah! You'll be no better than I am!" Eggman yells and digs into his salmon eggs benedict, which he was complaining so loudly about before. 

"Think about how this is for him!" Amy approaches him. "Do you feel scared without a home? Do you feel alone? Are you eating your feelings?" 

"Somebody get her away from me." He recoils. 

Your head tilts. "Eh? How does not helping the guy who destroys the village on a weekly basis make us just as bad as the guy who, you know, destroys the village on a weekly basis?" 

"If anything, we'd be doing a huge favor to the villagers by throwing him to the streets! And to ourselves, since he'd be too busy rebuilding his lair to attack!" You sketch out the plan and swiftly and show it to the others, most of whom nod in thought. 

"(Name)! Heroes help people in need. Currently, Eggman needs a place to stay at. Kicking him out would be cruel," Amy scolds. 

"What? I'm just being practical!" 

"As much as I hate to agree with the scheming, diabolical government spy, (Name) is right! This is all just a ploy to get us to let our guards down! You can't trick me!" Sticks shouts. 

She then turns around to face a full-body mirror and screams. "The second dimension has stolen my image! Come! Help me get rid of this impostor!" 

Amy walks up to you, distracting you from the badger attempting to break the mirror. "Don't do it, Sticks! That's seven years of bad luck!" Tails yells from the background while Sonic tries to wrestle her away from the fragile glass, grumbling under his breath about how stupid the entire day has been. 

"Come on, give him a chance." Amy lays a hand on your shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe staying here will inspire him to redeem himself, just like you have!" 

"Yeah, I'll definitely start thinking about redemption," he draws the word out. In spite of his obvious sarcasm Amy looks at him with pride, and you send her a deadpan stare. 

"(Name) the Sword Wielder, right?" He turns his attention to you. "You used to be quite a big name in the old days. I am terribly sorry I didn't recognise you last week. Being a hero seems to have made you lose your presence." 

Your expression does not twitch at his words. "That's rich coming from a low-tier villain." 

"Low-tier?! Excuse me-" 

"The only reason I know you is because we share- used to share- a common enemy," you correct yourself, "of course I looked into potential allies back then- no matter how little assistance they could provide." 

Eggman stands up from the table. "Why, you- I'm going to-" 

"That's enough, you two!" Amy steps in between you and Eggman. "(Name), stop being rude. And Eggman, stop provoking (Name). Alright, now both of you apologise." 

"I wasn't being rude! I was being honest!" 

"And I'm just expressing my disappointment in the fact that (Name) would abandon the honorable occupation of villainy to hang out with you goons-" Eggman clears his throat. "I mean, I'm just asking, since you were so good at your job, why quit?" 

"Decided to change things up. I hardly see how that's any of your business." 

"There we go! See, now you're communicating your feelings to each other constructively! Isn't this the best? Now, for the apologies!" Amy exclaims. 

"Alright, I'll be the mature one and go first. I am sorry for judging your life decisions and saying you have no presence." Eggman apologises but mutters under his breath that he meant everything he said. 

"And (Name)?" 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you respond, "...I am sorry for calling you low-tier." 

Amy interlaces her fingers together and fawns over the display of successful apologies and communication. With her distracted, you take the opportunity to take back your words. 

"He's mid at best," you mutter. Sonic snorts and bites back a laugh. The two of you share knowing grins before turning back to the conversation. 

"I still don't trust him! He's brought those robots of destruction with him too! He has them at all times! He cannot be trusted!" Sticks screeches. 

"Oh, please. The only damage those two bumbling idiots could cause is done on accident." Eggman speaks as the robots bump into each other repeatedly. "Trust me, I've tried to make them more effective. Never works." 

"Last night's storm wasn't even that bad. How do we even know his lair truly is destroyed?" You ask. 

"I know I'm the one who originally let him in, but if drinks one more of my energy drinks, I-" Sonic gets cut off by Tails, the owner of the house. 

"Guys, if Eggman needs to stay, he can stay. Who knows? Maybe he might not be so bad after all," Tails says. 

The gang looks expectantly at you, Sonic and Sticks. She lets out a hiss at the attention, Sonic groans out a 'fine' and you roll your eyes. 

"Whatever. Sure, let him stay," you grumble in defeat, "but don't be surprised when he attacks while you're at your lowest. Game recognises game; I know he's up to something!" You wave off the situation and step out of the hut. 

"(Name) may have given up the fight against the machine, but I won't! I never will!" Sticks hisses, "you will see! Soon enough he'll turn his ugly coat on you again!" 

Sticks runs out of the house. Eggman yells one last sentence from inside, "hey! I'll have you know, my coats are all VERY FASHIONABLE!" 

You and Sticks walk together for a couple of steps without saying a word. The atmosphere grows a bit tense as you try to sneak some glances at her to figure out whether it would d be good to say something or not. 

"Don't you look at me that way! This doesn't mean anything." Sticks stops walking and crosses her arms.

"Even though I'm glad you've got enough common sense to see through Eggman's half-baked lies, you are still nothing but a con artist! Nothing else!" Sticks points at you and speeds off into the woods. 

You sigh yet again as she runs away. From the very beginning of your attempt at redemption, you could always tell it would take the longest to earn her approval. However, you cannot take much offense to it, since she barely seems to even trust her friends. 

The following day, you follow Amy to go check up on Tails and Sonic. 

"Thanks for taking the time to play FP with me again this morning! But really, I'm going to be fine. As adorable as it is, you didn't need to escort me here," she says. 

"Yes, I know you can fight, I didn't doubt that. But it's always good to have backup in battles if possible in case something unpredictable happens," you reply. 

"Are you doubting Eggman again? Come on, let's give him a chance! You of all people should know how important second chances are!" 

"That applies only when there's a reason to believe he's willing to change! If he's just here because his lair is broken, that doesn't make him a good person! Just a bad guy on a leash!" 

"Oh, relax! I'm sure Sonic is going to attest that everything is fine and Eggman has been on his best behavior!" 

To her dismay, her optimistic assumptions are disproven the moment you two step into the house and sit on the couch to talk with Tails and Sonic. 

"That's it! I've had enough of Eggman! Lair or no lair, he's out of here!" Sonic shouts. 

"You can't just throw Eggman out! Sure, he might be a difficult roommate, but it's only because you guys have a communication problem!" 

"Communication problem? He whacked me with a pillow, hard! I'm dizzy, and I have serious short term memory loss!" Tails pauses. "And I have serious short term memory loss!" 

"Why don't we settle this with a roommate meeting?" 

You roll your eyes and lean back on the couch. At least you do not live there, so you will not need to actively take part in the meeting. You will be there only as a bodyguard in case of a fight breaking out. 

Soon enough, Amy manages to get Eggman to sit on the couch opposite to you, Sonic and Tails, while she herself sits in the middle as the mediator. 

"Now, Sonic, do you have something you'd like to share with Eggman?" She asks. 

"Yes, how do I say this delicately? You're a horrible roommate and no one in this house likes you." 

"Let's frame your statements with 'when you do this', it makes me feel 'this'." 

"When you live here... it makes me feel... angry." Sonic struggles with the new manner of speech for a moment before devolving back to the old reliable one. "Because you're a horrible roommate and no one in this house likes you." 

Eggman is quick to burst into crocodile tears. Sonic shares a look with Tails. 

"You're right! I am the worst roommate," Eggman wails dramatically, "I've never lived with other people before!" 

"What about us?" His yellow robot asks. 

"You don't count," Eggman snaps before continuing to sob. 

Amy turns around to face the other hedgehog. "Sonic, I think someone here could go for two spoonfuls of forgiveness, washed down with a tall glass of friendship. What do you think?" 

"I could go for several spoonfuls of a chocolate banana split, washed down with a tall glass of strawberry milkshake..." you mumble dreamily. 

Amy sends a glare your way. 

"Make that an orange smoothie and I'll totally agree with you," Sonic says. 

"Wanna go grab those later?" 

"You bet. I'm gonna need mountains worth of sweets to get the taste of this dumb situation out of my mouth." 

"What's the situation taste like?" 

"Sleepless nights and feathers. Bleh." Sonic coughs out a singular feather and you gag at the display. 

"Ahem." Amy clears her throat. "As I was trying to say before you two totally ruined my clever figure of speech, someone should go and apologise to Eggman. Right now!" 

"Ugh." Sonic groans, but turns towards the man anyway. "Eggman, if we give you a second chance, will promise to shape up?" 

"You bet!" 

Amy gasps in delight at the progress. "Roommate meeting group hug!" 

Your eyes widen and you jump over the couch, rushing to the door. "Nope."

"(Name), get back here!" Amy yells. 

"Try and make me!" You leave through the open door. 

"(NAME)! JOIN THE GROUP HUG!" 

"OVER MY DEAD BODY, AMY ROSE!" 

However the rest of the day went, you will never know. You spend the rest of it in blissful ignorance of the torment two of your friends are still likely facing, hanging out with Knuckles instead. 

"Now that I think of it, I haven't heard you say much of anything about the current Eggman situation," you remark, "what do you think? Are you with me and Sticks or do you think he can change?" 

"I think there's good in everyone!" Knuckles says enthusiastically while lifting weights. "Even that old lady who always blocks the grocery lines by using pennies to pay!" 

"Now that's devious."

"I know, right?" He drops the weights on the ground, shattering a nearby rock. "And I think- wait, uh..." 

Knuckles pauses and scratches his temple. "What were we talking about again?"

"I'm starting to think all those coconuts that fell on your head gave you brain damage."

"Oh, yeah? Could someone with brain damage do this?"

Knuckles proceeds to run and bash his head into a palm tree. The tree shakes as he rubs his forehead with a whine, only to be knocked out by an avalanche of coconuts, for the fifth time that month. You stroll up to him to see his eyes swirling in his head, but he is at least still breathing normally. 

"Only someone with brain damage would even consider doing that." You poke him with your shoe while he continues to tweak on the ground. 

It does not take long for Knuckles to wake up again, he is a rather durable guy after all. Sometime later, both of you go to your respective homes to sleep, but agree to go check up on Sonic and Tails together the following day. Sticks and Amy join the two of you once you cross paths, leading to you four all visiting Tails at the same time again. 

Knuckles strolls in through the hut's open door. "You're still hanging with Eggman? How many hours of sleep did you get?" 

"Zero," Sonic mumbles. 

"It's stage two of his evil plot, man! We are minutes away from him summoning his big obliterator-bot with its obliterator legs! And it's obliterator teeth!" 

"Sticks, stop being paranoid! Eggman's lived here for two days and he hasn't hatched a single evil scheme!" Amy walks up to Sticks. 

She gets cut off by a loud malicious cackle from outside. You glance at her with an expression that says 'I told you so'. "Two days isn't enough to make someone change, Amy." 

All six of you then rush outside, two of you slower than usual. 

"What's so funny?" Tails asks. 

"Remember how I said my island fortress was destroyed by a storm? I may have... fibbed." Eggman promenades dramatically past the row of heroes. Sonic's head droops, as he is on the verge of passing out. 

"You see, I kind of faked the destruction of my fortress as an excuse to live with you and tire you-" Eggman slaps Sonic awake. 

"Tire you to the point of exhaustion!" He finishes once he has made sure everyone listened. "So you'd be too tired to stop Obliteratorbot!" 

A large red robot emerges from behind trees, approaching menacingly and taking a fighting stance. 

"I knew it, he did have an obliterator-bot!" Sticks jumps up and down in front of Knuckles, grabs Amy's shoulders and shakes her. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe me? It's not like I'm paranoid!" 

Sticks then notices her shadow on the ground. "Stop following me!" 

"Enough! Obliteratorbot, destroy Sonic and his four friends!" 

"Four?" 

"Oh, yeah! Five! Ugh, quit recruiting new members! It gets so annoying to keep track of!" 

"Four... tress? Fortress. Destroy fortress. Destroying island fortress" The large robot misunderstands the task. Eggman desperately tries to undo the command, only for it to be further affirmed. Not only that, the robot plays rock music in the background. You barely hold in a cackle watching from the sidelines, and this time not even Amy scolds you. 

"Sonic, you have to help me!" 

"Why? It's your Obliteratorbot." 

"Because if you don't I'm truly stuck living with you until I build a new island fortress." 

"Let's roll," Sonic says in the most monotone voice you have ever heard from the hedgehog. 

Eggman rushes to his eggmobile while the heroes' group gathers into Tails's plane. He takes off from the ground smoothly enough but drifts off as the plane zipped across the blue ocean. 

"Tails? You doing alright over there?" Knuckles calls called out with no answer. 

You take a glance at him as you sat the the closest to him. He goes limp suddenly and the plane curves down towards the ocean.

"No!" Amy yells. 

"We're gonna crash!" Sticks screeches. 

Biting your lip, you jump up from your seat to grab the wheel. You pull a lever up as high as it can go and manage to narrowly avoid crashing into the bottom of the ocean. The plane gets a bit too vertical and you have to mess with the controls until it finally stabilizes. Even though you sweat the whole way to Eggman's island, the plane drives to a relatively smooth stop on the front of the tower. 

"Whew. Stuck the landing," you mutter to yourself. Leaning your head back, you take a moment to take a deep breath before exiting the plane. The rest of the gang slips out of the vehicle too. 

"Gotta stop 'em... but so... tired..." Tails mutters. 

"Maybe there's a clue on the ground... the soft... soft... bed-like... ground..." Sonic drifts to lay down on the pristine white ground, only for Sticks to rapidly kick him on the back the second he got comfortable. 

"What?! What's wrong? Are we under attack?" He jumps up. He then remembered what was going on and yawned. "Oh, yeah..." 

"Eggman, you built that thing, how do we take it down?" Knuckles asks. 

"By activating two kill-switches at the same time! They're inside the lair! There! And there!" He points at the two switches. 

"Oh, come on..." Sonic whines. "Alright. Amy, Knuckles, Sticks, (Name), distract that metal monstrosity. Tails and I are on the kill-switches. Eggman, you'll have to show us how to activate 'em." 

"Wait, should we really give the most important jobs to the only two in our group about to collapse at any given momen-" you speak up, but get cut off. 

"Pre-mission group hug?" Amy asks. You recoil several feet back and forget what point you were trying to make. 

"No." Sonic refuses and dashes off to complete his mission. 

"Well, lets get to it then." You shrug and pull out two swords from their holsters. The others ready themselves as well. Knuckles raises his fists, Sticks pulls out her boomerang and Amy brings out her hammer. 

The four of you walk up to the massive red metal pile, which is quick to turn its attention to you. Obliteratorbot slices off part of the roof and jumps down from the building in front of the group. 

"I knew you were coming," Sticks growls, "but you will never obliterate Sticks! Because Sticks is unoblitr- unolib- unobliterilly-" she gives up after several tries. 

"You can't kill me," she declares. 

But none of you even get though chance to actually fight. The switches get taken care of faster than anticipated. Sonic rushes in out of nowhere and grabs a fallen piece of metal, knocking the bot's head off while yelling something incomprehensible. 

"I got my swords out for nothing," you mutter. They slide neatly back into their holsters and retreat into the small pocket dimension you pulled them from with a snap of your fingers. 

The lair explodes, triggered by the chemicals from Obliteratorbot's fuel. Eggman falls to his knees with a dramatic scream. 

"Eh, sucks for him." You shrug and walk off with a satisfied smile. 

Sonic speeds next to you with a grin and throws you a fist-bump. "Well said, snookums!" 

Your smile twitches. "I should've waited before putting my swords away." 

"Hah, you couldn't have laid a scratch on me anyway!" 

"Oh, really? Let's test that theory out then-" 

"Guys, stop fighting and let's just get out of here!" Tails shouts from his plane. 

The ride home goes smoothly and as a reward for a job well done, you all decide to treat yourselves by taking a moment to chill at the beach. All of you sit in the warm sand watching the orange sunset, chatting on and off casually, until someone interrupts the lovely moment. 

"Hey, fellas! As you know, my fortress is now a smoking ruin! So, I was wondering, maybe, if I could stay with you guys for a little while, just until its built back?" Eggman asks while settling down onto a beach chair. 

Sonic is quick to grab both the doctor and his bags, taking them right back to his lair. You decide to lay back in the sand lazily while he zooms back and forth before returning for good. 

"Do you think he's going to get lonely being there, all on his own with no home to go to?" Amy wonders out loud. 

"Oh, for sure. You should go and offer your therapy services to him, he seemed to really appreciate how caring you were," Sonic responds. 

"Great idea! I'll go and keep him company!" Amy claps her hands together before heading to the island. Either she was fully oblivious to the sarcasm or ignored it on purpose out of spite. 

Sonic stretches and happily sits down in the sand next to you. "Yo, snookums, still up for getting smoothies later?" 

He uses the dumb nickname again, but unlucky for him, you decided to join him in this stupid game. 

"Oh, of course, honey muffin." 

He sends a glare your way. 

You respond with a smirk. "But, are you sure you don't want to enjoy this newfound peace and quiet for a little longer while it lasts?" 

Sonic takes moment to think about it, then places his arms behind his head and lays down in the sand as well, enjoying the final rays of the setting sun. "Hm, well, I guess it wouldn't hurt." 

[veras1ne]

✮;༉“Slut Me Out.”

Hi doves! I hope you like my new theme <3 I’ve really been feeling the color purple lately but specifically a dullish purple! Swans are my everything though so they’re still here as always. Anyways, I have another Saw fic for you guys, the next fic I post will be Anakin Skywalker!

✰Pairing´ˎ˗📀: Amanda Young x Kramer!Male!Reader

✰ ‧₊˚ Summary 🦢: Amanda was having a very slow day, until you popped inside the workshop. It’s so distracting having such a beautiful enigma in front of you, but maybe a distraction is just what she needed to make her day go faster, her associates son.

✰ ;➛ WARNINGS🫧: THIS IS AN 18+ SMUT FANFIC WORK. I am NOT responsible for the media you read and consume! Your warnings are the following: Smut, Cunnilingus, Age Gap, PIV, Mild Degrading, Fucking On A Table,

Amanda was having a very slow day. John hadn’t given her any tasks, and yet she’d still been put on standby. With no current traps to build and not having to take care of John, she sat sketching out new ideas for future contraptions.

Every once in a while, she would tinker with some scrap pieces of junk that Hoffman had left out. It wasn’t unusual for her to experience one of these days, but what she wasn’t expecting was to see her associate's son, you, enter the workshop.

You weren’t too much younger than Amanda; you were in your twenties, and yet she still saw you as pure, untainted, and unknowing of the vile world. You were exceptionally talented in her eyes, possessing a natural talent for machinery and craftsmanship. The two of you had minimal interactions but were still friendly at that. In fact, you were the closest thing she had to a friend other than your father, John.

Your face held an open innocence and sincerity. You always treated her kindly, despite her less than flattering history with your father's work. If anything, Amanda liked your company, even if you were only around her to get your father a drink of water or his medication when he forgot to take it during the long mornings.

The more time you spent with each other, though, the more you seemed to gravitate towards her, asking John more questions about her and making up useless excuses to see her. You didn’t necessarily agree with your father's method of rehabilitation; in fact, you thought it was wildly distasteful and that his "apprentices" should never have had to become a part of his games, but nothing mattered when it came to Amanda.

It wasn’t like you’d never spoken to Mandy before, but something in your brain made it near impossible for you to even get full conversations out. You were so awkward and timid in every other way; your body language gave off the impression you wanted nothing to do with her, and your tendency to rant and babble made it even harder.Although if it were anyone else, she would have gotten frustrated, she kept a special place in her mind for you, reminding herself that she’s still human. Despite how hard it seemed to be, Amanda couldn’t bring herself to hate you for all the wrong reasons.

You were just too sweet for her to dislike you, and besides, you were a friend of hers and somebody she cherished.Your footsteps echoed as you walked into the cold, concrete room. The air around you was cold, but your body was warm, and your face was slightly flushed from the heat of the sun. You shivered as you crossed the floor. You had your hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket, looking at the ground in front of you as you passed through the room.

When you noticed Amanda sitting at a table with blueprints and metal, you stopped abruptly and gave a sheepish smile. “Hi Mandy.” Her head followed the sound first, her eyes still attentive to the sketches in front of her. She finally raised her head from the paper when you spoke again. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything." You rubbed the back of your neck as you apologized, looking away.

She sighed deeply before giving you a quick smile. “No, not at all. Take a seat if you’d like.” Her hair was up, her mid-length locks of brown hair being exchanged for a short, updo ponytail that was held up by a small clip. It hung loosely in front of her face, framing it perfectly. You sat down next to her, placing yourself directly across from her, your hands clasped together nervously in your lap, your eyes darting from side to side, trying to find something to focus on.

She placed her sketchbook and pencil on her lap. “What can I do for you, stranger?” Her lips curled in an awkward smile that quickly faded, huffing at her own humor. "I'm just trying to find something to do, really. I thought I’d come see my favorite girl.” You smiled, your gaze lingering on her face for a bit longer than necessary before you looked away. “That is so kind of you." She laughed lightly before continuing. “But really, I’m not doing much; John has Hoffman out finding some guy who stole medication from Homeward." Amanda picked up the piece of metal she had been working on and examined it closely before setting it back down on the table.

Your eyes lingered on her smile, a pink flush to your cheeks. “You know, it’s rude to stare at people.” Her voice was laced with lightheartedness, her tone teasing. A lump caught in your throat as you glanced back at her. “It’s just so hard not to stare when you’re so pretty, Amanda.” You leaned forward on your elbows, resting your chin in the palm of your hand.

Her cheeks turned a dark red, and her heart fluttered. Her mouth opened and closed silently. She shook her head softly and said, ‘no’, over and over until she broke the silence between the two of you. “I bet you think that I don’t see the way you stare at me or the way your eyes follow my movements; I see everything." She paused, her gaze locked on yours. “I know that you think of me at night, whenever you get lonely and need company.” She took a breath. “I can fix that." She leaned forward, her arms snaking up your shoulders and stripping you of your warm jacket. You didn’t protest, not even as her cold fingers slid over your skin. She pressed closer, letting her lips graze the shell of your ear. “Let me save you." She whispered against the skin of your ear before placing soft kisses along your jawline, trailing further down until she reached your neck. Your eyes drifted shut in pleasure as she pulled down the collar of your shirt and exposed the skin of your throat. Her lips traced circles around the sensitive spot as she kissed her way down your neck and chest. Amanda’s breathing quickened and her grip tightened as the woman continued to suck the tender flesh and leave marks along the sides of her neck. She gently bit your shoulder before running the tip of her tongue over it, causing you to let out a groan.

Amanda sucked harder, moving lower along the edge of your collarbone and then sucking gently into the hollow there. A whimper left you as she licked a circle around your clavicle, making your chest rise and fall quickly. Your hands clenched tightly into fists as you tried to hold back your moans. “I’ve wanted to make you mine since the day I met you. So pure and kind, what would John say if he saw his precious little boy being dumbed down to  nothing?" Her words made your breath hitch and your words slur. “Please, please. Please don’t stop; please make me feel good.” You begged in a whisper, biting your lip to keep from crying out.

The woman slowly moved upward, kissing along your cheek, down your jaw, across your neck, and finally settling down at your ear. “Anything for you, baby, but what can you do for me?” She took hold of your hands, dragging them slowly up her shirt, groping her boobs, and luring out a whine from her lips. Her chest was warm, making your hands hot and your face flush. Your hands moved down to her loose pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them to the floor. She began taking the rest of her clothes off, revealing her beautiful naked body, covered in goosebumps due to the sudden change in temperature. You grabbed hold of her bare ass, squeezing it softly, pulling it toward you, and rubbing her back, your nails scraping against her smooth skin.

She turned around, swiping everything off the table onto the floor with a large clatter and hopping onto the smooth, cold metal. Her legs wrapped around your waist, holding on tight. Your hands slid up and cupped her breasts, your thumbs massaging them. As you squeezed them slightly, you gasped. Her soft moans sent chills throughout your body. One of your hands traveled down to her thighs, spreading them and exposing her wet pussy.

Your thumb ran the length of her folds, stroking gently against her clit. She arched her back slightly, lifting her hips up and grinding into your touch as she dug her nails into the skin of your arms. Her moans were loud and desperate while your tongue made contact with her folds. She writhed against you, her back arching higher and higher into your touch as her breathing became more labored. “Oh god,” she panted, her fingers gripping your hair, pulling your head upwards, forcing your tongue deeper inside her, your hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her body closer to your mouth. Her fingernails raked your scalp as she squirmed beneath you, bucking her hips as hard as she could.

Her breath hitched and your name escaped her lips before she fell limp in your grasp, gasping harshly for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her body shaking violently. You continued to play with her, stroking the tip of her clit in circular motions, working her through her orgasm. She released a low moan as she came, her entire body shuddering as it worked its way down her body. As her eyes flickered open, they gazed at you with a mixture of lust, passion, and affection. "God, you’re so beautiful,” you breathed out to her as she straddled the table, reaching over and unbuckling your belt.

Her fingers pushed your trousers down, the fabric pooling at your ankles. With gentle fingers, she pushed your boxers down to your thighs, releasing your straining cock from the near-suffocating fabric. She lowered herself slowly over your dick, and you couldn’t help but gasp, your eyes closing involuntarily. “So tight,” you murmured breathlessly, pressing back against her, wanting more. She lifted herself up slightly, allowing you enough room.

She spread her lips wide as she let out a whimper. "God, your cock is so fucking big. I never knew you were such a disgusting little slut for me." Your eyes widened slightly, a small blush creeping across your cheeks as your face grew warmer. “I should’ve known you’d love to be degraded like this. You just love it, don’t you?” she smirked slyly, her husky voice dripping with lust as you ran your hand slowly up and down her stomach, caressing her soft breasts. She wrapped her legs around your waist, forcing your dick deeper inside of her, causing the both of you to let out a deep groan in sync, almost like two puzzle pieces that fit exactly together, your bodies merging and your souls becoming one. She let her head fall back against the metal, putting her arms behind her head as your thrusts quickened. Your teeth grazed her earlobe, nipping lightly as the coils in your stomach tightened. You tugged on her nipples, feeling the heat radiate between her thighs as you began slamming into her, giving her exactly what she desired.

You were in complete control of your body, and yet it felt as if she had taken over your mind, filling your thoughts with her and only her. You gripped her tighter, pumping faster and harder each time you slammed into her, leaving purple bruises as your hips snapped into her pelvic area, and sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. A moan slipped past your lips as Amanda’s grip on your dick tightened, her walls clenching around your cock.

You cried out her name loudly, burying your face into the crook of her neck, your lips trailing up towards her ear. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” She hummed, her voice muffled against your neck and collarbones while her hands found their way to your shoulders. "Mandy, please, I’m going to cum.” Your labored breathing made it hard to understand your words, and your stomach felt tight as your orgasm approached. “I want you to cum inside me; I want to be the one to claim you; taint your mind.” Her words pushed you to the edge, your warm cum spilling into her pussy, leaking out onto her inner thighs. Your body shook as you continued to pound into her, her own orgasm drawing close as you worked her to her second orgasm. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Such a good boy, doing all of this for me.” Her stomach snapped, her whines increasing in volume as her body shook uncontrollably, her cries mixing with your grunts.

Her nails dug into your back, her energy running out as she laid flat on the cool table, as opposed to the hot sweat on her body. Her breath was slow and steady as she came down from her high, her muscles relaxing as you finally stopped. You rested your forehead against hers, her hands resting on your shoulders, this time relaxed. “If I knew you could do that, I would’ve done this a lot sooner, kid.” She let out a huffed laugh. You smiled at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, placing a kiss on her forehead, and handing her your jacket to give her some form of protected modesty, even if you had just spent the last nearly thirty minutes pleasuring her. She slipped the jacket on and stood up, turning around to face you once again, leaning down, and kissing you deeply. “Let’s go get cleaned up; I don’t feel like staying sticky all day." You chuckled and nodded at her, slipping your hand into hers and lacing your fingers together as you headed to the door.

Your soft snores were all that were heard in your room as Mandy stroked her fingers through your hair. The sun filtered through the blinds and illuminated your sleeping figure. Large, heavy footsteps rang through the hallway as Amanda turned her head towards the sound of “Hi John.” She smiled and gave a little wave. “I welcome you into my home, give you refuge, and this is what I get in turn? This is a new low for you, Amanda.” John stated it blankly, looking away and walking away from the doorway. “New record, I guess.”

[anhed-nia]

HANDLING OF THE UNDEAD (Hanteringen av odöda)

There's a certain common experience of comic awkwardness--actually there's even a Mr. Show sketch about it, if I remember correctly--where, after bidding a sincere farewell to someone at the end of an enjoyable night out, you make the unfortunate realization that you're both walking the same way home. Emotionally you are both somewhere else now, "the night" is conceptually over, and now you're trapped together without a script. Although Thea Hvistendahl's feature debut HANDLING THE UNDEAD probably has nothing else in common with Mr. Show, they both ask this same basic question about closure and the persistence of the past. The film concerns three families of the recently re-animated; there's a sort of will they/won't they tension regarding the obvious question of whether these zombies will behave in the traditional manner, but the focus is more strongly on the emotional problem of accepting that things will never again be as they once were.

I think this film is really going to do it for modern horror fans who have come to expect direct explorations of tough topics like grief and trauma. For me personally, I found it highly competent, but a little flat; yes, it is sad, it is VERY sad, it is VERY, VERY SAD, and what more can one really expect? At my screening director Hvistendahl was available for questions, and she candidly confessed that she didn't have any personal experiences with grief to which she could refer--a fact that had no impact on the amount of sniffling in the audience. She inherited the project from others, after a few false starts over the last decade; it is adapted from a novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist, better known for LET THE RIGHT ONE IN, and the writer really did have a powerful reference point for grief. According to Hvistendahl his father was literally defaced in a hideous boating accident and, despite the warnings of morgue workers, he insisted on viewing the body. The filmmaker says that her own reference points lay outside her life; that she drew inspiration from others who'd had closer encounters with death.

Personally, I started thinking about people I've known who died early in the film, and then I just couldn't stop. I wondered what would happen if various people came back. The basic assumption might be that it's usually desirable to have somebody back, if you missed them. But I feel like things are likely to be more complicated, especially if the living have already gone some distance through the grieving process--potentially accessing feelings that were too hard to face during the deceased's lifetime.

I thought about a much-admired friend, somebody who was kind of my hero and who was adored by everyone who knew her, who killed herself. The main initial reaction among her closest loved ones was rage. People were so, SO angry with her for leaving them, or not allowing them to save her, or maybe for forcing them to feel as sad and lonely as she felt, or for whatever other things seem to piss people off so much about suicide. I don't know what would happen if she came back to life. I mean probably a lot of people would lay down their arms and try to be grateful, but who knows. That kind of really personal anger can be hard to come back from.

I also thought about a couple I know well, the wife was extremely well-loved by many people, all of whom were devastated when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The painful, protracted illness made the loss all the more awful, and it fell to her surviving family members to preserve and sort of reenact her memory for everyone else. But the reality was that things were not so perfect at home--not to suggest anything really dark, but the couple would have been divorced had she survived. So then she died and her widower was left holding the proverbial bag; he could never have the personal satisfaction of separating from someone who was not right for him, and criticizing her would be unthinkable. If she came back to life...sure, they might divorce, but it's just as likely that he would suffer public pressure to honor and keep her in a more extreme way than usual for the rest of his life.

Finally I thought about a friend of mine who was murdered. I watch a lot of slasher movies, and whenever I hear the criticism that horror lovers must all be desensitized or delusional about real violence, I think about this person who was senselessly killed by a random psychopath at her sister's wedding. It shattered our circle of friends and I cannot imagine what it did to her family, especially her sister. I mean even if they were to do another wedding, it would be impossible not to think of the murder the second time. It would be permanently associated with the new couple. It's hard to even wrap your mind around all the effects of this event. In this case--setting aside the problems of zombies, which I have left out of my meditation--I can only think that having my friend back really would fix things for everyone.

So maybe ultimately I'm saying that HANDLING THE UNDEAD would be a more interesting movie if the losses in it were a bit more complicated in some way. However, I can't ask one film to be all things to all people, and surprise is a particularly difficult thing to achieve. But if you like John Ajvide Lindqvist and you want to be surprised, I strongly advise you to watch BORDER. You will see some stuff in there that you will never see anywhere else in your life, and it probably won't bum you out too much.

[isekai-man]

That Time I Became Someone Else

When my out of body experience started to become transmigration, I could see the back of my future body like this:

You might think this looks like a Facebook avatar, but I assure you that is pure coincidence. Anyway, I could sense the person I was going to become, but they seemed like a souless shell full of memories, more like a host body than a person (dude was dealing with a serious depression), he was like a Facebook page full of posts I was about to inherit. [...but I'm pretty sure I had never even heard of Facebook, you won't get a penny out of me, Fuckerberg!]

Anyway, as the memories started to fill my mind they became invasive and it started to feel more like this:

It didn't look like that, but it felt like that. I was being railroaded and I couldn't stop, there was only one way to go. It got real creepy real quick. [Please ignore the alien language at the bottom of this original art which I, yes I, myself, just made (with the assistance of someone's possibly evil supercomputer).]

Then it's started to feel like this:

If you've ever felt like that you know there is fuck all you can do about it. At that point I was just struggling to hold on to my last and most important memory.

It got extremely invasive.

Then I became the guy who was here before me and I couldn't remember anything about who I was before that, except that I was definitely somebody else just a moment ago and had just forgotten something extremely important.

[That's not my work, that's Satou Kazuma from Konosuba. I just thought it might be appropriate.]

Here was my initial sketch I was going to work with to make the art for this post, but I thought the Kirlian effect was good enough to portray a sense of brainwaves and intelligence transference, and the Polaroid memories were kinda tacky and not really accurate because I don't recall what specific memories were overwhelming me, it was more like information overload.

I was going to not post that since I'm slightly embarrassed about using porn images in the Polaroids, but then I figured if I got embarrassed about that I would never become a harem protagonist, so I absolutely had to post it, because superstition.

And that's how I became who I am today.

[Do not try this at home. Results may vary.]

[fresh-widow]

No Thank You, Narcissus

I have told Margaret so many times, I do not want narcissus bulbs, but she gave them to me again, just like she does every fucking year. I do not like narcissus bulbs and she is so fucking self-absorbed. Margaret is queen and the queen is all about her, gives all her white privileged asshole boring friends narcissus bulbs and I’m just one of her paper whites. Paper whites being the common name given to narcissus bulbs given by narcissists queens to their pathetic subjects for the past ten thousand years. She’s dumped them on me 4 or 5 times already and I’ve killed them all.

I went to a dinner party of hers a couple months ago and there I met all of her friends and they were all very boring self absorbed people. Margaret is skin flint cheap. She served us chicken, although I’ve told her so many times that fowl is the one thing I will never eat.

Being a widow and said artist, Margaret calls me regularly whereas everyone else I know is up to their ears in boyfriends husbands and children and that is the only reason why I put up with her. But I don’t invite her into my house at all and I go out and meet her when I want to go out someplace but fuck I think I’d rather go out someplace by myself because last night I brought my sketchbook and I just couldn’t sketch because she was just vampiring off of my energy, Not listening to a word I said just telling me the same thought chain she’s had in her head for two years. I try not to burn bridges in my old age and Margaret hasn’t done anything to me personally but I just want to avoid her. European people are not as neurotic like they are in America, in this country everybody is a bag of worms. We just don’t know what you’re dealing with, nearly everybody’s possessed. Messing around with people from this country is like opening up a bag of worms.

But yeah I have to completely minimize hanging out with her. It’s like hanging out with a tick. And she supposed to be an artist and I’ve been trying to her to get To make art for decades and she’s just a drone ass motherfucker. Boring as shit. Consume consume consume energy vampire. I have to find a creative circle of people that’s what I’m going to do. Catholics are problematic I find in general and Margaret is raised Catholic and if anybody raised Catholic still embodies any Catholicism at all I hate them. I have rejected all the bullshit from Catholicism for the most part and if people are like prudish about sex I’m like fuck you. Stop whining like a virgin.

I know am mildly socially retarded and don’t attract tons of friends. But that’s fine I’m not here to make friends, I like making art. Just have to check my own codependency and not respond to bullshit at all ever which means I won’t be talking to Margaret. I know it’s not OK to act happy and nice all the time but I default to it because I just want people to stay the fuck away from me and get away from me as soon as possible without argument. In this country and especially in California I find I am surrounded by neurotic people And I do not want to prick their balloon of trauma or whatever, it is a mess.

I’m going to give away the narcissus bulbs on the fb page.Any narcissists out there who would like some narcissus bulbs?

I do say no all the time, but a narcissist just can not hear the word no!

Anyway my New Year’s resolution is to hang out with somebody else. A fresh bag of worms so to speak ha ha.

[normally-alexis]

||Choked up

Pairings - Wilbur x Reader

Warnings - Heavily implied NSFW, Gore-related topics, knife kinks, spitting kink, Pain kink.

Summary - Nights before L'manburg was destroyed and Wilbur went insane you meet up with him and stay over.

Word Count: 1927

L'manburg was pretty much peaceful even though Dream and everybody else didn't want it on the server. It wasn't really bothering anybody so far even though some people, it's mainly just a place to get out of the tough rules of the smp.

You hadn't got into much trouble since you were partially on dream smp's side even though you switch sides pretty often. Whichever side would win you would switch to that side because you didn't want to pick sides you'd be a villain in either's eyes.

Hanging out with Tommy was fun even though he was three years younger than you. It wasn't weird since you both had a strong relationship with Wilbur and Philza. Philza was a father figure to all of you even though you weren't in the slightest related.

Growing up with Wilbur and Techno as best friends was pretty amazing, they taught you a few things throughout your teenage years. Philza before adopting Tommy was nicer to the three of you manly you and Techno.

Being the only female was different, you didn't have special perks as a kid, you were treated like a boy just with fewer responsibilities. Thinking back from when you were a kid towards now it was very rare for people to have kids on the smp. People just adopted children when you think about it.

Techno wasn't really in the Dream smp anymore he was with Philza somewhere out there. Tommy and Tubbo were kids and nobody really wanted them to do anything, they were still sorta young so they just joined L'manburg.

Nothing to stress about at the moment, still being one of the youngest adults of the smp gave you very few privileges. You had to take advantage of them while they lasted at the moment. Since it wasn't safe to live in L'manburg or on the Dream smp you had a bunker underground.

Why wasn't it safe? Anybody who picks sides cannot change that side, if you were on L'manburg's side you would be a big target considering you did have a private association with Dream.

You were underground sorting out some armor and some blueprints, you always have to move a lot if anybody ever saw you so why not be prepared? You kept sketching and erasing multiple times until you age up and burnt it.

The smoke was pretty bad to inhale so you move to an area where there wasn't much smoke at. It's pretty much clouding up the bunker and you start coughing, it's not that bad so you grab a potion and throw it on the burning blueprints.

It's not clouded up anymore even though you could have let it burn out. You drop your armor and weapons on the ground because you wouldn't be needing it at the moment. making your way over to your seat you sit down and look at all the notes in your notebook.

Flipping through the pages seeing if you found any notes you probably had written but most likely forgot were noted down. You stop at a page because it wasn't remembered from last time, it's a note from an anonymous person saying to come to the back of L'manburg.

You look back to see if anybody's there even though there's clearly nobody there. It must have been written early when you had left out. You push your chair out and then stand up, You take a moment and hesitate to think if you should do it or not.

It's a win and lose situation but what's life without a few risks? You leave from the seating of the area and walk over towards the ladder. Before climbing up the ladder you turn the lights off not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

You grab onto the ladder and push yourself up placing your legs on the ladder, you climb up the ladder. Once you reach the top you push the top open and the trap door was forced open, you place one hand on the ground and place another hand on the ground.

You push yourself up and get on the top of the surface part of the ground. You take a small breathe and close the top. You push yourself up from off of the ground, you knew where L'manburg was since it was a pretty often visit.

You move throughout all the leaves and in vines, it's pretty normal to walk through it all. A few thoughts crossed your mind thinking about it, Dream wouldn't try contacting you that way he'd just catch you in the middle of the Dream smp and pull you to the side.

Thinking about meeting in L'manburg it would only be Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, Eret, Fundy, or Niki. It's not really Important who invited you but you really did want to know. You walk over to the area of the Dream smp and pass Tommy's house. It's pretty abandoned but you didn't bother starring at it too long.

You walk past it and walk towards the bridge that usually leads to L'manburg, you stop for a moment and hear a singing noise. It's not anywhere in sight per say but it's loud enough to hear. It's within the walls beside you and you put your ear on the wall.

It's more of a humming sound, you remove your ear from the wall and roam your hands along it. You hit a button along the wall not surprised but the wall opens up and the humming is more clear.

You enter inside of the cobblestone room not really expecting anything. The floor made a little sound when you entered inside of the room. You look on the ground and there's a few blood clots on the floor and some guts along with it.

You cover your mouth backing yourself backing into the corner. You sorta had a dislike of blood, not Hemophobia but it wasn't your favorite to be in a room filled with something dead. You look up and see Wilbur finishing cutting something up.

He already heard you since you had entered the room. He turns around and removes his gloves which were stained with blood. It's not a human thankfully but it's a dead animal, still very uncomfortable in this situation.

Wilbur looks up at you not very surprised  up at the moment, " What's wrong?" The whole display itself was wrong. You uncover your mouth smelling all the disgusting rotting corpses, "You're killing animals and letting them rot," How is he not disgusted? You roam around the room seeing more dead animals.

Wilbur tries explaining himself while coming towards you, but you get very distracted by all the blood splatter on the ground and much more graphic stuff. You weren't looking at him meaning that he knew your attention wasn't on his apology.

He grabs your hair and tugs on it making you shift your attention at him. Pulling and tugging on your hair really hurt because it's like being forced by Wilbur. As tough as you seemed whenever you had armor on being without armor is a completely different story.

"What's wrong tell me, you had a lot of nerve coming from somebody who would fuck literally anybody attractive enough," It's very weak of you to get degraded by somebody who doesn't even know how to defend himself.

"Or anybody who even found you attractive," You knew your worth but whenever somebody tells you something about criticizing yourself you'd just believe it and fix yourself. Was he right? You can't answer that yourself.

You had gone pretty silent and it causes Wilbur to get more aggressive with you. He knees your in your stomach not damaging your internal organs but it just made you feel weak and you tremble on your knees.

You grip onto your stomach squeezing it together, He's treating you like complete shit. He stops kneeing you and he pinches your cheek practically teasing you. You weren't even supposed to be meeting Wilbur at the moment.

Responding would get you in trouble and not responding would get you in more trouble. He's very agitated at the moment and he grabs the pocket knife from his pocket putting it towards your thigh.

"Can I Carve our Initials on your thigh," He asks you, You weren't too fond of punishment but you did like the attention being craved. You nod your head slightly and he removes his hand from your hair.

He grabs onto your thigh and you fall down stinging your back. He slowly starts carving your initials on your thigh, you don't make the loud noises you want to because he'll just end up cursing you out.

You wanted to curse so badly even though you liked it when he inflicted the pain, But why was it only acceptable when he did it. He was only done carving the 'W' halfway, you flinch and he messes up.

It a swerved 'W' and it looks very crossed out, He's upset with you and gets up from squatting. You try communicating with him, "Wilbur?" He's not necessarily listening to blocking out the thoughts.

He puts his foot in between your legs pushing it further near your shorts, His shoes against your clit. You can't tell what his original thoughts are, before you can even react he kicks you in your side. You fall on your face gripping onto your lower half, it's like a period without the loose blood clots.

He squats down and grabs onto your hair pulling you up making you look up at him, "Such a slut aren't you darling?" He spits on your face and it drips off of your face on the ground, is this really who you were such a despite slut that you would let a man do this to you?

Most definitely, you try smiling at him but it's a half-smile since you were in pain. "You holding up good slut?" He asks while looking you in your eyes, you nod as a response and try getting off of your sides.

You weren't damaged that badly you could always heal from it... He lets go of your hair once you were stable enough to stay on your knees. He takes his belt off and takes his pants down, he places the belt around your neck and ties it.

He takes his boxers off and grabs his dick which was already erected due to sadism. "C'mon slut, suck," He tugs on the end of the belt and you put your mouth on his dick, following rules in such a bad position in your life. Never would you have thought you would be sucking off Wilbur..

You take it slow at first not wanting to rush it since you weren't experienced as much, you mainly focus on the tip of his cock and rub your tongue over and over on his slit. Whenever he feels like he would release something he tugged on the belt making you gag on him.

It was hard to take him and focus on not being choked up by his belt, He's not the strongest of keeping his moans in. He climaxes inside of your mouth and some gets on your cheek, He wipes the semen off of your face.

"Is this okay darling?" he kisses your cheek and helps you clean yourself up, at least he did aftercare..

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,�� Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

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[mochegato]

Jasonette Protection Program

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Marinette pulled her coat closer around her as she made her way from the bus stop to her apartment.  She had made the brilliant decision when she moved here not to get a car because… Gotham.  The likelihood that it would get damaged or destroyed in some kind of attack was ridiculously high.  The likelihood the bus would get blown up or taken over, while definitely still present, was significantly lower.

But today she was regretting that decision.  It meant she couldn’t isolate herself like she wanted to.  It meant she was exposed to anybody and everybody at the bus stop and on the bus and on the sidewalk and any one of them could have been the one to drug her.  She eyed the people around her as she walked.  Okay, maybe not the woman who looked like she was in her 90’s and could barely walk… and dropped her knitting out of her bag.

Marinette rushed over to her and paused right before reaching her. She twirled around and scanned the faces around her.  She could feel somebody watching her.  She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her every move.  She studied the shadows and the windows, but couldn’t find anyone watching her.  She frowned slightly and shook her head.  She was getting paranoid.  She was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there.  

She sighed and turned back to the woman, crouching down to help her put her knitting back in her bag.  The woman smiled in appreciation, which Marinette returned with a shaky one of her own.  She walked the remaining few feet to her apartment building and took a cautious look up and down the dark street before turning into it.  She made sure she heard the click of the door latching before continuing up the stairs, not that it would do anything.  Logically she knew that, but her anxiety still demanded it.

She kept her eyes on the stairwell as she made her way up to her apartment on the top floor, eyes hyper vigilant for any movement, her ears hyper sensitive to any sounds from the stairs.  She got to her floor and paused for a few moments waiting to see if any sounds or movement indicated someone behind her.  She let out a relieved sigh when there was no noise and turned to her apartment before letting out a muffled screech.

Jason jumped, dropping his phone he had been scrolling on, in his rush to hold up his hands in a placating motion.  “Just me.  It’s okay. It’s just me.”  He watched her for a few seconds.  She was starting to breathe hard, her eyes were boring into him. “Although I just realized you may not remember me.  So this was actually an incredibly stupid plan.”  He took a few steps away from her door, his hands still held up to let her know he wasn’t a threat.

Marinette continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, forcing her breathing to slow.  “You… you’re Tim’s brother, right?  You… you were…” she squinted at him, “you were in my bedroom?”

Jason grimaced and looked down to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah… that doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

She eyed him suspiciously.  “What are you doing here?”  

He perked up slightly and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing today.  It can hit a day or a few days later sometimes.  And I’m a security expert.  I consult on it for people and companies.  I wanted to offer to check your security for you so you’d feel safe, at least when you’re at home.”  He turned to her door and knocked on the doorframe.  “I can already tell that you need better locks.  I could have broken in easily, but I didn’t think you would appreciate finding me in your apartment.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let out a quiet chuckle and looked away after a few seconds.  “You would be right.”  She looked back up at him and tentatively walked over closer to her door.  “But, I don’t think I can afford to hire you.”

Jason waved off her concern.  “I wouldn’t let you.  I’d charge Tim for it.  He can afford it and he’s worried enough that I’m actually kind of surprised he hasn’t contacted me already, but I suppose that has something to do with him not wanting you to meet me in the first place.”

Marinette quirked her lips to the side and studied him.  The longer she watched and talked to him the more memories came back and the clearer they became.  She was slowly starting to get bits and pieces of the night before, not enough to create a coherent picture, just incredibly short scenes, a word here, a smile there.  Regardless of what she could remember though, this was Tim’s brother and although Tim didn’t want them to meet, he trusted him, not that she would ever be allowed to say that out loud to either of them.  

She finally nodded and pulled out her keys.  “Well, I can at least offer you dinner while you’re here. If you’d like.”  She gave him a small smile as she passed him into the apartment taking off her coat and dropping her bag on the small dining room table.

Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise.  After the way she had reacted when she saw him, he honestly didn’t think she would talk to him let alone let him into her apartment.  He was starting to understand how she could have gotten drugged so easily if she was that trusting.  But then again, Tim had said they all were being careful. Her even more so than the others. So why was she so trusting now?  “I would never turn down free food,” he said slowly.

He closed the door behind him with a quick glance at the inside part of the lock, confirming his original suspicions.  Standard issue, not particularly secure.  He could have picked it in all of three minutes when he was only eight.  He didn’t have to lean down to study the doorknob to know it was in worse condition. One good kick and the door would be wide open.  He sighed. If anyone wanted to get into her apartment, it wouldn’t take them very much effort.

He turned back to the apartment, letting his frown morph into a smile.  Her apartment was cozy and lived in and very much her.  There were touches of her everywhere along with some touches that he wouldn’t have expected.  He shook his head at the condition of the apartment.  It wasn’t terribly messy but it also wouldn’t count as anything close to clean.  He could see why she and Tim got along so well.  Neither could clean up after themselves to save their lives.  

There were bits of fabric and half completed sewing projects scattered around along with random pages of scientific reports.  He raised an eyebrow at that.  Odd combination.  His eyes caught on men’s shoes by the door.  He scrunched his forehead in confusion.  If she lived with someone, where were they?  Where were they last night?  Why hadn’t Tim mentioned him?  “You live with someone?  A boyfriend?”

Marinette looked up from the refrigerator.  “No.  Well, yes, but no.  I live with my best friend,” she explained quickly, “but he’s visiting friends this week.”

Jason nodded.  That was good at least.  She wasn’t living alone.  There was someone else with her usually.  That makes it less likely someone could just break in and attack her.  He moved over to the window and sighed again, more deeply this time.  It was worse than the door.  “No curtains. You should probably get some, preferably lined ones.  This lock is ancient too.  It wouldn’t take much to jimmy it.  We’ll get you new locks for your windows and your door.”

Marinette looked at him wide eyed as she set a bunch of grapes and a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator on the counter.  She hadn’t been expecting the locks to be that bad.  She knew it wasn’t amazing, but then again, she hadn’t really been too concerned about being specifically targeted here.  Nobody really knew who she was, or rather used to be.  She was just an average citizen here.  

She stared at the window for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side and her eyes unfocusing as her mind wandered through the possibilities of what could have happened and what still could.  She was no longer safe, not even in her own home.  But then again, she never really had been had she?  She had just thought she was.  She thought she was safer after they’d defeated Hawkmoth, but she’d just traded one danger for another.

Jason watched as her face morphed from one expression to another, her eyes distant.  Her face clearly displaying each and every emotion she was going through, no matter how flitting.  Jason could guess where her head went.  When her eyes started shimmering, he opened his mouth to bring her out of it when her phone rang.  She jerked back violently, knocking over the jug of water.  

She cursed as she tried to stop the jug’s descent only to knock it further away, further spreading the water.  She gave a defeated groan and grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer to start sopping up the water.  Jason jumped to grab a few more towels to help.  It took a few minutes, but they were finally able to clean up the water with a minimum of damage to papers left on the counter.  Luckily, none of Marinette’s sketches were on the island anymore but Adrien was definitely going to have to reprint some of his papers for research.

Marinette gave Jason an appreciative smile and threw the papers in recycling and the towels in the sink.  She let out a deep frustrated sigh as she leaned against the counter.  After a few seconds, she ran her hands through her hair and laughed.  Jason frowned at the sound.  It was short and mirthless and sounded utterly wrong coming from her.  He could see her starting to spin but didn’t know her well enough to know how to help.  God, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Jason very slowly started reaching for her so she could see his hands coming.  Shen she didn’t shy away, he set a hand on her arm to ground her.  She looked up into his eyes, panicked eyes meeting concerned eyes. They both jumped when her phone started ringing again.  They both chuckled quietly at their reactions.  

“Sorry…” she started but was cut off by another ring.  She shook her head at herself.  She hadn’t even noticed the original call had dropped.  She checked the caller id and smiled at the phone. “Hey Tim.”  She paused to listen to him.  “No, I’m fine.  I just… I knocked something over and was cleaning it.  Sorry for scaring you.”

She gave Jason an apologetic smile as she listened to Tim.  “I’m doing okay, I guess.  I think I’m just jumpy… and getting paranoid.  I could have sworn someone was watching me walk home, but when I looked nobody was around or rather nobody was paying attention to me.” She missed the slight grimace Jason shot toward the floor.  “No, thank you though.  Actually, your brother is here already.”  She smiled at Jason again and put Tim on speaker.  

“…that so.  That’s very thoughtful of him,” Tim quipped in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, he’s checking my locks,” Marinette continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in his voice, or attributing it to his concern.  “Apparently my door and window locks are pretty bad,” Marinette frowned at the thought.

“Uh huh.  Well it’s just so great that he came over then,” Tim gritted out.

Marinette did a double take when Jason’s phone dinged repeatedly with an extended series of text notifications.  She blinked at it a few times before looking questioningly at Jason. He rolled his eyes and turned his phone off.  He met her eyes with a shrug and a wink as he sat at her island.

“Tell him I say hi and remind him he has plans with Bruce soon,” Tim continued tightly.

Jason huffed.  “Tell him to tell B, I'm not going on patrol until Demon Spawn calms down.  And tell him I’m sending him the bill for this.”  He motioned vaguely around them.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim conceded easily before his voice turned harsh again, “And tell him…”

“You two do realize you can hear each other and you two both know you can hear each other and I know you can hear each other and I’m not an owl!” Marinette admonished them sharply.

The room was silent for a few seconds before Tim started chuckling.  “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Harry.”  She nodded at the phone even though he couldn’t see her.

“Hey!  That makes me Ron?  What the fuck?” Jason objected raising up from his seat in offense.

“Oh come on, you’d look good with red hair,” Marinette teased him lightly.

“You better fucking not be Ron,” Tim growled.   “You’re more like Draco anyway,” he continued flippantly.

“Fuck you, Pretender,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, this is making me feel better,” Marinette sighed, leaning against the counter.

There was a guilty pause as the men took in her words.  “Sorry,” Jason finally spoke up after a while.

“What?”  Marinette gave him a curious look until realization set in.  “Oh!  No, I was serious.  You two remind me of my friends.  It feels comforting, normal.”

Tim waited a second before speaking up cautiously. “So… you’re okay for tonight?  You feel safe?”

Marinette smiled at the phone again.  “Yeah, Tim.  I’m okay.  Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course.  Let me know if that changes.  I’ll be over in three minutes flat,” he promised.

Marinette grinned mischievously.  “Do I get a free pizza if you take longer?”

Tim huffed out a laugh.  “Absolutely.”

“Sweet.  I might test it just for that,” she teased him.  “Night, Tim.”

“Night.  And tell Jason to turn his phone back on before I do it for him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Still not an owl,” she singsonged before she hung up.  She looked over to Jason with a concerned smile. “Do you have to go?  It sounded like you already had plans?”

Jason waved her off and took the battery out of his phone before leaning against the counter near her.  “I have plenty of time.  Like I said, if I show up now De… Damian is going to attack me.” Marinette’s eyes widened in concern but Jason waved her off again.  “It’s fine. He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but Bruce would yell at me for it and Dick would give me his disappointed in you lecture.  It’s better for everyone if I stay away for a few days.”  

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim just doesn’t want me stealing his friend away with my superior looks and charm.”

Marinette scowled lightly at him.  “Tim is very handsome and charming,” she insisted defensively.

Jason shot her a devilish smile.  “But not as much as me, right?”

Marinette scoffed at him and rolled her eyes.  “You certainly seem to think so.”  She rinsed some grapes and set them in a bowl between the two of them. “But he’s the only reason you’re here right now.  If you weren’t Tim’s brother and we hadn’t met last night when you were fairly respectful of me in my… state…”

“Fairly!?” Jason squawked.

“I’d have called, well, not the cops, but Tim, to take care of you,” she continued over him.  She grabbed a grape and chewed on it while she watched him appraisingly as she leaned back against the counter opposite him.  “Do you make a habit of stealing his friends?”

Jason shrugged and grabbed a few grapes.  “No, we generally move in different…” he searched for a nice way to phrase it, “circles.”

She hummed in response.  “And yet here you are, willingly entering in a circle with one of his friends.” She eyed him pointedly.  She quickly broke their eye contact to look down and cross her arms over her chest protectively.  “Thank you for breaking into this particular circle to help me out. Last night spooked me more than I want to admit.”

“Did you want to talk about it?  Or pretend like it never happened.  I can help with either,” Jason offered.

Marinette stared at the grapes for a while without talking. Jason was certain she was about to start spiraling again when she spoke up quietly.  “I was keeping an eye on my drinks.  I only took my eyes off of them when I was around people I trusted and we weren’t exactly close to other people for someone to just slip something in.”  She frowned and looked at nothing in particular. She poured herself a glass of water and held the rim of the glass against her lips without drinking it as she remembered the night before.  “I don’t know which scares me more, that someone was that good to get it in with all of us there or…”

“That one of the people you trust might be responsible,” Jason finished for her after a few seconds of silence.  When she looked up to meet her eyes, she looked so shaken and uncertain, he wanted to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug, but after the night before, he wasn’t sure a virtual stranger’s embrace would be the most reassuring.  He settled for moving to lean against the counter next to her so their arms were almost touching, but she still had her personal space.

“Yeah,” she said wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms.  

“You think you were the intended victim?” he asked curiously.  He and Tim had already discussed the night and decided that she had to be, but he was curious what her thoughts were.  “You don’t think it was just opportunistic.  You think whoever was with targeting you.”

She shook her head and looked down, frowning at the floor.  She gripped her arms tighter.  “I don’t know.  I was never alone and I only drank with my friends at our own table away from other people.  I mean someone at the bar could have drugged it before it was brought over when the waitress brought drinks but…”

“How would they know who it would go to,” Jason finished again.  “Seems unlikely they’d risk the drug like that if they didn’t know who it would go to. If they didn’t have a plan to get the person out.”

Marinette looked up at him anxiously and nodded.  She studied him for a few more seconds before she shook herself out of her daze.  She looked up at him with a fake smile.  “So what are you feeling for dinner?  I can make some pasta.  I can do stir fry.  I can whip up a casserole.  What do you want?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you feel like having tonight,” he assured her with a smile.

“I don’t… really… feel like eating,” she mumbled, looking away again. “This is more something for me to focus on instead of last night.”

Jason gave her a gentle smile and lowered himself to her level, trying to gain her attention.  “Look, I know you don’t know me but why don’t we order take out and we can watch a movie, or if you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she answered quickly, instantly looking over to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

Jason nodded slowly and gave her a gentle smile.  He rested his hands lightly on her arms to reassure her he was there and not going anywhere unless she wanted him to.  “That’s understandable.  I wouldn’t want to be either.  Do you want me to call Tim over?  I know you probably feel safer with him and when he can’t be here in three minutes, you get a pizza.”

She gave him a wan smile.  “No, I trust you.  And I’m not really feeling pizza right now.”

Jason smiled back.  “I want to joke and say that’s a terrible decision, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.” She gave him a deadpan look that made his grin widen.  “I’ll save that for later,” he finished with a wink. His expression quickly turned serious as he watched her.  “You should eat though.  What kind of food do you want to try?  There’s a good Indian restaurant around the corner.”

She looked away.  “I don’t want to order out.  I don’t want food that I…”

Jason nodded and moved closer again.  “Yeah, that’s reasonable.  Let’s make something together, yeah?  I saw some eggs and milk in your refrigerator and there’s bread on the counter.  How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?  French toast sound good?  I think you call it Lost Bread?  And how do you feel about Clueless?”

“The movie?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.”

“Fan of Alicia Silverstone or Jane Austen?” she teased weakly.

“Both,” Jason answered with a wink.

Marinette snickered and nodded.  “That all sounds amazing.”  She moved away to start getting the pan and bowls out, watching him while he got the ingredients prepared.  “Thank you, Jason.  You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No problem.  We’ll get things figured out so you can feel safe, or at least as safe as you can feel in Gotham,” he assured her, and himself.  They were going to find who drugged her and make her feel safe again.  Whoever it was messed with one of Tim’s friends, one of the few he really trusted, that means whoever it was messed with his family and nobody messed with their family.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @demonicbusiness @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @jayjayspixiepop

[brawltogethernow]

Very good advice you had re: writing more succinctly. A related problem—some scenes are blow-by-blow, some events are vague in passing. Transitioning from scenes with less detail > more detail is easy but knowing when /how to drop it and go back is SO hard for me. any advice on that?

Thank you! It sounds like I'm your polar opposite here, so I'm not qualified to tell you how to tackle this. I'm gonna throw some guesses anyway but I'm just saying.

You could probably train yourself up on managing this with a writing exercise too - I'm making this up on the spot, but maybe take an exhaustingly layed out scene you've written (or written by somebody else!) and rewrite it zoomed out a level, and then another level, and so on until the whole thing is brushed past e.g. "One Fall, he fell in love." Just to familiarize yourself with the tools available to you in a deliberate manner/practice the "how" part. Practice sketches and technical exercises are not heavily associated with being a writer, but they're useful.

I'm hesitant to advise you to stop before writing a very zoomed in scene and interrogate what the benefits of keeping the camera so close are going to be, because for me places where I didn't think there was anything to say tend to be ~where the magic happens~, buuuut. Maybe you need to do that. Everybody's writing process needs different maintenance, which is why so much writing advice from successful authors sucks.

That established, maybe pause periodically as you're going to check whether the amount of effort you're exerting on detail is rewarding or not. You are a limited resource and you gotta optimize how you expend yourself. Similarly, and often contestingly, your readers are finite mortals bargaining a precious fragment of their lifespan on your implicit promise your story will have an enjoyable ebb and flow. (Page counts are also theoretically finite, which if you publish exclusively online it can be helpful to remember for the purpose of keeping yourself civilized and breaking conventions with purpose.) If you shift gears to hit only the key notes of the next scene, will you mourn what you left out later? Will your story be worse? Or not so much? If it's the latter why NOT do less?

Horribly, planning in advance so you're following a preexisting roadmap while writing can really help with that kind of question. (This is also something everybody does differently while regarding others' processes with baffled disgust. Trial and error is key. I am very sorry.)

I'm way less twitchy about suggesting shaking down a scene demanding to know what it's done for you lately after it's written, while you're editing. If the answer is "nothing" it's time to get the gun. (The gun is copy-pasting deleted text to a word document of ephemera.) But like, is this paragraph forwarding the reader's understanding of the plot, a relationship, worldbuilding, characterization, story aesthetic? It's probably doing at least one of these things, in which case the best path may be to combine it with a planned or existing scene. Plot threads get stronger if you twist them together into a plot rope. Turning the...fibers of ideas into...the cable that is your story. ...It's 3 a.m. as I'm writing this. AHEM, anyway. I'm a proponent of writing dense over writing vague (which is probably why I'm tired all the time; see previous point RE: resources): If you spilled out a whole bunch of details, they're probably there for some reason. ...Unless they really aren't?? In which case train yourself to notice when you're writing empty air and stopping.

All that said, once they're invested people like details, and if readers weren't resilient to suboptimal pacing people couldn't read webcomics update by update, so don't sweat it too much.

[dreamwraith]

Teleport

Summary: Danny finally learned how to teleport, but where is the 'off' switch? Pairings: Hints of Sam crushing on Danny Warnings: Danny accidentally teleports into the girl’s locker room, but only for a few seconds; he’s as startled as they are. Danny and Tucker have a no-homo thing going on, they should probably just hug it out already.

On Ao3

-

"Hey! Sam! Sam, wait up!"

Sam glanced over her shoulder. When she saw Tucker chasing after her with an anxious look on his face, she stopped walking down the sidewalk. Tucker was able to reach her in no time, but he had to bend over and gulp in large breaths afterward.

"Something wrong, Tucker?" she asked after giving him a few seconds to catch his breath. "I thought I was meeting you and Danny at school today?"

"Well, yeah," Tucker panted, "that was the plan, but…Have you seen Danny?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. Why? Did something happen? Is he in trouble?"

Tucker waved his hand, chuckling between gasps. "No…well, yes…well, kind of…"

"Tucker…"

"No, he isn't in any real danger. Yes, his secret may be in jeopardy."

Sam widened her eyes. "His secret might be in what? What happened exactly?"

Tucker stood up straight, using his beret to wipe his sweaty forehead. "Well, this morning, while Danny and I were walking to school, he had a breakthrough on teleporting. He practiced it a couple times by teleporting up and down the sidewalk when no one was around, getting farther and farther away. He was getting really good at it!"

"O-kay," Sam said slowly, "so somebody saw him doing this?"

"Um. No."

"What went wrong then?"

"Well, we were almost to school, so he changed back to Fenton. But a few seconds after he did, he disappeared and—"

POP!

"Tucker!" Danny jumped on Tucker. His best friend screamed and would have shot three feet in the air if Danny's Hug of Death was any less secure. "Finally! I've been trying to get back to you for who knows how long now! Oh, hey, Sam! Wait, where'd you come from?" He loosened his hold on the trembling Tucker and looked around. "This isn't where I left you, Tuck…"

"He came to find me after you apparently disappeared," Sam explained for their shell-shocked friend. "Danny, what's going on? Are—"

"I can't stop teleporting, Sam!" Danny all but shouted, unwrapping one arm from around Tucker so he could wave it around for emphasis. "One minute I'm walking peacefully down the sidewalk, the next I'm in my room! So far I've teleported to school three times, to the Ghost Zone twice, my room five times, yours once, Tucker's three, Vlad's house one time too many, and once I somehow ended up, like, fifty feet in the air! I can't control it!" He released Tucker, and latched onto Sam's shoulders, earning a surprised gasp from the Goth. "Make it stop, Sam! I can't take it anymore!"

"Danny, calm down!" She brushed Danny's hands off her shoulders, but he quickly grabbed her wrists. She scowled. "Danny, let go of me before I show a very incriminating photo of you and Tucker to Jazz."

Danny's hands flew away from Sam like she was an evil ghost in disguise. "I thought you burned that!" He hesitated before giving Tucker a one-armed hug again.

Sam smirked. "Why would I get rid of perfectly good blackmail material? Is there a reason you keep grabbing onto us, Danny?"

"Yeah, dude," Tucker said, finally regaining his wits enough to eye his strange friend. "It's getting awkward."

"I am being teleported all over the place without my consent," Danny reminded them, "can't I get a little sympathy from you guys?" They gave him bland, completely unsympathetic looks. "Alright, fine. By holding onto you stationary people, I'm hoping you will anchor me and stop me from teleporting."

"Wouldn't we just teleport with you though?" Sam asked.

Tucker's eyes grew large and he struggled against Danny's hold, but even in human form Danny was stronger than him.

"No," Danny grunted, "because it takes a lot of control to be able to teleport more than one person, and clearly I don't posses any control over this, whatsoever."

Tucker relaxed but his nose wrinkled. "It still feels awkward, Danny. Go hug, Sam."

"I'm not hugging you," Danny protested. "This is a manly arm grip!"

"It doesn't feel very manly."

"Doesn't look like it either," Sam said, smirking.

Danny huffed. "Fine." He dragged Tucker closer to Sam and then threw his other arm around her neck before she could protest. Sam gasped and struggled, upset—if her red face was anything to go by—but Danny started walking, and his friends were forced to follow. "Alright! Now this is teamwork!"

"More like kidnapping!" Sam shouted.

Tucker teased, "You know you like it, Sam."

"Oh, yeah, I just love to be held against my will."

"It's only until this stops," Danny tried to reason.

"Oh? And when will that be?"

"Uh…I don't know…"

She sighed, resigned. "This all started after you changed back into Danny Fenton, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, maybe you'll have more control of it if you're in your ghost form. Seems to me your ghost half would have more control over your powers than your human half would."

Danny hung his head, wishing he could face-palm without losing his anchors. "I should have thought of that…"

"That's what I'm here for. Now hurry up and change while the streets are empty."

Danny nodded, and in a flash of light, he became Amity Park's number one ghostly hero.

After a few seconds, Sam cleared her throat. "You'll have to let go of us to test this, Danny…"

Danny flinched. "B-but what if it doesn't work and I start teleporting like crazy again?"

"Then we'll just have to think of something else!" Sam hissed, "Now let go of us before somebody sees Danny Phantom hanging out with Danny Fenton's friends!"

Danny grimaced. He slowly, very slowly, released his best friends. They walked a few steps farther ahead before stopping and facing Danny again. He had his eyes pinched shut and his hands fisted at his sides.

"Did I teleport?" he asked, keeping his eyes sealed.

"No." Tucker chuckled. "But you look constipated. Loosen up, dude."

Danny cracked an eye open, but upon seeing the same setting as before, he grinned, and jumped in place. "Alright! Way to go, Sam!" He went to high five her, but seconds away from making contact, Danny became consumed by green mist. The mist disappeared along with Danny, followed by a popping sound.

Sam lowered her hand slowly, and exchanged glances with Tucker. "Uh, I guess it didn't work…"

Tucker sighed. "We might as well get to school, Sam. He's not going to show up here any time soon…"

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

POP!

"Paradise Lost!"

Danny's momentum carried him through the motion of the high-five, but because Sam's hand wasn't there to meet his, his swat carried into a somersault in midair. "Whoa!" He righted himself and jerked his head from side to side. The faces staring up at him were familiar, but the location wasn't since only teachers and their favorites were allowed inside the teacher's lounge.

Danny laughed nervously. "Um, uh, whoops?"

Mr. Lancer was the first to regain his composure. He stood up and fixed his tie in a nervous habit. "Mr. …Phantom, what is the meaning of this?" Sweat noticeably broke out over his forehead.

Danny flushed. "Um, I'm having a few technical issues with my powers…" He cleared his throat and floated with his back straight, adopting his 'hero' voice. "Sorry for the inconvenience, citizens. I'll just be going…"

But after a few seconds, Danny still floated in place above their table, staring fixedly into space. The teachers looked at each other in confusion. The Art teacher pulled out a sketch pad and started sketching the focused Ghost Boy in profile.

"…Any second now…"

If they had crickets in the staff lounge, they'd be chirping.

"…Any second…"

Mr. Felucca stepped forward, his index finger poised in question. "What power are you having difficulties with, Mr. Ghost Boy? As a scientist, perhaps I can be of assistance."

Danny grimaced. "Uh, actually—"

Ms. Tetslaff slammed a fist on the table, and the sudden violence made Danny start in surprise. "If it's power he's having trouble with, it's me he should be coming to for help! I'll whip him into shape!"

He winced, and drifted away from her. "Uh, it's not really a physical power—"

"I have studied many classical stories that teach great, historical lessons," Mr. Lancer said. "Perhaps one of those will be of some use to you, Mr. Phantom?"

"Thanks, but I don't—"

The Mythology teacher scoffed. "Your literature is of no use to a being of exponential power. My myths have way more value to him than your 'fiction'."

"I don't need—"

The Psychology teacher snapped her fingers. "It may be psychological! Please feel free to tell me all about your problems. I'm here to help!"

"I don't have a psychological issue! Why does everyone always think that?"

Ms. Loretta gazed at Danny's skinny body with a critical eye. "Perhaps it has something to do with malnourishment. Do ghosts have to eat? I can make you something, boy."

"…Uh…no…"

The Government teacher trembled in his seat, staring up at Danny in fear. "W-we should call somebody about this! Call the Fentons! Call the Guys in White! They'll know what to do!"

The Art teacher reached out and pinched a fold of Danny's jumpsuit. "Is this latex?"

"Hey!" Danny knocked his hand away and floated a few paces away from him. "No touching!"

"We should give him a physical!"

"He needs to learn a moral lesson!"

"What he needs is more meat on his bones!"

"Oh, how am I going to capture that glow…"

"Something must be wrong with the inner workings of his mind!"

"The FENTONS!"

"Perhaps it is his molecular structure that is causing the problem!"

"QUIET!" Danny shouted. The teachers instantly quieted. "There is nothing wrong with my body, my mind, or my morals, alright? I just developed a new power and I'm having some difficulty controlling it. That's all!"

The teachers backed away from the panting ghost boy.

Mr. Felucca was the first to gather his courage. He asked, "What kind of power?"

Danny relaxed. "Teleport—"

POP!

The teachers gasped, and stared at the spot where the Ghost Boy had once been.

"NOOO!" the Art teacher cried, and threw down his half-complete sketch. "I was so close!"

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

POP!

"—ation."

"Breach in Sector 8! We have a breach in Sector 8!"

Before Danny had a chance to gather his bearings, several ghost nets crashed into him and bound him to the floor. Where the net touched him, little bolts of electricity shot into his system like static jumping to a doorknob. Danny growled and struggled against the painful bindings, but the whirring of a ghost gun made him freeze. He looked up into the tinted sunglasses of a GiW operative.

"D-Don't move, Phantom!"

Danny's eyes half-lidded in boredom. "Oh great. The Mr. Clean Groupies…"

"Quiet, ghost," another agent ordered. "We have you surrounded."

Danny looked past the two standing over him. "Let me guess, the reinforcements are invisible?"

Danny wasn't able to see his eyes, but the second agent's brows furrowed, and his mouth turned down.. "I don't like your tone, boy."

Danny used his infamous cocky smirk. "Like I care? With only two agents, why should I worry? I could take you guys out easy."

The first agent, the one who had stuttered, gulped. Without warning, he shot at Danny.

Danny gasped, and dove to the side. He needn't have bothered, though. The shot was way off target. It crashed into the wall five feet behind Danny.

"Agent N!"

Danny eyed the scared agent warily. Like cornered wolves, frightened hunters packing heat were dangerous. "New agent?" he asked the other guy.

He grunted. "As green as they come. Listen, kid," he faced Agent N, "there is a rhythm to these things. We exchange witty banter, and then we start shootin' them."

Agent N nodded his head rapidly. "Y-yes, sir. Understood, sir! Should I tranquilize him, sir?"

"Wow, he is green."

The senior agent scowled. "Tranquilizers don't work on ghosts, recruit. Get your facts straight!"

Agent N stuttered apologies. Danny rolled his eyes and wished he would teleport out of there already.

"W-what do we do then, s-sir?"

The other agent grinned sadistically. "We shock him until he loses consciousness."

Danny flinched, but tried to hide it. "Gee, so humane. You must be very proud of your species."

"I am." The senior agent pulled a button switch out of his pocket, and poised his thumb above the large red button. Danny breathed in a deep breath, readying a Ghostly Wail. Passing out and transforming in front of them wasn't an option. "Or, I don't care about yours. Prepare yourself, ghost scum."

POP!

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

POP!

The first thing Danny noticed was the absence of annoying static shocks. The second thing he noticed was the absence of everything else. Including air. He was really glad he took a deep breath before, though the breath was almost stolen from him when he looked down at the Earth. Like, the Earth, the blue planet Earth.

I'm in space! he thought, grinning goofily. He gazed around himself in wonder. He had been to space before, but he'd been too busy fighting to really admire the scenery.

Stars in every direction, as far as the eye could see, he was on the sunny side of the Earth, but he could see the moon poking out from behind the rocky planet. A comet was off in the distance, its ice and dust particles trailing behind it as the solar wind tore at the ice rock. He closed his eyes, and lights danced behind his eyelids as the solar wind hit him.

Danny sagged, and his expression became dreamy. It's so beautiful…this just makes me want to be an astronaut even more! I wish I could stay—Air! He gripped his throat. Air! I need air!

POP!

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

POP!

"Chronicles of Narnia!"

Danny gasped in air, like he'd never tasted anything so sweet. Space was awesome, but it'd be a lot better with oxygen.

"Danny Phantom!"

Danny spun around, and found his first period class staring up at him the same way he had stared at Outer Space. A nervous smile worked its way onto his lips. "I'm just dropping by. I'll be gone in a second, so please, don't let me interrupt."

The class started whispering to each other in excitement, looking like they were seconds away from mobbing him. In the back row, he saw Sam scowl. She hated his 'hero' voice. Tucker waved discreetly to him, and Danny subtly nodded back. He was glad Valerie didn't have his first hour…

"Mr. Phantom!"

Danny looked over his shoulder at Mr. Lancer. "Uh, hello again…"

Lancer frowned. "I take it you haven't fixed your 'problem'?"

"…No."

"Then perhaps you would like to sit in for my lesson," he said, smirking like he had just won a contest. "Perhaps you will learn something."

The students screamed. No longer able to contain themselves, they jumped out of their seats and rushed for Danny. He floated out of their reach, feeling nervous and slightly nauseous. Tucker and Sam joined them in order to keep up appearances, and Danny was annoyed to see Tucker filming it all on his PDA. His classmates gathered below him, shouting for autographs.

Danny backed away, breathing fast. "Uh, I don't know if that's such a good idea! Besides, I probably won't be here for much longer, or at least I really hope not, so I—"

POP!

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

POP!

"…and that is why, I believe we can use the town's little ghost problem to our…" Vlad trailed off when it became apparent he didn't have his audience's full attention. "…advantage…"

Despite the meeting being comprised of mostly professional reporters and self-important civilians, they were whispering rudely amongst each other, laughing and pointing at something behind Vlad. He looked behind him, but all he saw was the red curtain. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"…As I was saying," Vlad said, turning back to the microphone on the podium, "with an interest in ghosts growing worldwide, more and more people will be traveling to Amity Park in search of the fabled beings—one in particular, I might add. I say we encourage this by building tourist attractions that will bring in large crowds of people."

"What?" a familiar voice exclaimed. Vlad smirked, his suspicion confirmed. Danny Phantom flew in front of him, his arms thrown out. "You can't bring more people here! I knew you were a fruitloop, Vlad, but this is going a bit far!"

"Ah," Vlad said suavely, "Amity Park's famous Ghost Boy. So nice of you to join us."

"Cut the crap, Vlad…er, Mr. Mayor…" Danny blushed and glanced over his shoulder at the flashing cameras and excited audience.

Vlad chuckled. "If it puts you more at ease, you're welcome to use my first name. It's the least I can do for our star attraction."

Danny refocused his righteous gaze on Vlad, but he floated to the side of him so his back was no longer to the cameras. "You can't bring tourists here, Masters."

"Oh? And why not? It'd be very profitable for this town."

"You mean it'd be very profitable for you," Danny corrected. "And you can't bring them here because, in case you haven't noticed, this town isn't very safe. The people living here know to run when a ghost attacks, but tourists will get closer because that's what they came to see. People could get seriously hurt…"

"Do you doubt your ability to protect them, little hero?" Vlad questioned, smirking mockingly. "We can use the funds the tourists bring in to hire more competent ghost hunters, so I assure you there is no need for such fear."

Danny scowled at the 'competent' part. "You're making a mistake, Masters. You can hire a hundred ghost hunters, but they won't be enough to—"

POP!

Vlad raised an eyebrow. Interesting… He hadn't expected the boy to develop his teleportation powers so soon, but his apparent lack of control more than made up for his accelerated growth. He'd make the boy suffer a while longer before he approached him.

He turned back to his murmuring audience. "Any questions?"

The crowd shot to their feet.

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

Ms. Tetslaff blew her whistle. Her students looked at her with hope in their eyes and sweat covering every inch of their exhausted bodies. "That's enough for today," she said. "Shower up, you lazy maggots!" The students silently cheered and limped toward the locker rooms.

Tucker almost fell over in relief. He'd take helping Danny fight ghosts over gym any day. He was tempted to curl into a ball and fake dehydration, just so he could sit and relax for a few seconds. Sadly, it was not to be. Sam bounced to his side, and Tucker for the second time that day cursed the girl's athleticism.

She grabbed his arm, and forced him to stumble toward the locker rooms. He muttered complaints, but being the good friend she was, she ignored them.

"Any sign of Danny since this morning?" she asked him quietly.

"Once," Tucker replied. Even his voice sounded tired. "He made a brief appearance in third period chemistry class, and I mean brief. He was there for all but five seconds, but it was still enough to disrupt the whole class and get us out of homework." He grinned. "It was awesome! What about you?"

Sam shrugged. "He popped into second period Art Class. Everybody started sketching him, including Mr. Coal." She smirked. "Danny looked so embarrassed."

Tucker chuckled. "I bet. How long did he stay?"

"Five or ten minutes. There were a lot of disappointed groans after he disappeared, but Mr. Coal managed to finish. It looks really cool too…I also heard he made an appearance for History Class, and Government." She rolled her eyes. "The Government teacher tried to call the Guys in White, but he got taken captive by his class."

Tucker laughed. "Oh man! I wish I had seen that!"

"We can ask Danny all about it once we see him again," Sam pointed out. "If he stays long enough…"

Tucker chuckled.

They split into their gender specific locker rooms, waving goodbye. Still chuckling, Tucker grabbed his shower supplies and strolled into the shower area. Because of a recent ghost attack, tarps littered the area, for once creating some much needed privacy. Too bad Danny was missing it. Mr. Modesty would most definitely appreciate the seclusion.

Tucker stripped down, and was just about to turn on the water when…

POP!

"Tucker!"

Tucker jumped.

Danny nearly hugged him like he had that morning, but he stopped at the last second. He pulled slowly away, making a face. "Uh, you're my best friend and everything, Tuck," he said, "and I love you like a brother, but I am so not touching you when you're naked…"

Tucker hurriedly wrapped his lower half in his towel. "Well no asked you to!" He looked at his best friend, noticing the tousled white hair, the tear in his jumpsuit, and the way his eyes twitched and darted around the room. "Having a rough day, Danny?"

"Like you wouldn't believe!" Danny pulled on his own hair—explaining why it was so messy—and stared at Tucker with unnaturally large eyes. "I never know where I'm going, or when I'm going there! It's all completely random! And I've seen things, Tuck! I've seen things…"

Tucker held his fists against his naked chest, mocking a scared expression. "Were they dead people?" he whispered.

Danny blinked, scowled, and crossed his hands over his chest, sulking. "Oh yeah, ha ha. Laugh at the poor kid who just saw Ember and Skulker making out."

Tucker's jaw dropped and his face turned slightly green.

Danny smirked. "Yeah! Not so funny now, is it!"

POP!

Tucker stared at the empty space before him for a moment, wondering where his traveling friend would end up next.

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

POP!

It happened very fast.

Danny saw what every straight guy dreams about, committed it unintentionally to memory, and was then deafened by shrieks. He screamed too and quickly covered his eyes with his hands. He turned around and tried to fly out of the Girl's Locker Room, but he forgot to go intangible, and he crashed into the lockers. The girls started throwing towels, hairbrushes, and other items at him.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" he shouted over their screams, cowering in a corner. "I have no control over where I'm going!"

POP!

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

POP!

Danny was never so glad to hear that sound. Still, he stayed in a fetal position, too afraid to see where he had teleported to. Maybe if I stay still, he thought desperately, I won't teleport!

"It's alright, Danny," a kind and familiar voice said. "You're safe here."

Danny opened his eyes slowly, and stared up at Clockwork. The Time Ghost in, the form of an old man, smiled kindly back down at him.

Danny grinned and jumped to his feet. "Clockwork! Man, am I glad to see you! Listen, you have to help me! I can't stop teleporting everywhere, and I'm seeing things I really don't want to be seeing, going places I shouldn't be going, and you probably already know about all of this, because you're the Master of Time and everything, but I have to tell you because—"

"Danny, you have something on—"

"—I'm freaking out here, because I can't stop teleporting—"

"Danny, your head—"

"—and I'm seeing things I should not be not be seeing, and it won't stop, Clockwork, make it stop!" Danny leaned his head against his Guardian/mentor's chest, whimpering pathetically. "Make it stop…"

Clockwork hesitated, unsure. He reached up a hand, and patted Danny awkwardly on the shoulder. "I…I'm sorry, Danny," he said, sounding sincerely apologetic. "It's not my place to help you."

Danny's shoulders slumped in defeat. He drew away from the timeless ghost and shook the hand off his shoulder. "Yeah…I should have figured that…Sorry for putting you on the spot, Clockwork."

Clockwork changed into a toddler. He sighed, and shook his head. "There is nothing to apologize for, Danny. You ask far less of me than most ghosts. However," his tone made Danny glance despondently up at him, "I can tell you it will end soon."

Danny straightened, and his eyes brightened with hope. "Really?"

The Time Master nodded sagely. "Indeed." He smirked, and it was very odd to see such a sarcastic look on a kid's face. "By the way, Danny. You have something on your head."

Danny frowned. He brought his hand to his head and pressed down, immediately feeling something lacy. He grabbed it and brought it down to eye level. It was a white bra. Danny let out a half-yelp and quickly tossed it away from him. He wiped his hand against his pants, making a face.

Clockwork chuckled, now a middle-aged man. "I thought you were over the 'cootie' stage by now, Danny."

Danny grimaced. "I'm fourteen, and I have an older sister. You do the math."

Clockwork nodded. "Fair enough. You have ten seconds before you teleport again."

Danny looked dismayed. "So soon? Can you tell me where I'm going?"

"Home, Danny. To Fenton Works." Danny smiled in relief. "But you won't get a warm welcome."

He frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Five…"

"Clockwork!"

"Four…"

"I can't believe you're counting down!"

"Three…"

"Whoever heard of Master of all Time counting down the time?"

"Two…"

"'Hey, I'm Clockwork! I'm counting down because I'm awesome like that—'"

"One."

POP!

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

POP!

"GHOST!"

"Ghost!"

"Warning! Warning! Ecto-entity in the lab."

Danny blinked. "Wow. What a welcome home…"

His mom grabbed an ecto gun off one of the lab tables and shot at Danny. He gasped and quickly dove beneath it, escaping the shot by a hair. Jack shot a net at Danny, but it missed him completely. Still in a ball, it ricocheted off the wall and expanded over Maddie, knocking her to the ground and sending her gun flying. Danny clamped his hands over his mouth, trying to smother his giggles.

"Jack!" Maddie shouted angrily, struggling inside the net.

"Sorry, sweet cheeks!" Jack dropped the net launcher and grabbed the weapon they'd been working on before Danny arrived. "I'll get you out of there as soon as I capture this ghost!"

"Jack! We haven't fixed the—"

"BONSAI!" Jack pulled the trigger. Ectoplasmic goop shot into his face.

"—trigger…"

Danny wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed by his father (again), or be grateful he messed up an attack (again). He just chuckled weakly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

POP!

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

POP!

As soon as the green mist cleared, Danny looked around his new surroundings. What he saw made him grimace, and not just because the green and gold color scheme was an eyesore.

"Ah, Daniel. I was wondering when you'd 'pop' in."

Vlad stepped out of a darkened hallway, haunting smirk in place. Danny spun around and crossed his arms over his chest, lifting an eyebrow. "Do you always have to make a creepy entrance, or is this another fruitloop thing?"

Vlad huffed, looking offended. "It's dramatic, Daniel, not creepy."

"Where'd you learn it from, Villainy for Dummies? Seems like overcompensation if you ask me."

Vlad's eyes flashed red, before he schooled his expression into one of mocking regret. "I was going to offer you my expertise on teleporting, but if you're going to be immature, I have more important things to do." He turned around, walking back into the dark hallway.

Danny gasped, and quickly flew in front of the man. "Whoa, hold on!" He held up his hands in front of Vlad, forcing him to stop. "You can stop this? You can make me stop teleporting?" Vlad nodded, and Danny smiled happily. "Great! I—Wait." The smile fell from his face, and he eyed the man suspiciously. "What's in it for you?"

Vlad's lips twisted into a smirk. "No longer naïve enough to expect anything for free. I'm proud of you, little badger. My price is the usual."

"Renounce my dad and become your evil apprentice?" Danny crossed his arms again. "Forget it, Vlad."

Vlad shrugged his shoulders. "Then enjoy the rest of your life filled with uncertainty." He walked around Danny, raising a hand in farewell. "Ta."

Danny winced. He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. He hated teleporting. If he ever got out of the rut he had fallen into, he swore the power would definitely be crossed off his list…He groaned, and flew after Vlad. "Vlad wait!"

Vlad halted, his expression triumphant. "Yes?"

Danny refused to meet his eyes. "I…The reward isn't worth the price, Vlad, but…will you teach me to control this power for…Mom's cell number?"

Vlad's eyes sparkled in interest. "You'll give me her phone number?"

It was difficult, but Danny managed to keep from grinning triumphantly. "She'll probably never forgive me, but yes. I mean, it's not like you'll get anywhere with it…"

Vlad smiled cockily. "I assure you, Daniel, I can be quite charming. I'll be your legal father in no time." Danny gagged, and Vlad rolled his eyes. "I suppose we have a deal?" Vlad held out his hand.

Danny stared at it, making a show of hesitating. "Alright…" He reached out and grabbed the other hybrids hand. "Deal."

POP!

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

POP!

Danny blinked, and when his eyes opened, it wasn't Vlad's ugly décor that greeted his sight, but Amity's newspaper office. People occupied cubicles, writing down stories on computers and scribbling notes in their notebooks, but no sign of Vlad.

"No!" Danny screamed, frantically searching the office for his savior. He could have followed him in ghost form, right? The sound of typing and pencils scribbling on paper instantly ceased, but Danny didn't notice. "I was so close to ending this!" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth on the open air. "I finally outsmarted the creep, and I get whooshed off before I can even celebrate! Where's justice in that? Is this some great cosmic joke? Just—"

POP!

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

POP!

"GHOST!"

"Jack! Get this net off me!"

"—how many people are laughing at me? The Observants—"

POP!

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

POP!

"Danny Phantom!"

"—are probably having a grand ol' time laughing at me, the jerks. No doubt Vlad finds this whole thing amusing—"

POP!

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

POP!

"Breach in Sector 11! Again!"

"���because he's a total bastard like that. Clockwork, Master of all Annoyingness, acted—"

POP!

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

POP!

"BEWARE!"

"—all sincere, but I bet he's laughing on the inside!"

POP!

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

POP!

"Mr. Phantom! A few questions—"

"And don't even get me started on my friends—"

POP!

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

POP!

"—probably laughing about it at this very moment! Some friends!"

"Danny?"

Danny spun around. His friends stared up at him, along with the whole Casper High cafeteria. He was floating over the lunch line, and even the lunch ladies were gaping openly at him. Slop slipped off one of their spoons.

Danny laughed. "Great. Just great. Of course I'd wind up here, again."

"Danny," Sam hissed, "go invisible!"

Considering the students were starting to rush in his direction, that was sound advice. Danny turned invisible. His fans slowed, groaning in disappointment, but Danny felt no sympathy. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and whispered, "I'll meet you guys at our table." She nodded and whispered the message to Tucker.

Danny sat in his designated seat and placed his head in his hands, just taking time to relax and not think about anything. A few minutes later, Tucker and Sam sat at the table on either side of him.

"Danny?" Sam asked quietly. "Are you still here?"

Danny nodded his head, but realized they couldn't see it. He sighed. "Yes."

Tucker stuffed some mystery meat into his mouth. "So how's your day been?" he asked cheerfully.

Danny groaned.

"Aw, it can't be that bad." He grinned, and nudged what he hopped was Danny's shoulder and not his head. "Sam says you teleported into the girl's locker room while they were changing…"

Sam stabbed her salad, growling low in her throat. She muttered what Danny assumed were threats against mankind.

"They nearly killed me, Tuck."

"Yeah, but you would have died a happy man!"

Danny's lips twitched. "True…"

Sam slammed her spork down, her face flaming. "We are never speaking of it again, and you—" she pointed a threatening finger at Danny's seat "—are going to forget what you saw. Got it?"

"…I don't think I can, Sam…"

Sam growled, and Tucker laughed. Danny smiled, though they couldn't see it, and snuck a fry from Tucker's tray. Being invisible had its perks.

"The school is in an uproar, Danny," Sam said after a minute of silence. "…More than usual. Valerie is going crazy trying to find you, Paulina constantly fixes her makeup, and the teachers seem to be competing against each other…"

Tucker nodded. "There's even a bet going around about where you'll pop in next!"

Danny raised an unseen eyebrow. "Do I want to know who started the bet, Tuck…?"

Tucker coughed into his fist. "Depends on what you plan to do to him—or her! For all we know, the evil, clever, and no doubt charming mastermind might have been a girl."

Danny rolled his eyes, and stole another fry from the 'clever mastermind'. "Uh-huh."

"Have you learned any control yet?" Sam asked.

Danny grumbled. "No. I convinced Vlad to help me, though."

"How'd you manage that?" Sam asked.

He smirked slyly. "By offering my mom's cell phone number."

Tucker frowned. "But your mom doesn't—" His eyes cleared in understanding. He smiled at Danny. "Niiice, dude."

"So, you know how to stop now?" Sam asked.

Danny sighed. "No. Before he had a chance to tell me, I teleported away."

"Well," Tucker said, "that explains the rant. That must have been really frustrating."

"I wasn't ranting!" Danny protested. "I was…expressing my anger to the universe."

"In other words, ranting," Sam concluded.

"…Alright fine, I ranted."

"Maybe there's a pattern to it," Sam suggested. "You've been here for a while. What are you doing differently now?"

Danny shrugged. "Talking to you guys, focusing on not teleporting so I have a chance to relax."

"Maybe that's the answer then. You just have to concentrate on your surroundings and on staying in one place."

He grimaced. "I don't know, Sam. What about when I—"

POP!

Sam groaned, and leaned back in her chair. "Great. Here we go again."

Tucker chuckled. "Look on the bright side, Sam. At least the bet—that I had no part in making—is still on. I'm going to be rich!" He went to grab a fry, but the bucket was empty. He frowned down at his tray. "Where'd my fries go?"

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 4

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

A/N: DOUBLE UPLOAD! So i decided to split this part in two since i didn't want it to drag on for too long... next part will be uploaded tomorrow!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon​ @hvunvely​ @fluffybitch0325​ @fashi0nablee @juststop88

You picked up the lanyard, looking between your burnt jacket in one hand and the vandalized piece of plastic in the other. The burnt polyester felt rough against your fingers. It was littered with black holes, almost to the point where it was unrecognizable as your jacket.

The lanyard, on the other hand, was almost untouched — save for the black marker that was sketched on the plastic. In the picture, on the part where your upper body was showing, there was only the black marker. The black blob stretched across your torso, the shape depicting a hoodie. Your eyes landed on the eyes in your picture. Thick lines drawn in the shape of an X covered both of them.

You quickly entered your apartment, hoping nobody saw you. You then stood completely still, listening to the silence, trying to find if anybody had broken into your home. After a minute, when it seemed as if you were the only person in there, you decided to lay the two vandalized items on your desk to further analyze them.

Your brain immediately tried to play this down by assuming that these were just kids who did this to your stuff, after all, it was something very immature. Children were the only people who had the time to play with fire and draw on other people’s pictures.

However, your gut told you something different. Why was your jacket along with your lanyard placed right in front of your apartment? Why was the marker outline specifically in the shape of a hoodie? Who could have known you were in the parking lot at that time of day?

Your mind drifted to one specific person. Manager Kim. He not only saw that you were in the parking lot that day with that jacket on, but also he knew your face from the lanyard. But why would he do something this childish? And how did he know where you lived?

The parking lot security guard had also been there when you wore that jacket, but he didn’t even look at you. And he would have no motive to do this sort of thing.

You rubbed your chin in thought, still not understanding everything. Was there somebody else that knew you were there?

Still feeling anxious, you began to prepare a cup of tea. You were reminded of Bang Chan. The tea. The smell of his hoodie.

His hoodie. The black hoodie.

Realization hit you like a truck as your eyes widened in disbelief. Was it maybe… Bang Chan?

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Hands shaking, you picked up your phone to call him, silently begging for the mysterious person to not be him.

He picked up.

“Hello? Y/n?”

You stayed silent.

“Is there something wrong?” He asked.

“I… I lost my jacket and it had my lanyard in it,” you tried to be careful with your words, not wanting to rouse suspicion from him, “have you seen it anywhere?”

“No,” you could almost see Bang Chan furrowing his eyebrows, “I’m still in the building though. I could look for it?”

“That’s alright,” you sighed in relief. He genuinely sounded confused, and plus, he was always so nice — there was no way he would ever do this kind of thing to you. You felt guilty for even suspecting him. “Thanks for offering though.”

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I said this before, but,” he paused, “if you need help with anything I’ll be there. I mean it.”

A chill ran down your spine at the seriousness of his voice. “I know. Thanks.”

You hung up, uneasy. The problem was unsolved, and to be honest, you were a little scared. There was somebody that knew who you were and where you lived. It was probably a good idea to change the passcode to your lock.

The kettle started to whistle. You turned off the flame of your stove and poured yourself a cup of tea, hoping that it would calm you down. Although it did a little, you still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. Your mood stayed the same the whole night, even when you tried to scroll through your phone or go to sleep.

The next day, you woke up with your mind cleared. No longer were you still feeling the aftershocks of the creepy jacket burner, and with your mood lifted more, you felt like you could think more objectively.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Throughout your whole week, this incident stuck in the back of your mind. Although your memory was getting fuzzier and fuzzier with the passing days, you still tried to work out who the culprit was in your free time.

Your mind was also filled with something else. Or was it someone else?

It seemed like, during the whole week, you couldn’t stop thinking of Bang Chan. You had to put part of the blame on him, though. Everytime he had a free moment in his busy schedule — granted it was rare that he did — he wanted to see you.

From secretly bringing you snacks from the vending machine to summoning you to his recording room in order to show his newest creation, he always seemed to stay busy even in his free time. You weren’t complaining, though. It was nice to have a friend who was so different from what you were used to.

You also spent a lot of time with Na-eun too. However, the time you spent with her felt different. Not in any good or bad way, just different. With her, it was mainly in the cafeteria, raving over the food after finally finding a free table. It was also trying to talk over everybody in the crowded streets as you two went shopping after work.

You liked it, sure. But with Bang Chan, every moment felt more intimate. Every smile, every laugh or brush of the hand. Was this what becoming friends felt like?

Other than these intrusive thoughts, the rest of your time was taken up by work. Although you were starting to get the hang of your tasks, there were still many mistakes made. Mistakes in which you had to profusely apologize to Manager Chen for, that you had to stay late nights to fix, mistakes which made you almost lose your mind. You hoped that Manager Chen could see your dedication to not only this project, but your job as a whole.

In the duration of this week, you managed to check in with every department involved with the project and partake in the finalization of the Mid-Autumn Festival content idea. It was decided that the group would do three activities: make lanterns, bake mooncakes, and share a fire while watching the moon. All while in the mountains.

You were surprised when Manager Chen asked you to come along to the shooting despite your inexperience. However, it wasn’t a chance you were going to pass up.

The week was hectic. So hectic, that you didn’t even realize it was almost over until Na-eun brought it up.

“Ugh, I wish I could just steal a whole tray of this food home,” you rolled your eyes. The two of you were raving once again at the cafeteria food. You wished you actually knew how to cook.

“Can you not cook?” She asked.

“I can fry an egg,” you said, stuffing more rice in your mouth.

“My six year old niece can do that,” she laughed. Her eyes widened. “What if I come over tonight and teach you? We’ll make fried rice, even you can’t screw that up.”

“Ha,” you said dryly. “I would, but I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

Na-eun gave you a deadpan look.

“How were you able to stay alive for the past couple weeks? At least you got skinner.” She sneered. “We’ll stop by the grocery store after work, I’ll teach you the bare minimum of living alone.”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Right after you clocked out of work, you met up with Na-eun to go shopping. You decided to take out some cash to pay for your groceries, an action that Na-eun found hilarious. She was almost crying as she explained that a few groceries didn’t cost as much as you thought.

Your trip was successful. The two of you made it all the way back to your apartment and didn’t waste a second to get started. Halfway through setting things up, Na-eun got a text.

“Hey, is it okay if Yoojin comes? I guess she got jealous that I was here with you and she wasn’t.” She chuckled.

“Of course,” you eagerly nodded. “But, wouldn’t it be hard to get here with her injury?”

“What injury?”

“You know,” you continued, “her ankle.”

“She seemed fine to me.” Na-eun said as she started on the rice.

“Maybe she healed fast.” You shrugged.

“Maybe,” she shrugged back and returned to her task.

You texted Yoojin your address, and it wasn’t long before she was knocking at your door. You opened your door, and she immediately leaped at you for a hug.

“Oh, Y/n! I’m still so sorry for that day, I honestly feel horrible.” She pouted, her big eyes staring at you for a response.

“It’s really nothing, Yoojin.” You tried to sound casual. You let her in your apartment. “But, doesn’t your ankle hurt? There’s a lot of stairs coming up.”

“Oh, uhm, the doctor said it was only a minor injury.” She paused. “And I heal fast.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, patting her shoulder.

“But I still feel so bad, Y/n.” She whined. “Lemme make it up to you. I’ll set you up with this really hot guy I know. He’s a law student. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Kim Yoojin!” Na-eun yelled.

“How about it? You’re free tomorrow, right?” Yoojin looked at you, ignoring Na-eun.

“I guess so,” you hesitantly agreed, “since it’s the weekend tomorrow.”

“Great!” Yoojin wrapped her arms around you, jumping up and down. “I’ll text you everything tonight.”

Yoojin kept up with her promise. After the three of you stuffed yourselves with good food, your two friends decided to leave before it got too dark. It was just a bit later when Yoojin’s text came through. You were to have dinner with this man called Kang Taehyun at an Italian restaurant tomorrow. Although you weren’t too thrilled with the idea of eating pasta, you figured you could withstand it for one night on the basis of trying something new.

You didn’t know how you felt about going on this date. Although you were excited to meet somebody new, something just felt off. Plus, you’ve never been on a blind date before. Who knows how good Yoojin’s judge of character was, or if this guy was like anything that Yoojin described.

You sighed, putting those thoughts aside. It was just a one time thing anyways, and who knows? Maybe this could lead to something. You looked over at Bang Chan’s hoodie. His warm hoodie that smelled so much like him. You should return it soon.

It was almost like he read your mind. As soon as you looked away, your phone rang with a call from Bang Chan.

“Hello?” You picked up.

“Hey, did you find your jacket?” He asked. You were surprised he still remembered.

“No… not yet.” You drifted off.

“Oh. We’ll keep looking for it, yeah? I’ll just buy you a new one if you can’t find it.”

You giggled. A couple seconds of silence passed.

“My shoot ends at six tomorrow. Wanna go to that barbecue place I was talking about?” He asked.

That’s right. Bang Chan couldn’t stop raving about that barbecue restaurant the whole week. He was really excited as his diet would end when he was done with his photoshoot, and he was apparently craving meat the whole time. All his praise made you very eager to see what the hype was all about.

You were about to eagerly accept, but then you remembered the date you had just planned not even a moment earlier. “Can we go another time? I… kinda have a blind date tomorrow.”

A few more seconds passed before you heard Bang Chan’s voice again.

“Blind date?”

“Yeah, my friend set it up. We’re going to this Italian place. Apparently he’s a really nice and handsome guy. He’s a law student, too.”

“Wha- law student? Y/n, are you sure you should be going on a blind date now? I mean, you just got here. You don’t know the city that well and you don’t even like pasta. What if he’s dangerous?” Bang Chan scoffed, his words got faster with each sentence.

“Chan, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry, I’ll be safe. Plus, I trust my friend.”

“You mean your friend you only just met?”

Silence.

“I only just met you as well.” You spat, slightly insulted that he would speak like that about Yoojin.

There was more silence that lingered.

“Whatever. Have fun on your date.” Bang Chan spat back, his harsh tone matching yours. Right after he said that, he hung up.

You looked angrily at your phone. Frowning, you threw your phone on your bed. Who was he to get angry at you for having a blind date? You recognized the dangers of meeting somebody new, but you trusted Yoojin. You were confident that Yoojin was honest about Taehyun.

A boyfriend would be nice too. Ever since your last relationship early in your university career, you haven’t had the best luck with men. It could have been because of how closed off your old friend group was. Your friends stayed consistent ever since you were young, and it was way too awkward to date a friend. You also found yourself way too closed off to go out and meet any new people.

Yes, tomorrow would be a good experience, you told yourself.

The next day, the hours leading up to your date felt like they had passed way too fast. The call with Bang Chan from last night still lingered on your tongue like sour candy, but you were determined to push past that in order to get ready on your date. After all, you didn’t want any frown lines to show.

You were excited to get ready. The amount of time it took to do both your hair and makeup was embarrassingly long, as you wanted everything to look just right for tonight. You didn’t want a hair to be out of place. You also took your sweet time to pick an outfit. Although the skirt you picked out probably wasn’t fit for the fall weather, you stuck with it anyways, choosing to layer a jacket over your outfit. One of your non-burnt jackets.

Double checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you locked the door and headed out. The streets were busy tonight. They were filled with people of all ages trying to relax from their tiring week.

Finding the restaurant wasn’t a hassle as the place was conveniently located at one of the busiest streets for weekend night-life. Dim yellow lights illuminated the tall glass windows just enough for you to see just the shadows of people enjoying their Saturday night. Green vines wrapped around the building, twirling and twisting their way around every crevice available. You tried not to fiddle with your thumbs as you nervously entered the lavish looking Italian restaurant.

“Hello, table for Kang Taehyun?” You asked the hostess. She showed you to a little table right beside a window. It was illuminated by a single candle, and already had two glasses of wine placed on it. And sitting at the table, hands crossed in front of him, was a hideously gorgeous man.

He looked like something out of a drama, really. With his tall nose and his sharp jaw, you struggled to convince yourself that this was a real man. His hands looked twice the size of yours.

“Hi, Y/n?” He asked. “I’m Kang Taehyun.”

He smiled and gestured for you to sit in the empty chair in front of him. You politely greeted him back and sat down. The two of you made some small talk before ordering. He made some suggestions on what to order, but you didn’t really care. You knew you wouldn’t like any of the pastas anyway. Plus, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be drinking alcohol in front of strangers again.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this date.” You said, awkwardly laughing. “Isn’t a law student supposed to be really busy, especially around this time?”

“Well, I’m mainly doing this as a favour for Yoojin. She helped me with one of my classes.” He took a swig of his wine. “That girl is crazy smart. Or should I say crazy, but smart?”

“Oh?” You didn't want to admit that you were a bit disappointed he only agreed because of a favour. But he was being honest, so that was fair. What he said about Yoojin, though, took you by surprise.

“I’ve only heard rumors,” he tilted his head, “but some say that once in first year she went crazy over a guy. Started stalking him and everything. Apparently she even burned all his textbooks just because he started talking to another girl. They weren’t even dating.”

Your eyes widened at the allegations. There was no way any of that was true. You couldn’t imagine Yoojin — sweet, sweet Yoojin — to be capable of anything like that. There was no way her big puppy dog eyes and her fluffy hair could hurt a soul.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” You asked.

“I mean, the guy was put into a mental hospital shortly after everything happened,” he shrugged, “so who knows? Maybe he made everything up in his head.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded your head in agreement. Some of your hair fell on your pasta. You blushed, quickly trying to dab the sauce away using a napkin.

“You know Y/n,” Taehyun chuckled, “you’re cute. You’re not my type. I mean, I’ve only ever dated models before, but maybe it’s time to start settling down since I’ll be working at the firm soon.”

Thanks, I guess? You thought. You honestly didn’t know if that was a compliment or a jab, but either way you felt slightly insulted. You didn’t know how to reply to that, but it didn’t take long before Taehyun started again.

“I mean, look at my ex,” he said as he pulled up a picture of his ex-girlfriend on Instagram. She looked flawless in her bikini. “There’s no way I could actually marry somebody like that, right?”

If he says ‘I mean’ one more time… You thought to yourself. This date was turning south fast. This man was extremely handsome — almost god-like — but every word that left his mouth was poison infused arrogance. You didn’t know which was worse: listening to the man in front of you talk about his ex, or eating the pasta that was ordered by him.

You tried your best to stay polite with him for the rest of the evening. It was hard, though, as his cocky personality kept poking you down the whole time. It wasn’t until you finally separated that you had space to breathe. Great, you were left both hungry and annoyed.

Turning the lights on in your home, you sat at the kitchen table, still annoyed over your bad night. You took out your phone, wanting to scroll through the food delivery apps to find something to eat. Your thumbs began drifting.

No, stop. You silently begged yourself. Please, not tonight.

Your body didn’t seem to listen to your mind, however, as your thumb stayed hovering over Bang Chan’s contact. You pleaded to yourself to not press it, but your fingers seemed to have an agenda of their own. You pressed his contact. The phone call started.

One ring. Two rings.

“Hello, Y/n?”

You were shocked. He wasn’t supposed to pick up. Not after how poorly your last conversation went. You didn’t know what to say.

“Chan, how was the photoshoot?” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t expect him to even pick up.

“It went great — feels good that it’s over, though.” He chuckled.

You wanted to tell him about your date: how arrogant Taehyun was, how fancy the restaurant was, how nasty the pasta was. You wanted to say all that, but tonight it seemed like your body just wouldn’t cooperate with your mind. And sure enough, you caught your mouth running before your mind. But this time, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Chan,” you took a deep breath, “wanna come over?”

[the-fiction-witch]

The Forgotten Girl P10 & 11

Media The Maze Runner

Character Newt (Thomas Brodie Sangster)

Couple None

Rating Cute + Spooky

Concept ‘Another’

Minho took me to the water fountain so I had a long drink before sitting on the hallway floor as he took a drink too

"Great. Whole class thinks I'm mental" I sighed "so much for a first impression"

"Knowone thinks your mental newt" he says

"I look crazy!"

"Look" he says sitting down beside me "everyone knows the stress you've been under with being sick and all."

"So you don't believe me either"

"Newt. Sometimes things are… more complicated then they seam."

"What?"

"Besides. Anyone thinks your crazy just tell them your on some magic pain meds" he laughed getting up "come in let's go to lunch"

"Minho. What do you mean somethings are more complicated?" I asked holding his arm so he couldn't walk away

"I didn't mean anything just -"

"Minho. I'm not crazy. I saw her. As real as you and me. And at the hospital too I saw her, I spoke with her. I smelt her perfume. I'm not crazy"

"Your not crazy newt. Come on let's go see alby" he says leading me though to the canteen

We headed into the canteen Minho got himself a canteen lunch and even gave me his orange jello cup as I had the lunch I packed this morning, we sat at a far table away from the noise looking out the window to the sports field.

"Maybe I am going crazy" I sighed playing with the jello on my white plastic spoon

"What makes you think so?" He asks having some of his apple

"Maybe I did imagine her."

"What does this girly look like anyway?"

"She's…. Cute" I smiled "beautiful y/n braided like a fantasy princess, this cute little nose that just makes you wanna give her Eskimo kisses, and a cute little waist perfect to wrap your arms around,"

"Awwwww somebody's in love"

"What! No! I've seen her twice I can't be in love"

"Love only takes one look newtie"

"Im not in love. Besides knowone else sees her anyway"

"So knowone sees what I imagine at night either doesn't mean I love that beautiful goddess any less" he explained "what about her?" He asked moving his hands to mimking fondling breasts

"Big. But not too big. Perfect for my hands" I smiled

"And her?"

"Perfect too. The kinda ass that makes you desperate for a wind day, when she wears a skirt"

"Ooohhh"

"Shut up."

"When did you first see her?"

"At the hospital, she was getting gummy bears at the vending machine in her cute schoolgirl uniform"

"Wait our school uniform?"

"Yeah, did I not mention that?"

"No too busy talking about her nose and her waist"

"I know it sounds crazy… but she's real I know she's real. And yeah I might…. Have a bit of a crush" I blushed

"Afternoon Isaac" Alby smiled as he sat down across from us within Brenda in tow

"Hi" I smiled

"Are you feeling alright?" He asks

"Fine. Just a tad concerned everyone now thinks I'm nuts"

"Your not crazy newt" she says "just a… victim of circumstance"

"What?"

"Look….. janson. Can be a rough guy. He'll chew you up for breathing too loud. And he will alter your grades for disruption and such. It's best if you just…. Keep your head down and get your work done fast and quietly, don't look out windows, or turn around in class just focus completely on the work at hand" he explained

"Thanks" I nodded

They nodded and went to leave but Brenda stopped "and if… you see someone, who doesn't exist. It's best to keep that information to yourself. Some people don't exist for everyone's benefit" she says before they left

"Cryptic. Brenda must have been reading Sherlock again" Minho shrugs "come on hurry up or well be late for class" he says

"I- what did she mean?" I asked so unbelievably confused

"Don't read to deep it's just Brenda Being spooky"

I glanced out the window and… I saw her in her little uniform books in hand just as I had seen her earlier sitting on the bench by the field

"I uhhh I need the bathroom" I told him grabbing my bag and rushing off outside making sure he didn't follow me I quickly found her sketching in one of her books sitting beside her "who are you? What are you? How come I'm the only one who can see you!"

"You shouldn't talk to me-" she began nervously trying not to look at me

"Because you don't exist? So I'm imagining you? Your voice? Your body? Your perfume?  I can't imagine all that I'm not smart enough. Please just tell me what's going on?"

"I can't -"

"Please!" I begged but the bell suddenly rang out from the school making me look over

"I'm sorry newt" she says quickly and as I looked back she was gone. But I noticed left in the table was a beautiful drawing under a pencil.

The drawing was… of me. The night we met.

In my PJs with my headphones, she had drawn me from the memory of that night.

I blushed hard at it,

And at the pencil let on top of it to prevent it blowing away, it was a little pencil with black wood and lead, the long shaft of the pencil red with little black hearts and a small sheer red tinted eraser with flecks of sparkling glitter, the pencil itself smelt like strawberries and of course lavender perfume that lingered on it.

I pocketed them both and headed to class not wanting to get in trouble.

[who-ever-said-i-was-nice]

Hi! Can I ask an ikevamp request where the boys find MC's sketchbook and is filled with drawings and doodles of them? If all of the suitors is to much, then just do for Jean, Will, Theo, Mozart, Leo and Comte. Have a nice day! ^^

Bruh this is a genius idea @jeanstan . First of all thanks so much for this request and second of all of coarse I will do all the suitors. Why? Because I’m awesome. No I’m kidding, I’m literally the most clumsy, airheaded  person on this planet. Think brain fried Kaminari energy. Also I’m really sorry this took this long. Anywhooo let’s get into it shall we. Tags:      @nad-zeta​

Ilevamp suitors finding mc’s sketchbook

Comte

you where just chilling in his armchair and doodling him when sleep over took you and fell asleep

being the gentleman he is he picked you up and set you down on his bed tucking you in nicely

then he noticed your sketchbook on the armchair

not even mr. Perfect-guy can resist tacking a little peek at it

so  he just looked at the page that was already open

an there he saw a pretty good drawing of him

Comte to his brain: take a peek you said. it will be fine you said. why are you looking through it. you said.

yup he ended up going through your entire sketchbook

he then wrote a little thank you next to your most recent drawing and set it next to you.

when you saw his little note you blushed, but at least he liked it

Leonardo da sleepy

you where both just sitting in the library

you got a bit hungry so you left to get a snack but you accidentally left your notebook there

you know this guy has a thirst for knowledge and that includes figuring out what’s in your notebook

he will pick it up and flip it open expecting to see notes or random drawings

nope nope he sees a bunch of drawings of him with notes like * damn that smile owns my heart* or * UUUUUUH why is he so annoyingly adorable*

This guy has the biggest smirk plastered on his face. when you come back into the room

“ I didn’t know I was annoyingly adorable Cara mia”

cue you turning tomato red

Napoleon

you where sparring ( or where watching the boys spar whatever fits)

after a few rounds you decided to get a drink and offered to bring drinks for the boys too

Jean excused himself and went to the bathroom and Leon was left alone

now your sketchbook was already just on the ground next to your hoodie

he didn’t touch it ‘cause he’s nice, but now..

he decided to take a peek

and he saw a sketch of him sparring

he flipped through it and found more pictures

him sleeping, him laughing, him teaching the kids the best thing that would describe him in this moment that meme: mha heart mah soul

and you catch him with the notebook in his hands

he just walks up to you and hugs you

Isaac

little bean

he stumbles across it by accident, literally stumbles

you dropped it and he tripped on it

he’s like the f is this?

he picks it up and opens it

oh my Lord

he’s as red as an apple ( pun intended😏)

there are a bunch of doodles of him some where he’s holding Harry, some where it’s only him looking through his telescope or just off into the distance

you: Hey Isaac have you seen my...

Isaac: no I haven’t seen the notebook, idk about a notebook, what is a notebook even

poor boy

you just hug him and reassure him you’re not mad, when he mumbles an apology

Jean

precious bean yes Isaac, Jean and Vincent are all beans. COME @ ME

so you carried that notebook around everywhere you went and while he is not as attentive as Arthur he still noticed

so when you left your notebook in his bedroom after bringing him breakfast he couldn’t resist the urge to take a peek

when he sees a bunch of drawing of him he’s..torn

on one hand he’s moved and is actually happy that you drew him on the other he doesn’t understand why you would want to draw someone as impure as him akgkgakgskgfau LOVE HIM PLS

when you come back into the room you panic a little ‘cause he’s staring at it with a blank expression

but then he apologizes and your panic melt away

he ask you why you drew him and you if play the “because I love you” card he will be shocked and happy and confused and surprised...( the list is so long A decided it would be best to just ad an etc. over here)

you hug him and reassure him he is important and you love him

Arthur

ok so he knew that the sketchbook was important to you right of the bat

being the annoying sweet person he is he decides to pester you more then ever

“ Whatcha got there Luv?” “It’s my notebook” “Can I see what’s inside” *flashes a severely annoyed look* “Arthur this is the 7th time today and i have the same answer. No.” “ Oh come on doll it’s just a peak” “It is closed for a REASON!”

Yeah you might have snapped at him a little but his ho guy ain’t giving up

so of coarse when you leave your notebook in his room he will act like he didn’t notice until you leave and then he will scramble out of his chair and nab the notebook

he opens it expecting a diary or just a bunch of notes only to come face to face with a bunch of pictures of him

he’ll raise an eyebrow and keep looking until he finds a very beautiful and realistic drawing of him sleeping with Vic and he looses his shit

he’ll run to you and pull you back into the room to cuddle and tell you how much he loves you no he’s definitely not crying

you don’t get what’s happening until he tells you he saw your drawing and you will turn slightly pink but honestly you just can’t be mad

Mozart

ok so we all know that when he finds this notebook he’ll be stone-faced  

you ain’t getting no type of emotion out of this tsuntsun

that is until he’s in public

once he’s in his room oh boy

at first it’s just a hint of a smile, but it gets bigger and bigger until he’s smiling like a dork as he inspects your drawings

he’ll never admit it but the fact that you drew him really warmed his icy heart

he even finds one where he’s by a Christmas tree smiling and a little note next to it saying “I’ll make him smile like this one day”

he closes the book and puts on his stone face again and leaves his room

in the corridor he runs into you

“ Hey, Wolf?” “What do you want.” “Isn’t that my notebook?” “Yes it is.” “So why do you have it?” “....Inspiration.”

yup now he has that notebook with him on the piano and only let’s you get it back if you want to doddle in it some more

Theo

you where cooking in the kitchen, whipping up some pancakes for the brothers

Theo came in to complain that there wasn’t enough syrup on his pancake and you flashed him a death glare and told him to get some from the cupboard

as he grumbles to himself h notices your sketchbook  on the counter

and he proceeds to open it and go through it

he sees a bunch of pretty decent drawings of him and he’s surprised

he’ll act all tough but he’s really happy

“ Oi, Hondjie! What is this?” he shows you your most recent sketch. The one where he’s walking King with a faint smile on his lips.

you instantly go bright red

“ Put that down! You where not supposed to see that! There not good just put it down”

he’ll sigh and pull you into a hug

“ I like it”

Vincent

smol bean

you left it in his room and he just wanted to take a peek

and he opened it up and saw a punch of sketches of him

they even had notes like “uhh stop moving you hand” or “how can someone be this pure”

he’s moved

will go and find you and apologize for looking in your notebook and will tell you how cute your drawings are

all in all he’s a sweet little angel but like who expected  anything else

Dazai

funny how he can’t remember your name but can remember exactly were you hide the sketchbook when you can’t take it with you

yup this guy just went and took it

he has no shame

he flicked trough it and smiled to himself

the drawings where adorable and funny and he loved it

you strait up walk in on him with the sketchbook and he just smiled at you

you turn pink trying to explain why you drew them

buuuut he just twirls you around and pules you into his lap smiling and you go over the drawing together recalling happy memories  

Sebastian

did somebody say Sebastian appreciation hours

You can’t really hide anything from Sebas can you

you went out to get groceries and he was cleaning up around the mansion

you had left your notebook tucked behind one of the library shelves and as he was dusting he found it

he opened it not knowing it was your notebook

he realized soon enough though

he just starred at the pages full of drawings of him

you waked in and he just calmly put the notebook down

he asks why you drew him and you turn pink

as you try to formulate a coherent response he sighs and makes his way to you

he gently flicks your forehead and smiles

“I never said I didn’t like them”

Will

ok so lets talk about our dear yandere boy Will

you hang out a lot at his villa

usually you are accompanied by Vincent

but today he remembered he had a painting to finish and left

you offered to walk him to the gate and he gladly accepted

however you forgot your sketchbook on the dining table

William instantly noticed this and couldn’t help but take a peek

he’s shooketh

the drawing are so cute  he really likes them

you come in and he smiles at you

your kind of embarrassed because 1 you didn’t want him to see that and 2 he asked you if you could draw in front of him

“ The way thou hand moves across this paper mesmerizes me”

you turn bright red but your happy he likes it