#i just finished TWO very cool commissions that will be going public soon

[pine-niidles]

January Project Updates

I'm going to start this by pretending I'm not posting this a week into February, and you're going to go along with me, ok? Ok! 

Well January sure went by quick! My update last time was pretty hesitant, but I think I am properly getting back into things. On top of that I finally got a reply on my visa and I'm flying back to Scotland at the end of the month 🎉 Very excited to be home! I'm looking forward to seeing my girlfriend and friends again and being back in a space I've designed to work for me. Now, onto what I've been up to:

2023 sketchbook

Part two of attempting to document my art: I put together scans of my physical sketchbook with a bunch of digital drawings from last year. The pdf is pretty much complete, I've just been putting off figuring out the cover and writing a quick intro & outro.  

I guess I'm also kind of hesitant to put a price on it since 60% of it is stuff I've posted publically, but I keep telling myself it's worth it anyway. And it's nice to see all that art in one place rather than lost to void of social media.

Stickers

I got myself some sticker paper and have been doing a bunch of test prints to get to know it (and my printer). I'm really happy with how they're turning out! It's extremely satisfying to print out my art and hold it in my hands.

I plan to set up an online shop sometime after I get back to Scotland, I'll probably open it in March. Sticker packs will be up for sale there alongside zines & prints 🌟

Commissions

Perhaps this is more of a February update but by the time the month is over it'll be too late to let you know! I opened regular commission slots and alongside them I made a fun valentines YCH, only slightly vampire themed. Very self-indulgent but I hope you'll like them it too.

I'll probably only take one more slot before closing both the forms :)

February Plans

- Hourly comics day was the 1st of February. I'm pretending this is just a January update, so I won't go too far into it right now. I did finish it, and I'm formatting the comics to make into a zine!

- Sketchbooking - I'm finally returning to drawing in my physical sketchbook again, I'll start posting scans again as soon as I have ~10 pages done

- Impractical but Extremely Cool Fantasy Swords zine, I have (almost) all the swords finished I just need to put it all together

- and gotta focus on finishing those commissions ofc <3

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.

[dameronology]

a good jedi {obi-wan x reader}

summary: obi-wan kenobi always knows what to say, and he's always right - most the time, it's pretty annoying, but when you need advice? you're in luck. (this is platonic obi-wan x padawan! reader btw! for @raeshin -- i hope you enjoy!)

warnings: it probably has language in it somewhere? at this point i don't even know when i do and don't swear.

enjoy!! if you'd like to read more about commissioning a fic, the faqs are here :)

- jazz xx

The Jedi Temple had been scary at first.

With it's high walls and long, tangled history, you felt the pressure of being a warrior weigh on your shoulders almost the minute you set foot in the grand corridors. You'd been just a kid at the time - wide eyed and filled with some kind of weird, naive hope - but in your few, short years in the galaxy, you had heard more than enough about the Jedi. Who they were, and what they stood for; the adventures they went on and the way they brought balance to the Galaxy. The connection you felt to them had never seemed to be anything more than a youthful obsession with a world you wanted to be a part of.

Then, not long after your sixth birthday, things began to make sense. A mysterious man in a cloak paid your home planet a visit -- for you. Your interest in the Jedi hadn't been coincidental. Not in the slightest. Your connection to the Force was almost overwhelming, and it was something that Obi-Wan Kenobi could sense the minute he met you for the first time. For a young kid who had been torn away from their family and had the trajectory of their life changed entirely, your upbeat approach to the change of circumstance was pleasantly...surprising. It was clear from the get-go that you had a thirst for adventure, and a strong sense to do the right thing. Two things that, arguably, would have made you the perfect Jedi.

Obi-Wan was a good example of one; he was calm under pressure, patient as a mentor and things were never boring. It didn't take long for him to become like an older brother to you, and for that, you were grateful. There were other Padawans who hadn't been as lucky -- their mentors were either obsessed with the rules, or they were more preoccupied by their outstanding missions and meetings with the Council. Obi-Wan had always made you his main priority, focusing on your training and making sure that you didn't make the same mistakes as him (but let's face it -- were there many?).

Perhaps, it was that idolisation that had lead you to become scared of opening up to him about your own fears. Of course, he would never judge you, but the irrational, anxiety-induced voice in your head didn't know any better. You were terrified of letting him down, and even more fearful that he might lose faith in you for having doubts. Doubts in yourself, doubts in the Jedi, doubts in everything they stood for. What kind of warrior questioned their dedication and the morals of the order to which they were seemingly destined to be a part of? A bad one - or so you told yourself.

It had been easy to push them down at first; to brush aside your worries and tell yourself you were being silly. But, what had started as a little voice in the back of your head soon became a loud, all-consuming bellow. It was hard to ignore, especially now that Obi-Wan had thrown around the idea of beginning practice for your trials. You were no longer a child anymore, but a young adult. It was time for you to start moving up in the world, and in the Jedi Order, and that would mean reaffirming your commitment to them. You'd near enough dedicated two decades of your life to the cause, but it was only now that the doubt was truly starting to plague you.

It was becoming harder to hide it from Obi-Wan. Not only was he extremely intuitive and pragmatic in himself, but the Force connection that your Jedi-mentor relationship had provided you with made it even harder to kick your emotions under the fridge like ice and pretend they weren't there. Even when you gave him your best fake smile and promised you were excited for what was to come, he saw right through it. Your thinly-veiled emotions were no match for a man who could read you like a book.

"We have to report the council." Obi-Wan said. He stepped aside, allowing you to exit the ship with him in tow. "It might be useful for you to deliver the mission report. Good practice for when you're out there on your own-"

"- master, we haven't even got a date for when I'll be doing the trials." You cut him off. The Temple wasn't too far of a walk, but it took you through the gardens. "I'd rather not get ahead of myself."

"It's always better to be a few steps ahead then a few steps behind." He shot back.

"Yeah, I suppose." You muttered. "I think I'm where I need to be right now. Not ahead, nor behind."

He thinned his eyes at you. "If you're sure."

"Very." You forced a smile. "Besides, I'm tired out. It's been a long few days."

"I find myself doubting the sincerity of your statement given that you threatened Anakin over a game of holochess just mere seconds ago-"

"- he was cheating!" You exclaimed. "But really, master, I am shattered. I'd be grateful if you'd let me retire for the night, unless you're really that desperate for my presence in front of the council."

"Very well." Obi-Wan nodded. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning for training?"

You stopped in your tracks, just in front of the corridor that lead to your chambers. Normally, you were pretty good at coming up with excuses - now, your ability had failed you entirely. It wasn't that you didn't want to wake up early and train, but rather that you were so caught up in your own concerns and doubts that it would affect your ability to fight at all. And, with all due respect to Obi-Wan, the last thing you needed was to be thrown half-way across the room at 5AM on a Saturday morning during combat training.

"I'm not sure," you nervously shuffled from one foot to another. "I might skip training tomorrow and focus on my readings."

Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest. "Something is going on with you."

"There isn't." You tried to sound confident in your words. "I'm just-"

"- tired?" He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been getting enough sleep lately?"

"Of course." You replied quickly- perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Hmm." Obi-Wan clearly wasn't taking your bullshit. "You know that you've been my Padawan for the better part of twenty years, don't you?"

"Right."

"I can tell when you're lying." He continued. "We'll finish it here tonight but I'm not done with this conversation."

"There's nothing to talk about." You coldly said. "Good night, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed, blue eyes flittering to the floor. "Good night."

--

True to your word, you slept through training the next day. You didn't even bother setting an alarm, instead choosing to snooze right through til late morning. It was a much-needed lie in -- between your missions, your late-night stressing sessions and constantly running away from the subject of your trials, you were shattered. The sleep had been good, but it didn't much when it was your soul that was tired.

You found yourself in the Temple gardens not long after you woke up. They were the most peaceful place in the entire building -- fields of fresh, green grass, and tangles of unkempt plants that stretched out as far as you could see. The late-morning sun was hanging high in the sky, casting a golden glow on your skin as you slowly wandered down the path. There were a few other people sat on the lawns, either meditating or reading a book. Instead of doing either, you simply meandered. It was hard to remember the last time you weren't doing something...Jedi-ish.

"That isn't reading."

You froze at the sound of your Master's voice -- he was sat on one of the benches, lunch laid out beside him. Knowing Obi-Wan, he'd probably risen at 4AM and done ten times as much in his waking hours than everyone else in the Temple had done in a week. He was always on the go, always dedicating himself to something. Sometimes, he took you along for the ride.

"I was taking a walk." You shot back.

"I can see that." Obi-Wan said. He tossed his sandwich into the bin and stood up, dusting off his trousers. "Let's walk and talk."

"Master, I'm going to be honest with you, I really wanted this time for myself." You explained. "And with all due respect, most of the Padawans out here are alone, and not with their masters-"

"- so you're too cool to be seen in public with me now?" He raised an eyebrow. "I can sense your anxiety and I think it would be good for us to get to the bottom of it."

You sighed to yourself -- the gig was up. But, to give credit where credit was due, you had been able to hide your woes from him for the better part of six months. You could feel your heart-rate picking up in your chest at the thought of coming clean. What if he was disappointed in you? Or worst, insulted that you were worrying about the Order he had sworn his life to?

Obi-Wan placed his hand on the small of your back, forcing you to start walking beside him, through the gardens and towards the temple. So much for a peaceful morning.

"Talk to me." He said. "What's troubling you?"

"I..." you let your eyes fall to the floor. "Look, if I tell you, can you promise me one thing?"

"Of course."

"That you won't be disappointed in me?"

"I could never be disappointed in you." Obi-Wan replied. "If you've made a mistake, it's fine. How else are we supposed to learn?"

"It's not so much a mistake, so much it is a feeling." You began. "I've dedicated most of my life to this Order, and the things it stands for, and by the looks of it, the rest of my life will be too. That was amazing when I was a kid, and not entirely capable of thinking for myself. Now I can, and I find myself full of...doubt."

"Right," He pondered on your words for a moment. "Doubt about what, exactly?"

"The Order." You replied. "There are so many rules to follow, and so many codes. It's been okay up until now but what if one day, I find myself wanting to make a decision that goes against it? Or making a choice that I think to be correct, but the Council see as wrong?"

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. He felt your words in his core -- he'd had his moments like that too. Many, many moments of doubt, sprinkled throughout the last three decades. But, just a few was plenty enough for him to remember - the hesitation, the worry, the endless thoughts of leaving and breaking free plaguing in his mind. There had been so much loss; so much grief and hurt that had pushed him to the edge. Qui-Gonn, Satine, members of the 501st who had fallen victim to the ongoing Clone Wars. There were days where he came closer and closer to his breaking point - in the same way there were days that it felt like it was inching further away. Like the day that the two of you went to Corellia, and he saw you hold your own in battle for the first time, or the day that he managed to get himself kidnapped, and you and Anakin came to rescue him and make a joke out of it. It was the days like that which he'd clung onto so tightly.

You never would have known, not from his outward appearance. From where you were standing, Obi-Wan Kenobi was calm and collected. He always stood his ground and did the right thing, and aside from a few grey hairs that had cropped up in his otherwise-strawberry-blonde hair, you never would have known the losses he had faced. The sacrifices he had made.

And it broke his heart that you feeling that same misgivings and apprehensions that he had.

"Master, you've been quiet for a really long time." You murmured. "Maybe I should just forget it, pretend I didn't say anything-"

"- Not every decision that I've made has been in line with what a good Jedi is." Obi-Wan cut you off. "But you don't need to worry, I can assure you of that much."

You peered up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You might not always be a good Jedi, but you'll always do the right thing." He explained.

"You think so?"

"I know so." He replied. "I see it in you. Whatever way you interpret the Jedi Code, you needn't worry, because you can't be a good Jedi until when, stripped back to the very core of your humanity, you're a good person. And you are, undoubtedly so."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"There are going to be times when you doubt everything you stand for, and everything you dedicate your life to." Obi-Wan continued. "And when I find myself doing that, I look at it from a different angle. The be-all-and-end-all of what we do is to help and protect others, whether that's under the guise of the Jedi, or as a civilian. That's what matters."

"That makes sense." You nodded. "Thank you for listening. I was worried you were going to be disappointed in me."

"I've been disappointed with the Jedi Order itself hundreds of more times than I've been disappointed with you." He said. "Your ability to question authority when necessary is going to get you far. It's better to be overly cautious than overly naive."

"Does that apply to your authority too?" You grinned.

"If need be - but I like to think I'm a pretty relaxed master." Obi-Wan replied. "I could be a lot harder on you. Especially on mornings when you lie to me and sleep in."

You groaned. "It won't happen again. I can assure you that your current methods of teaching are more than sufficient."

"Sufficient enough that you're ready for the trials?"

"Maybe." You cautiously said. "I suppose we could at least talk to the council about it."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan grinned. "Then you can finally get rid of me."

"I could never." You shot back.

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[strangeinternetwasteland]

Cross the Line Part 2

A/N: Let me know if you want a part 3, that would be the final part

Word Count 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of abortion

You struggled to breathe, you felt your heartbreak into a million pieces. You did this to yourself. You didn’t go back to his apartment. You just packed your clothes from your apartment and ran. You didn’t care where you ended up, or if you died. The look on Bakugo’s face was enough. The venom in his voice was enough to make you vomit right then and there. You knew you couldn’t go back to the League. You debated whether or not to go to the commission for protection. Deciding against that since they’d probably just kill you on sight for just endangering their mission.

You wandered on the streets for a while. You thought about the last few months, and how blissful they truly were. You sat in a dark alley on top of your suitcase and cried. You let it all out, every emotion poured out of you. No one else seemed to have cared at all. The scream that erupted from your throat was full of pain. You didn’t notice when someone approached you.

“Y/N?” A concerned voice pulled you back to reality. Deku looked at you. You had met him a few times, and knew that he grew up with Bakugo.

“Are you okay?” He asked you. You nodded, why should he be brought into your drama. Into the world you created yourself.

“Is it Kaa-Chan?” He questioned you. “I know he can be so quick to anger. Give him sometime, he’ll cool down. You two will be okay. He loves you.” He tried reassuring you. You just broke down again, crying harder.

“No. It can’t be okay. It won’t be okay. I fucked up. Really really bad.” You stuttered out between sobs.

“How about you stay with me for a bit?” He offered you. You didn’t object, you really just wanted to lay your head down for a bit in a place where you’d be safe for a moment. When you arrived at Midoriya’s apartment, he showed you to the guest room. You closed the door behind you, laid on the bed, The last thought on your mind was about keeping the baby. You fell asleep after a few slow, long blinks. You awoke a few hours later yelling.

“DUMBASS, I told you. She’s the enemy. She’s a villian.” You heard Bakugo yelling.

“Kaa-Chan, I don’t think she is. Everyone is capable of change.” Midoriya defended you.

“You really don’t know her. How could she lie to me so easily? I loved her. You don’t fucking get it.” Bakugo pounded his fist against the table.

“Then make me understand, if you don’t think I know. I know you love her, I know she loves you. So she didn’t kill you all those times she could have. She didn’t  sit there and give the League any information. She would have fucked us over so many times. She could’ve, but she didn’t.” Midoriya spoke to Bakugo.

You didn’t need to hear anything more. You grabbed your suitcase and slipped through the window. You decided that you’d come clean to the Commission. You walked there as quickly as possible, you fought your nerves, and emotions the whole way.

When you arrived, you weren’t sure what to expect. You were rushed into the Chairman’s office. For the next few hours, you explained what you found out while working with the villains, what the villains’ plans were, and what their ultimate goal was. Every detail of your interactions were scrutinized. When you finished with your meeting the only thing that was left was to tell the truth about you and Bakugo.

“Thank you for your help with this mission. I know it was difficult to cross that line, and sometimes multiple times. It wears on one’s mind after some time. Your services are no longer needed.” The Chairman told you with a satisfied smile on his face.

“There is something else I need to disclose, Sir.” You began to say.

“If this is about you and Lord Murder Explosion being a couple, my advice is to continue, his ratings are going up since announcing your relationship. The public feels safer and also think he’s more approachable.” He continued.

“I am afraid to say this, but he and I are no longer together. After finding out I was working the League, he didn’t want anything to do with me.” You told him with a little more firmness that you meant to. “Also, I will not be able to return to hero work right away. I am currently pregnant.” You kept the Chairman’s eye.

“I see. Tomorrow morning go see the doctor. We will figure out other work for you in the meantime. Meanwhile, please rest for the next two weeks. We will take care of the other apartment.” He dismissed you, you felt some sort of weight lift off your shoulders, but your mind was filled with worry.

The next two weeks came and went in a blur, you’d gotten a due date for your baby, but were unsure if you even wanted to keep it. You slept unrestfully for those two weeks. Every day you woke up thinking about Bakugo. Wondering if the Chairman would be good on his word. You really didnt have much faith in him when it came to promises. Midoriya had texted you every so often just to check up. He was very sweet, and Ochacko was very lucky to have ended up with him. The Commission hadn’t contacted you about starting other work at the end of the two weeks, so your vacation ended up being extended another two weeks.

After a month of no contact from Bakugo, you decided that it was time to make up your mind about the baby. You were getting ready for your day when you were called into action to fight against the League. You were in a one on one fight with Toga. Everything inside you screamed that you’d rather die than let this little teenaged psycho touch a civilian.

“Oh, look who’s here to save the day! The traitor” Toga cackled at you, her maniacal laugh echoing off the surrounding buildings.

“I will take you down if it’s the last thing I do you fucking psycho.” You retorted as you lunged at her. The pace of her swings were too much for you. You were winded and breathless after a few minutes. There was nothing special about her movements, yours were sluggish from the human inside. She had pinned you against the wall with her hands around your throat. You were dangerously close to blacking out. Suddenly, your body slouched against the wall, as you felt yourself gasping for air right before nothingness enveloped you.

You awoke with the yellowish glare of fluorescent lights, and gasping for air. Your hands were grasping for anything you could hold on to. Your hand grabbed hold of a bicep. When your (eye color) met his red ones, time stood still for a moment. Everything you were fighting for in that moment seemed to have faded away.

He took his hand and placed it on top of your head. You couldn’t read the look on his face. He didn’t seem mad, or angry. He stood a placed a kiss on your forehead.

“You scared me.” He whispered into your hair as he brushed it back. The tears flowed freely from his eyes. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.” The tender moment broken by the doctor.

“Oh, good, Y/N, you’re awake. We need to discuss a few things. First, I need your consent that it is okay to speak about important health information in front of-” The doctor looked at Bakugo.

“Katsuki, Yes. I consent.” You said allowed.

“Alright. First, there were no serious injuries sustained with your fight. Your throat may be sore for a few days, and you may have a headache. There was no brain damage.” He told the both of you. Bakugo took your hand in his squeezing it gently.

“Secondly, about the pregnancy.” He started, Bakugo tightened his grip on your hand. A very worried look crossed his face “They’re safe, and doing well.”

“They?” You said with shock. The doctor nodded.

“Yes, They. That was the other part, I know you Ms. L/N, were told it was one. While doing tests, we did indeed find two. The last thing is that we’d like to keep you here for a few hours just for observation.” He finished.

“Yes, okay. No problem.” You agreed with the doctor.

“Okay, great. I will give you some time. The nurse will be in here in a while to check your vitals and check on you.” The doctor said and left, closing the door behind him.

Bakugo had been awfully quiet while the doctor had spoken. You were unsure of what he was thinking. Bakugo stood up and placed his hands in his pockets.

“Katsuki…” He kissed you chastely at first, then deepened the kiss. All of the emotions he’d been keeping in over the last month tumbled out. Bakugo decided against having his way with you in the hospital bed, and broke the kiss.

“Y/N…” He pulled a black box from his pocket and opened it, up a light pink dusted his cheeks. Inside was a gorgeous round cut diamond solitaire ring set in white gold. You gave him a quizzical look, not understanding.

“Are you going to answer me? Or am I just going to stand here like a dumbass?” He asked you. It took a second, but it clicked in your brain. He was asking you to marry him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close breathing in his scent. Tears were streaming down your face, as you nodded your answer to him.

“I am sorry, Y/N. I thought you were the villain. I thought you were the bad guy here. When the Chairman explained everything to me. I thought it couldn’t be possible that you’d actually like me. It was that nerd, Deku, who told me that you two had been texting. He kept me up to date, he told me what you had said. When I had found you passed out because that damn extra...I was really scared. I was terrified that you were going to die. I knew I was going to ask you to marry me, the next time I saw you. I am sorry it’s in the hospital. I’ll ask you properly, soon.”

He looked as if  he’d break in your hands, and you knew to an extent that it was true. He sat there holding you close afraid that if he did let you go, you’d disappear.

“Please come back, live with me. Let me take care of you and our children. I promise I will spend every day making it up to you, in every way possible. However, you’d like, for as long as it takes. The happiest I’ve ever been is when I spent time with you.” He said with a softness in his voice that you knew he meant what he was saying.

“I am sorry, Katsuki. I cannot do that.” You told him teasingly. His face dropped, “Not unless you say it.” He groaned at you.

“I love you, Y/N. Will you marry me?” Bakugo asked you followed by another passionate kiss. This moment couldn’t have been more perfect.

[lovely-yandere-imagines]

Flowers of My Affection

Hey Lovelies, so I recently opened up my commission and this fanfic is the first one i got! It’s a lovely Yandere!Giorno x reader fic yay! If you’d like to commission me you can find the link right here or in my bio!

Notes: 18+ ONLY! This character has been aged up as are all the characters I write for, I set this a few years after the events of part 5 where Giorno is now the new Don of Passione and a few of our other boys make small appearances.

Pairing: Yandere!Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Warnings: slight violence, slight public embarrassment, unhealthy relationships, implied dub-con, nsfw, objectification, Giorno is delusional and wraps reader in vines.

Word count: 1,400

Description: Giorno’s darling runs away early in the morning and the golden boy has to chase them down, when he catches them he punishes them by turning his object of affection into a living vase!

You had to get away from him, his overbearingness, his “affection”, his obsession with you, his possessiveness. You had to get away from your captor, Don Giorno Giovanna. You had to run, as quick as you could, he had finally made a mistake and there was no looking back now. Everything happened so fast, you remember him unlocking the door that morning to bring you breakfast and as hard as you could you socked him in the face and quickly slipped by him, no hesitation needed but you had to be quick cause he was gaining on you and quick. You could hear him calmly calling after you as he ran after you. 

If someone didn't know you had been kidnapped they would have thought you two to be a couple in the middle of a breakup. You ran right then left, you didn’t know where you were but you tried your best to read the street signs as Italian didn’t come to you as easily as English but you could make up some words. ‘I need to find a telephone or a police officer’ when suddenly you hear him rounding a corner and calling after you this time sounding more frantic than before, “Darling! Please, don’t run from me, it won't end well.” No time to look for a phone and then you saw him, oh thank god, a cop, you ran to him screaming for help and practically flinging yourself into his arms.

As the unknown policeman catches you you’re met with cold golden eyes and purple lipstick, he seems familiar to you, like you've seen his face before “What's the meaning of this!” he interrogates you angrily, and before you can say anything you hear the cooled voice of Giorno behind you that makes a shiver run up your spine.

“Sorry officer, me and my Tesoro had a bit of an argument and she ran away from me.” The two continue to speak in Italian and you’re only able to catch bits and phrases from the conversation and then you finally hear the officer address you. “Well, Y/N, it looks like I caught you just at the right time, you shouldn’t run off on this side of town late at night, you never know who you’ll run into.” wait, how did he know your name you think to yourself but before you can question him you feel Giorno firmly grab onto your arm.

“Thank you, Officer, I’ll make sure my flower doesn’t run off again.” he shoots you a look and you swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, just before he dragged you back to your cage you see Giorno slip the office some cash and he smiles back at him. Neither you nor Giorno spoke a word as you walked back to the mansion, all the while he still had his vice of a grip on your arm. Once you both get back to your shared room Giorno angrily shoves you into the room, his usually calm demeanor is now gone and you can see that he’s visibly shaking.

“You know you could have told me if you were lonely, Fiore. I could have kept you company, I know I'm a busy man but I would have shown you all of my love.” you try to speak but he cuts you off “But now you’ve lashed out and ran away like a child and made me the bad guy for what I'm about to do to you, you need to be punished...” Suddenly you feel a vine quickly bind your arms behind you back and cover your mouth when you begin to beg for forgiveness. 

“No..no more talking, I’ve heard enough of your excuses.” He grabs you tenderly but the chin and kisses your forehead, he lowers himself till your eye level and gives you a delirious grin, you can help but feel your stomach churn at the way he stares at the nightgown he pick out for you earlier that night, a silky pink vintage dress with a rose in the middle where you neckline was. His eyes linger there for a moment and suddenly he rips it off of you with ease. 

“It’s a shame I had to ruin this but if you're a good pet I might replace it for you..” He rubs the delicate fabric between his fingers before tossing it to the ground then looking back up at you with love in his eyes he likes what he sees before him. His beautiful flower a naked as the day they were born and his eyes light up suddenly like he just got a great idea. 

“You know, flower, you have a beautiful figure, it's almost like I'm staring at Aphrodite in the flesh, so beautiful…” he trails off lost in thought and then looks you right in the eyes, “You’d make a very beautiful vase for my office…” Your stomach sinks but then you feel vines covering your body, soft tendrils cover your most delicate areas and you can see various flowers blooming off them. Giorno then begins to rearrange them to his liking till you're covered and can barely move, feet and hand still bend and your mouth still covers with small cherry blossoms tickling your nose.

Giorno gently picks you up and carries you to his office, careful to not damage any of the flowers or vines. He passes by a few of his underlings and you try to hide your face unsuccessfully, you can hear them gossiping about and you one laugh and is brave enough to address Giorno, “Hey boss, I like your new flower pot, know anywhere where I can get one?” another one replies “Mista leave him alone, can’t you see he's pissed right now!” 

Giorno says nothing and just keeps waking, you wish he’d say something soon, he’s starting to scare you more than usual. Finally, he makes it to his office and places you behind his desk. “There, now you won't be lonely while I'm at work and everyone will be able to see my beautiful muse” He strokes your face no longer looking at you as a person but as his possession. He hears your stomach growl and remembers that you hadn’t eaten that morning. “Oh dear, it seems I’ve forgotten to feed you. I’ll be right back, flower.”

Several moments pass and then Giorno comes back with a plate and a glass of water and gently moves the vines from your lips, “I hope you’re still hungry, here open up.” He then stares to spoon feed you and give you little sips of water in between. It’s moments like this that you’re thankful for when he's not threatening to kill your whole family or the random stranger that looked at you too long and he’s hand isn't lingering on your thigh longingly, the moments when he’s gentle and caring. Then you get an idea, you two have never made love before but maybe if you gave yourself to him he’d unbind you..it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

When you’ve finished all your food Giorno goes to put the vines back when you finally decide to speak up, “Giorno! Darling... I’ve been thinking…” He stops and stares at you waiting for you to continue, “I-i was thinking...that maybe..we could be us..intimate.” He blushes slightly at the idea and brushes your hair behind your ear, you can tell he’s lost in thought so you interrupt “I mean..w-we could make love, right here, right now if you unbind me.” you can see him hesitate and then he starts to put the vines back over your mouth, and not even thinking you quickly spit out “I’ll be yours! And only yours! I won't let anyone else have me, you’re my everything Giorno, please!”

He stops and you don’t know what you’re expecting to be honest but when he smiles you can tell it's genuine, “Oh, il Mio Amore, that’s all I’ve ever wanted was for you to love me back, I'm so happy.” He removes all of the vines from you and quickly picks you up bridal style and begins to carry you back to your shared room stopping for a moment and calling out to someone “Fugo, cancel all my appointments for the day, Amore and I are going to have some alone time.” and with that, you’ve sealed your fate, he’s never going to let you go now.

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Disappearance 2: The Sighting {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Thank you all so much for your support with this story so far, I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Disappearance Masterlist

He dreamt of Chiasa often.

On bad nights his mind created terrible scenarios about who she was with and where she was and what was happening to her. Other better nights let him fantasize about finding her and bringing her back to his agency with a smug grin as he reunited with the love of his life.

Most nights, though, his dreams were memories. Soft around the edges and sometimes fuzzy in detail, but as real as he could remember.

That night he had a dream about finding their first apartment for just themselves. It was going to be a far cry from sharing a townhome with Kaminari and Jiro, mostly because it wasn’t going to be as cluttered and full of ridiculous pranks but also because it would finally be theirs.

He could vividly remember coming home from one of the early meetings with the Hero Public Safety Commission about starting his own agency and seeing her in the sitting room practically vibrating with excitement. She’d pulled him down beside her and all but shoved her tablet into his face to look at what she’d found, declaring that their search was over.

And it had been. The building had twenty-four security and desk staff, keycard resident entry, and was in a safer neighborhood with a low crime rate. He could see it was a short walk to the nearest train station and if he got the approval for his agency and secured the building he wanted, it wouldn’t be a long commute at all. Two bedrooms was well within their budget and would allow her to have a dedicated office space for her work from home position instead of her current setup at the foot of their bed.

He didn’t realize he’d been grinning until she poked his cheek and asked an impatient, “Well?”

“Let’s apply.”

She let out a happy squeal as she threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing his face repeatedly as he tried to keep a hold on her tablet. Her grip only seemed to grow tighter the more he weakly fought her embrace.

“Katsuki, this is going to be amazing!” she laughed, kissing his temple one final time as she pulled back slightly to cuddle against him. This time he didn’t fight the embrace, instead wrapping an arm around her to keep her close.

He’d scoffed. “’Course it’ll be amazing. It’s you and me.”

“You and me,” she agreed with a smile.

He could hear her saying those words as clear as day in his memories. It had started as a joke about the first time they’d gone out alone without friends; he’d asked her if she wanted to go to a new mochi shop and she immediately went to text the rest of their friends before he stopped her, grunting, “You and me.”

After some time it just became theirs. Three words with just as much weight as I love you. It was a simple way to say more important things—“I’m here for you” and “We’re in this together” and “The two of us cannot be broken.”

It was a part of how their bond became as strong as it did, and he missed hearing it in person.

Cool, early September air was left behind as the door to his agency closed behind him. He wasn’t thrilled with the weather beginning to take a turn towards lower temperatures, knowing his quirk took longer to build up its power. As much as he hated being called a “slow starter” in the winter it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Hikari greeted him with a curt good morning as he passed her desk and slid a few papers his way without looking up. He grabbed them and in their place set down a travel mug of peppermint tea and a small blue bento, his own low mornin’ barely audible.

Making his way to his office he looked over the patrol routes for the day and the notations about the current goings-on of the areas. It was fairly run-of-the-mill with little suspected villain activity, a perfect time to allow some of the newer sidekicks and interns to tag along with his people for the day.

Surprisingly this was one of the things he enjoyed about running his own agency. Planning and strategizing were some of his strong suits despite how much he did enjoy blasting headfirst into battle when he could. But as the man in charge he liked being control of where his people were posted a lot too.

He had already decided who would be taking which patrol by the time everyone was gathered in the large conference room in their hero costumes, some more bleary-eyed than others. Mugs of coffee and tea billowed steam above the table and Kirishima’s branded shaker bottle stood taller than all of them.

Kaminari yawned lazily and Sero elbowed him in the ribs at the stern glare of their boss.

“Three sectors, little activity save for the corner tea shop on route 2B,” he started as everyone turned their eyes towards him. “Cellophane and Pinky, you two are taking the sidekicks to sector 1. Route A to Cellophane, B to Pinky. Choose your sidekicks and report it before you leave.”

The two heroes fist bumped and shot grins and thumbs up towards the sidekicks across the table from them. They were the best to get collaboration on the brain when it came to the newer recruits.

“Sector 2 goes to Red Riot and Chargebolt. Red, you’re on route A with the two interns and Chargebolt you’re taking route B so make sure that shitty shop isn’t getting worse.”

He knew that Kirishima was the perfect option for guiding the wide-eyed interns through some of their first tastes of the hero life. Plus, he was the best defense if trouble arose and backup would take time.

“I’m taking sector 3 myself. Questions?” When no one responded, he concluded, “Alright, get out there.”

Kaminari shot a smile to everyone he came across on his patrol. Chargebolt was a well-liked figure and regarded very highly as a personable hero when spotted in public. He was proud to have cultivated that good will with the people and was oftentimes the one who handled the media for the Dynamight agency alongside Kirishima, Red Riot’s popularity one of the only heroes higher than himself.

Quieter times to stop and chat with his fans were always his favorite but days like this that required more vigilance he did what he could with smiles and waves to those he saw. Even if there was only suspected villain activity at the tiny tea shop across from the mall he had to keep a close eye on it.

He tried to spend as much time as he could with the shop in view while still patrolling the rest of the route. Nothing of note caught his attention all morning and well into the afternoon.

Then the afterschool crowd and post workday crowds filled the area. He began to see a few suspicious characters that he reported back to the agency when he had a chance, but none of them gave any other indication of wrongdoing. He preferred to be thorough, though, just like Bakugo liked.

Half a dozen notes later, as the sun was low in the sky, he started to plan his evening once he got home. Jiro had the day off which meant she would spend most of it in the studio and bring home their favorite takeout. She was always in a great mood after a day in the studio too, and he loved seeing her so happy.

The tinkling bell of the tea shop’s door opening brought him from his thoughts and his gaze fell on a scraggly-haired brunette stepping into the evening air. From where he was down the street, he could see her pull the hand of a small boy to come stand by her on the sidewalk. Dark, matted hair sat atop his head and he scratched at the arm the woman held.

The closer he got the more he noticed about them—the woman’s ill-fitting dress and oversized sweater in much warmer contrast to the boy’s too short jeans and short sleeved tshirt. The boy shook from the cold and he quickened his pace, everything in him ready to shrug off his jacket and wrap the child in it while giving a few choice words to the mother.

As he approached he saw the woman’s eyes darting furiously as she hurriedly crossed towards one of the mall’s department store entrances, the boy shuffling along beside her as he went from scratching his arm to scratching his neck. Her grip on his arm looked tighter than it should be, and she walked quickly with no regard for if he could keep up with her longer strides.

Kaminari took in as many details as possibly as he began crossing too before stopping dead in his tracks in the crosswalk when the woman turned and said something to the boy. Her profile fit all of his observations in place and he tried to make himself move forward to confirm what he thought he was seeing.

By the time his body started to cooperate the duo had disappeared into the crowded department store and he was left at the door with only startled suspicions and half-formed what if scenarios in his mind. He had to tell someone, someone other than Bakugo who would surely fly off the handle on him for losing sight of the woman.

As he went to radio Kirishima, his comm came on with an incoming message from the redhead instead—“Charge, rendezvous in twenty at our starting point to head back to the agency?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed breathlessly. “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

Kirishima nudged him in the side, concerned for his usually loud blonde friend who had barely said a word on their journey back to the agency. “Are you okay, man? You’re never this quiet.”

Kaminari chewed the inside of his cheek as he pulled on his street clothes. With a sigh he ruffled his hair with his hand before rubbing his face.

“I saw something weird on my route at the tea shop.”

“Oh damn, what happened? Did you let Bakugo know yet? You know he needs those villain updates as soon as possible.”

He waved his hands to stop the questions. “No, I didn’t tell him yet but it wasn’t… I don’t know if it was villains.”

The redhead’s eyebrows knitted together. “Then what was so weird?”

“Right before you radioed me near the end of patrol I was finishing notes on some shady people around the shop when this lady and kid stepped out. They both looked, I don’t know, greasy? And she was dressed warm while the little boy she was with was shivering in just a tshirt.”

“That’s not exactly our kind of suspicious, dude, but we can—"

“But the fact that she looked like Chiasa is suspicious!”

Kirishima froze, whispering, “What?”

He nodded. “She looked like Chiasa with longer hair.”

“With… with a kid?”

“Yeah, little dark-haired kid that kept scratching at his arms and neck. I felt so bad for the little guy, he looked so cold—”

“Kaminari, focus!” Kirishima said harshly, cutting off his rambling. “We need to tell Bakugo. Even if it’s not her, he needs this lead. He has to see it through. On the off chance it is actually her… I don’t even know how he could react.”

“Plus she has a lot of explaining to do about where she’s been,” Kaminari sighed. “It’s been so long.”

Kirishima nodded sadly. “It has, but we need to let Bakugo lead on this. Whether or not it was really her and will get him closer to finding her, I don’t know. But he needs to do this. It’s the only way for him to move forward.”

Closing their lockers, they gathered their bags and made their way to their small shared office. The day being fairly quiet aside from the two brunettes being sighted allowed them to finish their patrol reports quickly and send them to Bakugo for his review.

They knew he waited until all reports were received to begin looking them over and they had never been more grateful for Mina’s inability to focus, knowing for a fact that she was always the last person to submit her reports. Passing her still in costume talking animatedly to the sidekicks about their day let them know that this time wasn’t going to be any different. It allowed them to speak with Bakugo before he had to read the information and hopefully let them do damage control too.

Hikari was just leaving his office as they came to the doorway, a tired smile on her lips as she shuffled the papers in her hands.

Kaminari knocked on the doorframe as she passed them to head back to her desk and without looking up was called in by their friend and boss.

“What?” he grunted, continuing to loosen his gauntlets to set them aside. Unlike the rest of them he preferred to write his reports before changing completely.

Kaminari cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling Kirishima’s hand on his shoulder for support. As long as he’d known Bakugo and been on the receiving end of his temper and explosions, this had to be one of the most nerve-wracking conversations he was going to start.

“I’ve got some news from my patrol today.”

Red eyes snapped up to meet his. “Villains at the tea shop? What happened? Was it in your report? You never called for backup and I know we didn’t have anyone detained in any of our sectors.”

He spoke quickly, his shoulders tensing with each word as he prepared himself to don his gauntlets once again to find whoever was stirring up trouble in his agency’s territory.

“No, no, it was just an observation but I wanted to tell you about it in person—”

“Then spit it out!”

“I think… I think it’s possible that I saw Chiasa come out of the tea shop with a little dark-haired boy. I’m not one-hundred percent sure if it was her but it sure as hell looked like her.”

Bakugo stood rigid behind his desk. Over four years of not a single clue as to where she was or if she was safe and now she reappeared right in his agency’s backyard. If it was her.

He would pull all the surveillance he could find in the area based on Kaminari’s report and go through it with a fine-toothed comb. He would know if it were her. There was no one he knew better.

If he decided it was her then their patrol routes were about to get a shakeup and he was about to get answers years in the making. But that was for him to know, at least for now.

“I’ll review your report. Send Hikari back on your way out and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said evenly.

The two other heroes exchanged surprised looks, expecting a much bigger reaction than a few long moments of silence. They watched him sit down and start his computer, his body language tense but not to the level they had anticipated.

“You don’t want to—”

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he repeated, eyes flicking up to see their stunned faces. He watched them blankly until they seemed to take the hint ad turned to leave.

He sat alone typing his report after making his request to Hikari to go through the proper channels for the surveillance footage he wanted and warning her that he would likely need more after reviewing Kaminari’s report. She didn’t seem to mind, letting him know that she would tell him as soon as the requested film came in.

So until then he sat in his office allowing himself to grasp onto this small straw of hope, holding tight to the first real evidence he’d had in years that he might be able to use to bring her home.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!

Disappearance Masterlist

[semete-ningen-rashiku]

The Happy Prince

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.  He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed.  “He is as beautiful as a weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon.  “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow.  His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed.  He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow.  So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.  This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows; “she has no money, and far too many relations”; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds.  Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.  “She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.”  And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.  “I admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.”

“Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

“You have been trifling with me,” he cried.  “I am off to the Pyramids.  Good-bye!” and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.  “Where shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air.”  So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him.  “What a curious thing!” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining.  The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.  The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I must look for a good chimney-pot,” and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw—Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks.  His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow; “you have quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter.  In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall.  Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful.  My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness.  So I lived, and so I died.  And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep.”

“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself.  He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

“Far away,” continued the statue in a low musical voice, “far away in a little street there is a poor house.  One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table.  Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress.  She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball.  In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill.  He has a fever, and is asking for oranges.  His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying.  Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt?  My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow.  “My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers.  Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King.  The King is there himself in his painted coffin.  He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices.  Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger?  The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.”

“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the Swallow.  “Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones at me.  They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.”

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.  “It is very cold here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger.”

“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured.  He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing.  A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover.  “How wonderful the stars are,” he said to her, “and how wonderful is the power of love!”

“I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,” she answered; “I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.”

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships.  He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales.  At last he came to the poor house and looked in.  The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired.  In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble.  Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings.  “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I must be getting better”; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done.  “It is curious,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.”

“That is because you have done a good action,” said the Prince.  And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep.  Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.  “What a remarkable phenomenon,” said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge.  “A swallow in winter!”  And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper.  Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect.  He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple.  Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.  “Have you any commissions for Egypt?” he cried; “I am just starting.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered the Swallow.  “To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract.  The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon.  All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent.  At noon the yellow lions come down to the water’s edge to drink.  They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across the city I see a young man in a garret.  He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets.  His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes.  He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more.  There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.”

“I will wait with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, who really had a good heart.  “Shall I take him another ruby?”

“Alas!  I have no ruby now,” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left.  They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago.  Pluck out one of them and take it to him.  He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.”

“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that”; and he began to weep.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the student’s garret.  It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof.  Through this he darted, and came into the room.  The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

“I am beginning to be appreciated,” he cried; “this is from some great admirer.  Now I can finish my play,” and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour.  He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes.  “Heave a-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came up.  “I am going to Egypt”! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

“I am come to bid you good-bye,” he cried.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “and the chill snow will soon be here.  In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them.  My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other.  Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away.  The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.”

“In the square below,” said the Happy Prince, “there stands a little match-girl.  She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled.  Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying.  She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare.  Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.”

“I will stay with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, “but I cannot pluck out your eye.  You would be quite blind then.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darted down with it.  He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand.  “What a lovely bit of glass,” cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince.  “You are blind now,” he said, “so I will stay with you always.”

“No, little Swallow,” said the poor Prince, “you must go away to Egypt.”

“I will stay with you always,” said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince’s feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands.  He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

“Dear little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women.  There is no Mystery so great as Misery.  Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there.”

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates.  He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets.  Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm.  “How hungry we are!” they said.  “You must not lie here,” shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

“I am covered with fine gold,” said the Prince, “you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.”

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey.  Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children’s faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street.  “We have bread now!” they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost.  The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well.  He picked up crumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die.  He had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more.  “Good-bye, dear Prince!” he murmured, “will you let me kiss your hand?”

“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.”

“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said the Swallow.  “I am going to the House of Death.  Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?”

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken.  The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two.  It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors.  As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: “Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!” he said.

“How shabby indeed!” cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,” said the Mayor in fact, “he is litttle better than a beggar!”

“Little better than a beggar,” said the Town Councillors.

“And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!” continued the Mayor.  “We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.”  And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince.  “As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful,” said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal.  “We must have another statue, of course,” he said, “and it shall be a statue of myself.”

“Of myself,” said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled.  When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

“What a strange thing!” said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.  “This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace.  We must throw it away.”  So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

“Bring me the two most precious things in the city,” said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

“You have rightly chosen,” said God, “for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.”

[itwillalwaysbedestiel]

Supernatural Star Jensen Ackles Is Ready for What’s Next. Are You?

When it was announced that beloved CW series Supernatural was ending after 15 years, fans were crushed. But there's plenty to look forward to before saying goodbye. Here the show's star opens up about the “beautiful” final episodes, his next move, and how he finally got his hands on Baby.

By Emily Tannenbaum

October 14, 2020

Jensen Ackles’s Supernatural journey began and ended with a road trip.

Fifteen years ago Sam and Dean Winchester (played by Jared Padalecki and Ackles, respectively) began their drive across the country in a jet-black 1967 Chevy Impala, hunting monsters, demons, and, eventually, God himself. Ackles was 26 years old at the time (the same age as the James Dean–like figure he portrays on the CW series), single, and coming off a steady career on TV, including a popular role on Days of Our Lives.

The actor is now 42 years old and just finished filming the 15th and final season of Supernatural after the coronavirus pandemic shut down production for several months. To mark the occasion, he did what Dean would do: He took a road trip. But this time things looked a little different and not just because he lacked monster-killing weapons and the iconic Impala.

“It was a sprinter van,” he tells me, back at home in Austin, after driving to the East Coast with his wife, One Tree Hill actor Danneel Harris Ackles, and their three young children. And instead of fighting the forces of evil along the way, he questioned what life might look like without the show that's been a vital part of his identity for a decade and a half.

“I needed to get back home and start figuring things out and start unpacking my life that's been in Vancouver for 15 years,” he says. “What's the next move? Where am I headed next? What interviews am I going to do? Luckily, my wife was like, ‘Stop. Can you just take a breath for a minute and play with your kids on the beach?’”

So he did. But now he’s back, talking to me over Zoom with his new, prized commissioned drawing of Winchester brothers’ smashed-up Impala behind him (a gift from his wife by artist Alessandro Paglia), trying to put into words what it feels like to leave behind a 15-year legacy.

“How have you changed in the last 15 years?” he asks me. Well, I've watched a lot of Supernatural, to be honest.

Existentialism aside, Ackles is clearly ready for his next act, even if the show's massive, fervent fandom—known as the SPN Family—may not be. Back in March 2019, Ackles, Padalecki, and their costar Misha Collins devastated diehards when they announced they'd be ending the series on their own terms after more than 300 episodes. A bit of good news is that fans will still have the conventions that honor the show and cast meet-ups that take place all over the world. Eventually.

“I love how big it's gotten and how we feel like a traveling circus going from town to town,” Ackles says. “Obviously, we'll have to wait until we're all allowed to gather in large crowds again, but I think as soon as we can start going to concerts and festivals and movie theaters, we'll start those back.”

For now Ackles is preparing for his life beyond Dean Winchester, which includes his anticipated role as the first-ever superhero in season three of Amazon Prime Video's The Boys, as well as a new production company he's starting with his wife. He filled me in on all that, how the Supernatural finale changed due to COVID-19 restrictions, and, of course, how he got his hands on the iconic 1967 Chevy Impala—which he drove to Starbucks the morning of our call.

Glamour: I almost don’t know how to ask you how it feels to end a life-changing, 15-year project like Supernatural.

Jensen Ackles: I understand how rare it is and that it's a bit of a unicorn to have a show that runs this long and to be as intensely part of it as I have. I mean, you've got procedural dramas—you know, Law & Order and stuff—but a lot of those casts come and go. To have the same two leads in every single episode for 15 years, I think, is a pretty rare feat. So I'm proud that we did it. That was really the overwhelming feeling when we filmed our last day and our last scene. It wasn't a mourning process; it was more of a proud moment of “Look at what we've done.”

The finale of Supernatural was already planned before COVID hit. Did anything in the last two episodes have to change because of filming restrictions?

We had to drop some ideas we had for the final episode, but it didn't change the story. We were supposed to have a lot of familiar faces come back, and we were going to try to filter them into a montage. It was going to be almost a break from the story and a look at how far we've come—a little tip of the hat to the fans—and we would all be able to celebrate together. Obviously, we couldn't do that. So that part of the finale episode got nixed. But the story and how it ends up, that stayed the same.

You’ve been talking about wanting Dean’s Chevy Impala, Baby, for literally years now. Did you get it?

I've wanted it since the second episode. I was like, “Wait a second. What's going to happen to this car when it's over?” I've been angling to get that car since literally season one. I was thinking, Why wouldn't they give me the car?

Then as the years went on, I thought, Oh, I'm gonna have to fight for this now. So I kept seeing if I could put it in my contract, like for years and years, and the studio, the producers were like, “Don't worry, don't worry about it.” Wink. I was like, “Yeah, you say that now.” So, in my last contract that we had, I didn’t ask for a bigger trailer; I didn’t ask for more money or more time off or anything. I said, “I want the car.”

That car is sitting about 40 feet from me and my garage. I actually drove it to Starbucks this morning and picked up some coffee.

Your wife, Danneel, has been appearing on Supernatural since season 13. Do you two have any plans to continue acting together?

We've got a company now, Chaos Machine, and we're starting to produce things together. So it'll be a more of a producing team as opposed to an on-camera duo. That’s the thing with this industry...you never know where the roads may lead or what’s just around the corner. But she and I love that. And we certainly love a challenge.

You two already run a brewery, Family Business Beer Company, together while raising a seven-year-old and three-year-old twins. How do you work together as husband and wife versus as business partners?

Very similarly actually. Divide and conquer.

Speaking of behind-the-scenes roles...you’ve directed five episodes of Supernatural. Any plans to direct Jared Padalecki's new show, Walker?

I would absolutely love to, but with my new gig on The Boys, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to. We're trying to figure out scheduling.

They're in the midst right now of building my costume for The Boys, which is a custom-built superhero suit. That is way more intense than I anticipated, which is cool. But I have to literally be in L.A., like, every two weeks for the next three months. I think it's six fittings and they're each like three- to four-hour fittings. They're literally molding things to my body, so it's intense.

What will be on your playlist for you to listen to while they mold things to your body?

Actually, funny enough, that was the first thing they asked me. Laura Jean Shannon, the costume designer, she says this is important because every superhero [she’s worked on] has a type of music. So she was like, “What would Soldier Boy listen to?”

To be fair, the first time we see him, it's World War II. So we're talking the ’40s. So we listened to big band and swing the whole first day.

In addition to your new projects, you’ve also been posting a lot about Black Lives Matter this summer—from handing out supplies at a protest to giving over your social media accounts to Black activists and politicians. What have you learned?

Looking at my kids and being a father, I’m thinking, Wow, what kind of world are they gonna have? So I've started to listen a little more and I've started to want to understand other people's experiences so that I can make a better choice about the actions I take. I've gotten pushback—[in the past] even I've looked at actors using their platform to be political and been like, “You know, nobody needs to hear that. Just do your movies and do your show. You're not a politician.”

But I've now learned that, no, you've been given a platform now with social media. And even before that, when you would give an interview to a publication, there's a voice there that is yours and you get to choose how you use that. And I think that's a responsibility that people need to take seriously. So I’ve tried to do it as inclusively as possible.

Before I let you go, please tell me what fans can expect from the final episodes?

I've said a few times that the second-to-last episode really feels like the season finale and that the final episode feels like a series finale. The series finale, episode 20, is this beautiful throwback to the whole show—to what it was, what it has been, and what it is today.

Okay, one more! What’s the creepiest thing that’s happened to you on set, in honor of spooky season?

Anything that's kind of been paranormal or supernatural? I think that they stay away. If that stuff was to happen, it's not going to happen on our set because we've got too many tools to take them down.

If your lore is correct, that is...

Right? That's true. [Laughs.] Oh, it was pepper, not salt? Damn it!

Supernatural airs Thursdays at 8 p.m. E.T. on the CW. This interview has been edited for clarity.

[pennys-th0ughts]

Robert Gray - The Origin of Pennywise 🤡 Chapter 1

Papers were scattered all over the desk and the dim light coming from an old oil lamp was fluttering in a lonely corner of the room. It was raining outside one cool November night of the year 1873 and the cobbled streets of Derry were almost empty. The sky was black ink like and the moon was bigger than usual. I was sitting on my armchair next to the window watching the last persons leave the street heading to the warm refuge of their homes.

The rain drops crashing against the window were falling down the glass getting thinner and thinner until the rain became a light drizzle. My eyes were focused on an old naked tree which had been stripped from all its leaves; it seemed to be dead since a crow was holding onto one of its branches looking erratically sideways. A seemingly endless night had woken up from its brief nap time, wet weather made it longer but sometimes the fresh breezes get to cool down my unstoppable mind from overthinking.

Stores were closed and finally the silence took over the sidewalks as insomnia used to take over my tired body and restless mind. I was twenty five years old and I suppose it was an advantage to be that young and have no commitments yet while being the sole heir of the only medicinal store in town. I could use my freedom at will and do whatever I pleased, managing my times since I was my own boss at work. The burden of such responsibility fell down on my shoulders when my father passed away, a couple of years after my mother decided to leave us because of a serious case of fever that my father couldn’t cure. I guess he felt defeated for not being able to cheat death this time and the corrosive feeling of guilt was what finally submitted him one night during his sleep.

The formalities concluded and after an orderly ceremony, the family’s lawyer made me sign some papers, then it all became in some kind of beneficious curse I needed to keep on going in order to survive. My father was the only apothecary in Derry and he began teaching me from an early age the art of mixing drugs to create specific medicines, so my grandfather did with him and so on.

Business flourished when a new disease wave attacked the small town leaving many fatal victims and several people in a critic health state. The only hospital was packed and people who couldn’t get medical attention in this facility had to stay indoors to prevent spreading the illness. There is when I stepped in. During a whole month I wouldn’t stop preparing thousands of dosses commissioned by the hospital and many other wealthy families. I would end up working night and day to fulfill the town needs for medicine to cure diphtheria, soothe the pain and reduce the fever. I got to really enjoy my work, but one day I couldn’t take the overwhelming pressure anymore that made me snap, so I started looking for an assistant to help me out with the preparations and also someone to deliver them. Speeding up the delivery could definitely save other people’s lives.

Shadows of death were still lurking and swallowing everything in its path, turning the alleys darker and the houses emptier. The plague was spreading faster than we could cure it and the atmosphere in Derry was getting heavier with sadness and hopelessness. During the nights, streets looked like pathways to afterlife and the little oil lamps hanging at the entrances were like golden eyes, always watching and waiting.

Two days passed and interested people didn’t make themselves wait much longer and started to come to the drug store asking for the jobs. They were all willing to help but none of them fit with the qualities I was looking for. Until one day I finally found her, or perhaps she found me. Her features were as I imagined them and even better; she had little hands and long fingers, she was meticulous and careful. Her name was Charlotte Wise but she was known in town as Ruby, a well-deserved nickname since her hair was red as the stone. The day she came into the store everything changed, as if a sudden peacefulness had taken over the place. My new assistant would transform not only my work but also my life from that moment on.

Spring arrived after the dark days left Derry and its people slowly tried to get back to normal. Charlotte and I began having more time to spend in each other’s company so I decided it would be a good opportunity to teach her something new related to her job. We were still working as usual but the environment inside the shop had some kind of magic that was making it springier. Andrew, Charlotte’s younger brother, took the delivery job and he was doing very well, we didn’t receive any complaints about time or packages delivered in bad conditions. The boy was attentive and helpful, just like his beautiful sister. Agility was on his side and he was making a great use of it with the bicycle he got for the job. When work increased we bought a new mean of transportation so the boy wouldn’t get caught under the suffocating heat or merciless storms.

That year ended with a happy ending for Derry and we started a new one even happier. Charlotte and I had gathered enough money to begin a new life; she wanted to live with me so we bought a small but modest house two blocks away from the shop. Her brother would inherit his sister bedroom in their mother’s house so things couldn’t have settled down any better. I proposed Charlotte to be my wife one hot summer morning to which she merrily accepted. We got married at the chapel and later we had a delicious brunch under the willows of the park. That day and the ones that would follow would be memorable.

August, 1875

Charlotte’s contractions were getting more often and she will soon start her labor. We found out she was expecting later that summer which to me was like more wonderful news. I was in the middle of a preparation to help diuresis when someone came to the shop and let me know that my wife was in the operations room. I left Andrew in charge of the shop until I got back and rushed to the hospital taking the carriage; it will get me there faster.

I got to the Derry Public Hospital just in time to hold my wife’s hand and help her with her labor. Although she wasn’t looking so well she was doing an amazing job, showing her braver side, as always. The nurses were extremely careful and gentle; they were coming and going, taking wet cloths and other objects to the room.

After a long struggle Charlotte finally delivered a beautiful baby girl into this world. The doctor cut the cord and put her on my wife’s arms; he turned around and made me to a side to talk privately.

– Congratulations Mr. Gray – the literate man said squeezing my shoulder-. Your daughter is in perfect shape – he made a pause and, with a lower tone of voice added- but I'm afraid your wife is in delicate condition now. She has lost too much blood and she will require an intensive iron treatment to overcome the anemia she might possibly develop.

The doctor gave me a prescription with the steps to follow and a food diet, I thanked him for his advice and went back with my wife that had fallen asleep cuddling our child. The little girl was oddly quiet, she seemed confused and curious yet she was paying attention to her surroundings very carefully. I came closer to take a better look at my tiny wonder and took her little hand with my fingers that she immediately held on to firmly. My heart was pounding inside my chest like a machine out of control, making me sweat almost profusely. Nervousness, excitement and curiosity were a complex mixture, as the ones I was so used to prepare with the only difference that this one was totally out of my knowledge.

Charlotte was indeed exhausted and very pale but I could see the joy sparkling in her face. She made a huge effort to open her eyes which eyelids seemed too heavy. Once she could finally fix her eyes with mine, she grabbed my hand and made me sit next to her. She looked at me in silence for some minutes as if trying to dig up my feelings somehow and figure out what was going on inside my head. Slowly the light in her eyes started to fade away, like a candle about to be completely consumed.

– Promise me you will always look after her, Robert – she pleaded in a whisper.

I nodded bitterly without saying a word knowing that, deep down inside she was, in some way, asking me to do something she wouldn’t be able to do and she just wanted to be sure we would be okay. I stroked her cheek so tenderly that the very contact with her smooth skin made the tips of fingers ache. I hugged them both as if I was trying to protect them from the world and the coldness it owned, but my arms seemed not to be enough. Nothing seemed to be enough to replace the turmoil of divided feelings I was being prey of that very moment so, I did what I was the best at, I began mixing them just to find the balance between happiness and sadness, wholeness and emptiness.

Five years later

Snow was covering Derry like no other time of the year and streets looked like unpolluted highways to heaven. There were some children playing in the front gardens of their houses, some were throwing snowballs at each other and some others were building snowmen. Augustine was having a hard time building her snowman since the snow kept on crumbling or the little branches didn’t stop falling from their holes. I was watching her through the window and her persistence was one of the many reasons of my smile. I grabbed my coat and went outside to help her finish what for her seemed to be a colossal monument. She was almost six years old and her mother and I had the chance to pick a name for her which I will always be totally grateful for.

Christmas was near and I had already bought Augustine her present. Andrew would spend the holiday with us since I started to enjoy my brother’s-in-law company and her niece loved her uncle very much. He became a great help when Charlotte passed away and our daughter was still a baby, he would take care of her while I was working and making the deliveries from time to time.

After Charlotte died I didn’t feel the need to bring another woman to work to the shop and less to start a new relationship, the hollow she left inside me was big enough to be impossible to be filled with somebody else’s presence and the fact was I wouldn’t ever try to replace my wife no matter how alone I could feel. My queen left her throne and I had a princess making her way to occupy it someday and that, for some unexplainable reason, was already a whole challenge that I had gladly accepted the very moment I looked at this little girl into her eyes.

To be continued…

[currebunz]

Commission: Attack on Titan AU Parks and Recs

AO3 Link

A thick air hung in the office, crushing everyone's motivation for the day. The source of this bad energy came in the form of the ex-husband of the health advisor who worked in the same office area. The employee themselves were very nice and actually very apologetic for the situation. But the ex-husband was more than happy to be in the office. That was because he was here for an IRS tax audit. The Department of Trost had never had such a cold day before, even with the air conditions on high. whenever the man walked by, it was like a cold breeze went by. The younger and new hires were on high alert, flinching whenever the man was within sight. Sasha dived under her desk on her break as he walked by to look over Connie's shoulder. It was like watching a horror movie with a monster that didn't kill anyone. "I haven't had single thought with that guy walking around," Reiner said quietly while he was in the break room. Bertholdt had an open lunchbox in front of him but wasn't eating. "You think he can hear me chew? He told me chewing violated public health guidelines" he muttered quietly. "He's even gotten to Bert!" Reiner told Jean. "I can see that! Keep your voice down. That man has the ears of a hawk" Jean said as he covered Reiner's mouth with his hand. Everyone was quiet as they heard approaching feet. They let out a sigh at Marco entered the breakroom. "Hey....never mind" he turned around and walked back out. "That's cold Marco" Jean said quietly. "I don't blame him, I don't even want to mess around with that guy on patrol" Reiner groaned. He sat down next to Bertholdt, making the man eat his lunch before his break ended. "I just don't get it, how can someone be that evil?" Jean asked. "Easy, he's an ex," Annie said as she walked to the microwave. She stuck her hot pocket in and turned it on for a few minutes. "What's that supposed to mean?" Reiner asked.

 Annie cleared her throat, turning to them with a cold stare. "An ex is filled with nothing but disdain for their previous partner. Imagine, after breaking up you go to work and now hold the fate of your previous partner's job in your hands? You would be swallowed up by the immense power and go mad" she explained. All of the men stared at her in an eerie shock. The microwave beeped and she opened the door. "Or, at least that's what I would do," she said as she blew on her meal. Annie walked back out without any further comments. "My God, she is right" Jean groaned as he leaned against the counter. The ex-husband was obviously making their lives hell just to get back at their partner! "What a bastard! Why is he making us suffer too?" Reiner complained. "It's probably just to spite everyone," Bertholdt said as he finished his lunch. "Thanks, Reiner" he grinned to his partner. "Don't sweat it, but you need to eat. Forget what that guy says" Reiner frowned as he saw Connie dash by. "He's coming!" he hissed briefly before continuing on his way. Reiner, Bertholdt, and Jean gathered their stuff and quickly left the break room. Back on the floor, Eren was typing slowly. His eyes were glued to the keyboard as he hit one button at a time. His shoulders were stiff and his brow sweaty. "Erin, are you done yet? I need those papers soon" Armin called over the desk to him. "I'm trying but Brian said I type too loud" Eren explained. He tried to type a bit faster, but his keys began to click with each movement. "Jaeger! I thought I told you to keep it down!" a loud voice cut across the office. Eren jumped up from his table and stood at attention. "Sorry, sir! I'll be quieter sir!" he shouted before sitting back down. His head fell forward onto his keyboard and he groaned loudly. "Sorry, Eren..." Armin whispered sadly. "It's not your fault he has the ears that could hear a mouse fart" Eren sighed as he sat back up. The space bar was indented on his face, making his delete the extra spaces on his work. "It's like I don't even know how to type anymore" he groaned as he looked at the single sentence, he had worked on for the past 30 minutes. Brian would come over to his desk if he so much as yawned, telling him to hurry up but be quiet about it. "How are you holding up Armin?" Eren asked. "Oh, you know. Brian thought I worked too fast, so he gave me Sasha's work and has her cleaning the carpets. I've only just started the work for next quarter, but Brian insists it's better to be ahead" Armin prattled off as his vision began to tunnel. He reached for an energy drink to his right and tilted the can upward until the last drop fell into his mouth. "I can smell colors" he sighed as his eyes focused on the screen. Eren looked on in horror, the usually calm and collected Armin was now a nervous wreck. Eren would always get help from him as he finished his work early each day, but now Eren wanted to help Armin. "I'll take some of it off your hands, I can...uh.... write it out for you" Eren grabbed a stack of papers and began writing down the report rather than typing it. Armin could type it out later since he wasn't a loud.

 "Thanks, Eren. I don't want to stay late and have to wake you up to let me in again" Armin said in a shaky voice. He had only managed to sleep for five hours this morning before Eren woke him up to go to work. The two of them had staggered to the office and were immediately given a pile of work to deal with. That hadn't even been the worst of it, Mikasa who usually greeted them had been affected too. The woman usually was cool and stoic as nothing seemed to bother her. But that morning, she wore a cheerful smile and brought everyone coffee. "Hey guys, working hard or hardly working?" she laughed as she grabbed Eren's shoulders. Neither of her friends was able to respond right away. It was like she was a whole different person. "Uhh, working hard?" Eren said as he passed glances to Armin. "Mikasa, do you feel okay?" Armin asked. "Oh, Armin! You're so funny! I feel as good as the sun is bright. Brian was telling me that a cheerful mood brightens the workplace so I just thought a smile would help everyone better" Mikasa explained. As she said this, she took Eren's pen and wrote in his notebook. He read "HELP ME" written along the top of it. "R-Right...cheerful," he said quietly. "Well, I'm off to reorganize the permits. Brian said it was a real pigsty in there!" Mikasa gave the guys a thumbs up before speed walking off. As she passed Annie, she gave the woman finger guns. Annie simply stared at her in disbelief. She walked over to Eren and pinched the man's neck. "Annie! What the hell?!" he shouted. "Yeah, this isn't a dream. I need this Brian guy to hit the road so I can have my wife back" she said angrily. Annie took a long sip from her coffee as she glared at the office Brian was using. Currently, Levi had been busy with a national meeting and would only be in his office a few days out the week. While he was gone, Brian made himself comfortable in the office. Rearranging the desk and even bringing food in there as Levi had forbidden. Erwin had tried to stop him but as with everyone else, Brian had whipped him into place and did as he liked. He had even turned Ymir into a gopher, running her back and forth from other departments.

 Historia was putting a wet towel on Ymir's forehead while she downed a bottle of water. "That guy is like the if someone mixed raw concentrated evil with salt and limes" Ymir sighed as she fell into a chair. "The devil's margarita" Connie gasped. Ymir shot him a dirty look before turning to Historia. "Thanks, babe" she smiled tiredly. "Anytime honey" Historia kissed Ymir's cheek as she ran off to finish her work. Below them, Sasha was on her knees holding a pair of tweezers. "How am I supposed to clean the carpet with these?" she sighed as she picked out another crumb of granola. She dropped it into the small bag on her hip. "Why don't you use the vacuum?" Connie asked her. "Brian said it is a waste of power and since I am always behind, I can at least do this" Sasha sobbed. Even Levi never made her clean like this. "This is crazy man, how are we gonna get rid of this guy?" he groaned as he held his head in despair. "Good luck with that Connie, I'll make sure to redistribute your stuff to charity," Ymir said lazily. "H-Hey! I'm not gonna do it!" he argued. Sasha hugged his legs, crying loudly. "Please Connie! I don't wanna see another dust bunny again!" she bellowed. "I know, I know. But he is too scary!" Connie hugged Sasha as the two comforted one another. Just then, Marco dashed into the office. "Guys! Levi is coming!" he said in a panic. The entire office stopped, not a single person typed. Marco dashed to his desk and everyone held their breath as they tried to look normal. Their eyes darted between Levi's office and the front door.

 Hinge entered the office first, laughing loudly about something. She stopped as she spotted Sasha on the floor and Mikasa happily arranging a corkboard. "Good lord," she said quietly as she looked around. Levi walked up behind her, pushing her in the middle of her back. "Hange, what have I said about blocking the entryway?" he said in an annoyed voice. "Safety regulations, blah, blah. Just look" she said as Levi stepped around her. His eyes scanned the office without any emotion on his face. right away, he ran his finger along a file cabinet, noting the amount of dust that had accumulated. He walked over to Sasha, staring down at her. "Get up" he ordered her. Without even a breath, Sasha stood up and began shaking. "Get the vacuum and clean the floor properly," Levi said with a pointed glare. "Yes, sir!" Sasha took off running to the utility closet without looking back. Levi turned his gave to Eren and Armin, glaring at the large stack of papers on their desks. "Eren, stop playing with your keyboard and take half of Armin's work" he continued. Eren quickly scooped up the mess of papers and began typing loudly. Levi glanced at Ymir and Historia, not saying anything as he went to his office. He opened the door without knocking, earning a glare from Brian. "Where is Erwin?" Levi asked calmly. "He is out getting donuts, why?" Brian said back just as calmly. Everyone was still "working" while holding their breath. With Levi's absence, they had forgotten how much of an unstoppable force. It was like watching to lions facing off. "He should be here completing the month's summary, we have front desk employees that can get deliveries" Levi lectured the auditor as he walked slowly into the office. His eyes scanned every corner, noting each change Brian had made. "I see you have made a mess of my office" he continued. "A mess? I think I made it look better than before" Brian argued. Levi's eye twitched, obviously angered by the man's idea of "better".

 "It's still my office and since I am back, you can leave now," Levi said as he pointed to the door. "I don't think so, I still have plenty of work to do. As you may remember, I'm handling your office's audit" Brian stood up and held Levi's stare. No one said anything for a while, battling with just their eyes. Erwin came rushing through the door wearing a sweater tied over his shoulders like some golf club dad. "They ran out of chocolate dipped so I got chocolate glaze..." he trailed off as he saw Levi standing in the office. "Oh..." he began to back away, but Levi caught him by the sweater. "What the hell are you wearing?" he said in a low voice. Erwin wasn't sure how to respond, shrinking in his husband's presence. "He is wearing Royal Polo, it's fashion. You could learn a thing or two" Brian announced proudly. Levi turned back to Brian with a look of pure death. "That's it, you're coming with me" Levi dragged Erwin out and shut the door. He led everyone into the break room for a powwow. "Why the hell all are you all acting like whipped puppies?" Levi asked. "Brian is terrifying! We can't take it anymore!" Sasha cried loudly. "He made Sasha clean the carpet with tweezers for a whole week. A week!" Connie explained. "He took all of Jean and my bobbleheads. Even the limited editioned ones" Marco explained. "And he calls me bobblehead! I don't look like a bobblehead!" Jean said angrily. Mikasa's persona broke for a moment, allowing her to glare weakly. "He made me say 'totes', I can't even sleep at night without reciting Gossip Girl scenes," she said tiredly. "Levi, he broke my wife!" Annie said angrily. "Yeah, and he makes me run back and forth to relay info that he could just say over a call" Ymir joined in angrily. "He made me his secretary, I told him I was the head of archives, but he said I looked like a secretary" Historia reported. “Brian told me I was too big for the office and makes me work in the hall” Reiner growled. “Me too, he put me in the storage closet because I bloke his view of the office” Bertholdt added in.

 "It's worse than I thought, scratch that. Erwin's outfit is worse than I thought" Hange said. The man coughed, removing the sweater over his dress shirt. "I'm afraid even I can't stand up to him. He made me shave my beard since it was unsanitary" he explained. Levi's face was calm but everyone could sense the rage in him. They knew that Brian had crossed the line by altering how his husband looked. "This has gone on long enough. I'm calling in a favor" Levi said as he pulled out his phone. He dismissed everyone to go back to work as he talked on the phone. No one knew what he was planning as he cleared a table in the center of the office. Brian had walked out and looked around in mild confusion. "What is this?" he asked. Hange stood behind Levi, wearing a wild grin. "Welcome to the battle royale. Right here, right now. Operation soaring falcon is in its final stages" she announced. Levi sat down in one of the chairs as a large man entered the office. He was carrying a large gallon jug full of clear liquid. The man placed the jug on the table and shook hands with Levi. "Corporal" the man greeted him. "Swanson," Levi said back just as curtly. Everyone watched as Swanson pulled the cork off the bottle. "Ugh, what is that? It smells like Jet fuel" Sasha groaned as she covered her nose. "That's Swanson Family Mash liquor. Made from the finest corn ever grown on American soil. Its only legal use is to strip the varnish off of speedboats" Swanson explained. "It's time to settle this" Levi said as Swanson poured him a glass of the drink. "An old-fashioned prairie drink-off" Brian sighed as he removed his blazer. He took his own glass, holding Levi's stare. "If you win, the Trost Parks Department is yours. And if I win, you finish your audit with a perfect score and leave" Levi began. "Pour it, I'm thirsty" Brian challenged him. Levi and Brian took a shot of the liquor, closing their eyes as it burned down their throats. Everyone flinched despite not drinking it themselves. Another round down and neither batted a single eye. "Had enough?" Levi asked. "Of this watered-down baby formula? Not even close" Brian shot back with venom. By now, the entire office was watching things unfold. Neither party showed signs of getting even tipsy. Brian took another shot, burping after swallowing his glass. He began sweating, wiping it off and trying to pretend the alcohol wasn't hitting him quite yet. Levi held eye contact with him as he lifted the jug and chugged what was left of the liquor. "Oh my god" Connie gaped as Levi finished it with a loud sigh. "Game set!" Hange announced with a wild laugh. Levi rolled his eyes and looked down at Brian. "Now get out of my fucking department" he ordered him. Brian clumsily scrambled to his feet, gathering his stuff and stumbling out the door. Everyone began cheering and hugging each other. Levi closed his eyes, holding the bridge of his nose. "Everyone be quiet! Clean this place up and someone get me a cup of coffee" he shouted. Everyone was instantly quiet, shuffling around to fix the adjustments Brian had made them make in Levi's absence. Historia brought Levi a cup of coffee and he went back to his office with Erwin and Hange. Peace was restored in the Trost Parks Department and no one ever heard of Brian ever again.

[oldsolidbooks]

The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed. `He is as beautiful as a weathercock,' remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; `only not quite so useful,' he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

`Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?' asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. `The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.'

`I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,' muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

`He looks just like an angel,' said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks, and their clean white pinafores.

`How do you know?' said the Mathematical Master, `you have never seen one.'

`Ah! but we have, in our dreams,' answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

`Shall I love you?' said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

`It is a ridiculous attachment,' twittered the other Swallows, `she has no money, and far too many relations;' and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came, they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love. `She has no conversation,' he said, `and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.' And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtsies. `I admit that she is domestic,' he continued, `but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.'

`Will you come away with me?' he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

`You have been trifling with me,' he cried, `I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!' and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. `Where shall I put up?' he said; `I hope the town has made preparations.'

Then he saw the statue on the tall column. `I will put up there,' he cried; `it is a fine position with plenty of fresh air.' So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

`I have a golden bedroom,' he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. `What a curious thing!' he cried, `there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.'

Then another drop fell.

`What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?' he said; `I must look for a good chimney-pot,' and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw

- Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

`Who are you?' he said.

`I am the Happy Prince.'

`Why are you weeping then?' asked the Swallow; `you have quite drenched me.'

`When I was alive and had a human heart,' answered the statue, `I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep.'

`What, is he not solid gold?' said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

`Far away,' continued the statue in a low musical voice, `far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.'

`I am waited for in Egypt,' said the Swallow. `My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves.'

`Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, `will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.'

`I don't think I like boys,' answered the Swallow. `Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.'

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. `It is very cold here,' he said; `but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger.'

`Thank you, little Swallow,' said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. `How wonderful the stars are,' he said to her, and how wonderful is the power of love!'

`I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,' she answered; `I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.'

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. `How cool I feel,' said the boy, `I must be getting better;' and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done. `It is curious,' he remarked, `but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.'

`That is because you have done a good action,' said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. `What a remarkable phenomenon,' said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. `A swallow in winter!' And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

`To-night I go to Egypt,' said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, `What a distinguished stranger!' so he enjoyed himself very much. When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. `Have you any commissions for Egypt?' he cried; `I am just starting.'

`Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, `will you not stay with me one night longer?'

`I am waited for in Egypt,' answered the Swallow. `To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.'

`Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the prince, `far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.'

`I will wait with you one night longer,' said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. `Shall I take him another ruby?'

`Alas! I have no ruby now,' said the Prince; `my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.'

`Dear Prince,' said the Swallow, `I cannot do that;' and he began to weep.

`Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, `do as I command you.'

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

`I am beginning to be appreciated,' he cried; `this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play,' and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. `Heave a-hoy!' they shouted as each chest came up. `I am going to Egypt!' cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

`I am come to bid you good-bye,' he cried.

`Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, `will you not stay with me one night longer?'

`It is winter,' answered the Swallow, `and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.'

`In the square below,' said the Happy Prince, `there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.'

`I will stay with you one night longer,' said the Swallow, `but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.'

`Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, `do as I command you.'

So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. `What a lovely bit of glass,' cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. `You are blind now,' he said, `so I will stay with you always.'

`No, little Swallow,' said the poor Prince, `you must go away to Egypt.'

`I will stay with you always,' said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

`Dear little Swallow,' said the Prince, `you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there.'

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm. `How hungry we are!' they said. `You must not lie here,' shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

`I am covered with fine gold,' said the Prince, `you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.'

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. `We have bread now!' they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door where the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more. `Good-bye, dear Prince!' he murmured, `will you let me kiss your hand?'

`I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,' said the Prince, `you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.' `It is not to Egypt that I am going,' said the Swallow. `I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?'

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost. Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: `Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!' he said.

`How shabby indeed!' cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor, and they went up to look at it.

`The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,' said the Mayor; `in fact, he is little better than a beggar!'

`Little better than a beggar' said the Town councillors.

`And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!' continued the Mayor. `We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.' And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. `As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful,' said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. `We must have another statue, of course,' he said, `and it shall be a statue of myself.'

`Of myself,' said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

`What a strange thing!' said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. `This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.' So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

`Bring me the two most precious things in the city,' said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

`You have rightly chosen,' said God, `for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.'

[artificialqueens]

You Better Werq, part 1 (Branjie) - Q-tip & TheDane

Welcome to this new series from Q-tip and I! It takes place in the same world as our other work, Cruising for a bruising, so please enjoy this Werq the World adventure, as we travel around Europe!

“Do you think it’ll cause problems?”

“What will?

“You being here together? If you haven’t seen each other much?”

“Well we almost broke up on a 10 day cruise.” Brooke smiles. “So what could possibly go wrong when we have 12 countries and 22 days?”

Brooke wasn’t really sure what he had expected when he had arrived in Barajas International Airport in Madrid. He had read his contract over well, knew exactly what was expected of him as he did his first tour with Werq the World abroad. WtW Europe 2020 would be his last public appearance as current reigning, and though Brooke was sad it was coming to an end, it was also a relief that his year was almost over.

What Brooke had forgotten however, was the footnote that WoW presents had commissioned a documentary of the tour, Voss Events agreeing to let a man join the almost 30 person crew for the 22 days the tour would take.

To have a camera showed in his face, the sun just rising, after he had spent 11 hours flying in from L.A, was not exactly at the top of the list of things he was interested in right now.

Brooke had rushed from appointment to appointment in L.A, flying from fitting to fitting on new costumes since he was actually home, touching base from his just finished Canada trip to make sure every loose end was tied up before he went to Europe. Brooke had juggled it all, on top of packing everything Vanjie had forgotten in their L.A home, barely cuddling the cats and Riley and making sure Courtney who had followed him from Canada had everything she needed to be their house sitter for the next month.

“So.” Brooke looked into the camera, a man who had introduced himself as Jasper Rischen, holding it up. He looked sweet, brown eyes, short hair, but he could also be anywhere between 15 and 35. “I didn’t expect this whole thing to start so soon.”

Jasper moved slightly, allowing Brooke to see his face. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“Oh, no! No.” Brooke held out his hand, his handler Liam already taking his suitcases away. “It was just a long flight.”

Brooke knew WOW had paid for a documentary, that Jasper would be following them around, even sleeping on their bus instead of the crewbus, but it still made him feel on edge.

“Are you going to be following me this entire time?”

Brooke wished he had done more with his hair, or at least not worn the workout pants Vanjie had tried to throw out several times telling him that they were basically trash, which Brooke knew very well. They were, however, also comfortable and lived in, and Brooke hadn’t exactly expected a camera to be shoved in his face the moment he landed.

“Follow all of you.” Jasper smiled.

“Well, we better get going then, huh?” Brooke grabbed his duffle, life on the road truly starting again.

///

Brooke sits in a car, backlight illuminating his blonde hair as it drives through the streets of Madrid.

“How I feel about this tour?” Brooke is turning his phone, flipping it back and forth between his fingers. “Excited. A little nervous.” Brooke laughs, his nose scrunching. “It’s going to be a lot.” He sits, looking out the window. “This is going to be a new experience for me. I like my independence, I like being my own boss, and if there is one thing that you are not while on tour, it’s the boss.”

Images of Brooke performing fly over the screen, Brooke truly coming alive under the stage lights, the crowd.

“Not that I ever am, when Jose is around.”

“How does it feel to know that you have to pass on your crown?

Brooke looks thoughtful. “Strange.” He pauses. “I’ve already done it once before, giving up a crown I mean, but Drag Race is a totally different experience from Miss Continental.” Brooke leaned back. “Of course it’s sad to say goodbye, but I have to admit I’m also excited at the thought of having time to sleep, see our pets and finally go on the vacation to Aruba I promised Jose on the show.” Brooke laughs, his face lighting up. “We haven’t seen each other much lately.”

“Do you think it’ll cause problems?”

“What will?

“You being here together? If you haven’t seen each other much?”

“Well we almost broke up on a 10 day cruise.” Brooke smiles. “So what could possibly go wrong when we have 12 countries and 22 days?”

///

“So we have to go left, then right?” Vanjie looked at Chancellor, their main choreographer, lifting a brow. “Or is it the other way around?”

“It’s left, left right.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.” Vanjie grabbed his water, wiping his forehead, when he heard the best sound in the universe, Brooke’s warm voice yelling out a ‘hello hello hello’!

“Brock!!” Vanjie shot down from the stage, leaving both Detox, Asia and Kim Chi high and dry. He ran towards the door without a shred of shame, jumping directly into the arms of his boyfriend who had barely stepped inside the rehearsal space, Brooke surrounded by suitcases. “You’re here!”

“Hey boo.” Brooke laughed, holding Vanjie without a choice as he had thrown his legs around Brooke, clinging to him like a koala bear, hanging onto him as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. “Did you miss me?” Brooke’s eyes sparkled with mischief, the blue orbs watching every inch of Vanjies face. He hadn’t seen Brooke in 6 days, he and Asia doing a two day gig with Porn Idol London before they had both flown to Madrid earlier in the morning.

“Bitch you know I did.”

Vanjie grabbed Brooke’s hair, only briefly registering the camera that was hanging back, clearly filming everything, but he was a man with needs, and as long as he had heard no ho telling him to keep it PG-13, he was going to kiss his boo liked he deserved.

Kissing Brooke was wonderful, his lips soft and full, and Vanjie smiled into the kiss, the fresh taste of mint dancing on their tongues, Brooke without a doubt popping one in the taxi before throwing on new deodorant too, his prime canadian beef thoughtful like that. Vanjie was about to go in for a second filling, when a hand forced its way between their faces, Detox effectively cutting them apart. “Okay, that’s enough. This isn’t that kind of show.”

“Hey!”

Detox laughed, clearly not giving a fuck that Vanjie was yelling. Brooke transferred Vanjie to his hip, a surge of warmth rushing through Vanjie at how easily he was handled, Brooke carrying him as if he weighed nothing.

“You gotta share girl, can’t keep Brooke all to yourself.”

“I can keep him exactly where I want!”

Detox laughed, putting an arm around Brooke to get his own hug, nearly hitting Vanjie in the head, but Brooke just smiled, readily accepting the love from one of his closests drag friends.

“It’s not gonna be a problem.”

Detox snorted, clearly not believing Brooke’s low rumble. Jasper had lost interest, the man moving across the room and to the stage, filming away at Kim Chi who was getting a special lesson from Chancellor. The latinax paying intense attention to where Kim Chi’s feet where, and Vanjie knew it wasn’t without right, Kim falling almost as many times as Aquaria during last years Werq.

“If I know any of you whores right, it will be.”

“D, since when have you become such a prude?” Brooke smirked, his hand firmly planted under Vanjies tank top, spread out against his skin. It was hot in Madrid, Vanjie knowing he had to be damp from the rehearsals, Brandon Voss arranging this bootcamp for that exact reason. Madrid the perfect climate to get the queens into gear, on the same beat, force them to work in the heat that will be unavoidable, and to give them a chance to get to know their back up dancers before they hit the road. Vanjie had already run through his first number, a tongue in cheek performance of a Milkshakes remix, props and all, with the two dancers that were his primary ones.

“I’m merely saying that  while I have seen the goods.” Detox’s eyes ran over Brooke’s body, Brooke nearly choking on a laugh. “I’d like to keep all sucking noises, pussy poppins and van jams to a minimum.”

“Bitch when have you seen the goods?!”

“You know what they say.” Detox released Brooke, a big smile playing on his lips. “Sister dick will make you sick.” Detox slapped Vanjie’s thigh, turning around and walking back towards the stage.

Brooke made a move to put Vanjie down, but Vanjie only clung to him further, throwing his arms around his neck.

“Nu-uh.” It had only been 6 days since they had last seen each other, but it somehow felt like a lifetime. They had dated for almost 2 years, Brooke inching into the last weeks of his reign. Vanjie could smell the warmth of the cologne he had gotten Brooke for Christmas, the ever so familiar scent of sweat and what was so uniquely Brooke just underneath. They had both been booked for the finale taping only 2 weeks after coming back, Brooke’s fittings with the designer he had chosen from the landslide in his inbox the only reason he had even touched down at home. It was infuriating that Brooke hadn’t told him anything about his finale look, hadn’t even shared what colors he was going for, but Brooke had laughingly told Vanjie that he would consider sharing something that big when he had seen Vanjie keep something as simple as a birthday present a secret, which he guessed was a fair enough reason.

“Did you bring my shoes?”

Brooke laughed, sitting down on one of the audience seats, grabbing the gym bag he was still carrying and opening it with one hand. “Here.”

Vanjie yelled in delight, Brooke handing him a pair of sneakers still in the box, everyone momentarily stopping on stage to make sure Vanjie was okay, all of them resuming when they saw Vanjie tearing into the wrapping.  

The sneakers were perfect, so crispy white they looked like new fallen snow.

“Biiiitch!” Vanjie immediately stood up, toeing off the Adidas he was wearing to pull on the brand new Nike’s he had ordered online while on the road. Online shopping was one of his favorite activities, favorite distractions, whenever he was spending long and often lonely nights in anonymous hotel rooms after club gigs that left his ears ringing from fan screams and the heavy bass.

“Look how fucking fresh I look!” Vanjie turned back and forth, parading his new kicks.

“Real fresh.” Brooke laughed, crooking an eyebrow at Vanjie’s antics.

“Thanks babe!”

“Next time, can you please have them delivered when you’re actually home? It was an absolute nightmare squishing pickup in.”

“They’re limited edition.” Vanjie said, though the look on Brooke’s face told him it apparently wasn’t enough of an explanation. “I didn’t want some lobby boy nicking them if I got them sent to a hotel. Besides,” Vanjie sat down in Brooke’s lap, taking his head in his hands. “Imma pay you real good for your Canadian Express delivery. Give you a real nice tip.”

“Mmh?”

“Yup.” Vanjie popped the p, pressing their lips together for another round of deep kisses, when they were interrupted by a call, Chancellor yelling for Brooke. His dancer was finally ready for rehearsals as Kim Chi had just finished. Brooke stood up, shedding his hoodie and throwing it on a seat, already halfway on the stage when Vanjie picked it up and threw it on, pulling it up the hood to watch his man practice on stage.

///

“Are you gonna snitch on me if I smoke?” Detox smiles, his eyes looking just left of the camera. “Good.” Detox lit up, his pink claws a natural part of his hand. Detox is in an alley, an orange shirt somewhat clashing with his hair. “Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“You better start.” Detox laughs. In the background, Kim Chi opens the stage door and slips out, a bottle of cola in hand. “We all need someway to escape this madness.”

“You think this tour is going to be madness?”

Kim Chi laughs, moves next to Detox, who throws an arm around him. “Let me give you my predictions.” Kim Chi holds up a finger. “Violet and Valentina is going to be late for every meet and greet.” Detox nods. “Detox is gonna be mad that Valentina is late for every meet and greet.”

“Hey!”

“Vanjie is gonna fight someone just cause.“ Kim Chi counts. “A’keria is gonna look amazing as always, Brooke will be utter perfection and the cause of at least one Vanjie related breakdown, and Shangela is gonna get lost at least twice.”

“Kim here is the unofficial employee of the month.” Detox laughs. “They all love her. Model citizen and all, but watch out. Her shade is deadlier than her farts.” Detox pushes Kim gently, and they both cackle. The door opens, and Chancellor calls them both back in.

“Hey, Detox?”

“Mmh?” Detox turns around.

“You were on the Atlantis cruise, right?”

“Look at you Mr. Journalist.” Detox smiles. “Seems like WOW has hired a clever little gayboy for this.”

“I’m 24.”

Detox huffs, the smile still playing in his eyes. “Yes, yes I was on the cruise.”

“Brooke said something about him and Vanjie almost breaking up, and now with Kim. They always seem so happy, so I was just wondering. I’ve never heard about that bef-“

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

The camera lowers, no longer capturing Detox face. “Oh, no. Of course not, I was just-“

“Brooke and Vanjie are… Well, they’re Brooke and Vanjie. Nauseatingly sweet and an absolute fucking mess. Brooke and I have been friends forever, and I love the dumb bitch with my entire heart, but if there is even an ounce of drama on this tour, I will have had it. Officially.”

///

“So, we have a lot of new girls with us this year.”

Brooke crossed his arms, slowly tapping his foot up and down. Brandon Voss had gathered them all for lunch, Jon, the tour manager, standing right by his side. Violet and Sharon had been the last to fly in, Violet coming in from Milano with a secretive smirk on her face, Sharon somewhat buzzed from flirting his way into several refills from the flight attendant who had turned out to be a race chaser.

“There are a few rules we want to go over.” Jon stepped forward, already flipped to the first side of his board.

A’keria leaned back in his seat, emptying his protein shake while Brandon droned on about bus schedules, sleeping arrangements and minibar use.

“We expect all of you to have your phones on you so we can reach you, if you’re not with your handler. Is everyone officially in the group chat?”

“Sounds almost kinky, huh? A handler?” A’keria whispered.

Brooke peaked out of the corner of his eye, A’keria wearing a shiteating grin that was only just hidden by his drink.

“Though I guess some of us brought those from home.”

“Bitch shut up.”

Brooke had to hide his own grin, Vanjie chiming in from A’keria’s other side in what could barely be considered a whisper, though it was low for Vanjie.

“If you miss transportation, it’s on you to get to the next location. Shangela, I’m looking at you.”

“Ah!” Shangela held up her arms. “You better believe you’re gonna regret those words Miss Jon. New tour, new me.”

“New trade in every town.”

Everyone laughed, Violet’s joke landing at the exact right time.

“We still need those last few files from some of you girls.” Brooke could feel Vanjie shrink two sizes even though they weren’t sitting next to each other, and he almost rolled his eyes. Brooke had turned his own music in on both email, USB and CD, the tech crew practically crying when they realised that every number had been marked, but that was what a background in pageantry did, Brooke knowing without a shadow of a doubt that A’keria had been just as prepared. Vanjie however? That was an entirely different story, Brooke sometimes believing that his boyfriend had never read a full contract in his life, Vanjie’s chaotic personality not always translating very well to the structure that was needed outside of single performances in clubs and at pride parades.

“Oh, and Brooke?”

“Mmh?” Brooke looked up, meeting Brandon Voss gaze.

“We’ve already cleared everything with VH1 and your management, so don’t worry about taping the final of Drag Race. We have everything under complete controle.”

[teal-crown]

Hello guys; Mitt here.

It disapoints me to have to bring this situation to the public, but I really can't let it get any worse, so I'll clear it up, once and for all. I believe only in the truth, and I can't let any more people be manipulated or hurt, and I don't want lies to be spread to people I care about. I need to get this out of my chest, so I have no reason to distort reality, since I don't have anything to hide.

I'm here to defend my friends, my art and my dignity as a game developer, as well hopefully make this person make the right decisions, since contacting him privately has proven it to be useless.

Now that that disclaimer is out of the way, I want to let you guys know that if you don't care about drama at all, feel free to ignore this one post, hopefully I won't have to address any more situations like this in the future.

However, if you are part of any game dev community, like ours, this post might make you a bit more aware, as when I was starting out, I was way too naíve. Also this post is super long, sorry for that.

We good to go?

Good.

All of this started, for me, in early 2018, so one year ago.

The user I'm going to talk about, is Rosary of the Reaper's developer, who I'll refer to as Yomi.

Now, please note that I don't have anything against his game itself, and with all of this talk, I don't want to discourage anyone to stop supporting him. Whatever conclusion you guys take out of this- don't harass any of the mentioned users. We are all adults here.

Before meeting Yomi, I had recently started this blog and soon after joined the infamous RPG Maker Horror Discord group that everyone seems to hate. I didn't think that way, and I had never really heard of whatever dramas happened before. I didn't care.

I was a newbie who just loved all of these amazing gems, pretty much like many of you reading this. I think it's something we all have in common.

So I was really excited to finally join a community of people that I admired!

All of the devs were so kind and welcoming, so I felt comfy there, and since then, I acctually made true friends with some of the devs that have helped me a bunch. I wasn't expecting it at all, but I'm still really happy because of it! Though I never relied on their friendships, I definetely rarely opened up to them since I already have a long time confident to open up to.

Either way, time passed and eventually I saw that ROTR's dev had joined the group! I was super excited since, at the time, I really admired him. I admired his games' maps, busts and all of the cool aesthetic CGs. It caught my eye, so I always looked forward to his posts.

It was to my surprise that he DM'd me one day!

Now, before I continue, I want to clarify something.

A LOT of messages that we exchange at the time, were deleted by Yomi. He deleted them quite recently, as well as his account, but the ones that I sent are still there. Not only messages he sent to me, but also to other people, and I'm acctually stunned on how much work it might have been to delete all of that stuff from a year ago, besides deleting posts from artists he used and ditched. I can't express how childish I think that move was.

That means you KNOW you did something wrong.

I can't recover any messages, because there is no way to do that in discord, but since you were so determined, I'll be determined enough to look for anything that looks coherent. I won't mentioned anything that I can't remember clearly.

But I'll let you know that I have screenshots from messages you deleted, Yomi. At the time I was nervous because of some things you said, so I asked advice to my confident, who has nothing to do with this, but has always been there to listen to me rambling. I never deleted any messages or edited them to incriminate/protect myself from the consequences of my actions. This is perhaps what makes me the most disgusted in this whole situation.

So- Yomi DM'd me on discord, at first, to ask for critiques on his game's story at the time. As a newbie like lil' Mitt, I was completely baffled! How come a much bigger dev wants critique from me?

I also thought he did everything, from all of the art to the maps, to the characters, since he never really credited his artists publicly. I was a bit disappointed to find out he didn't do all of that, but I brushed it off, since I still admired him.

I was super interested and he spoiled me a lot on his game (though I've heard the story changed a lot, but whatever, it's not the important thing here) I was imediately eager to tell him about my game too, since I was a solo dev at the time! Though I didn't do that until much later, and incompletely since there was a bit of a lack of interest on his side, at least compared to how hyped I was.

I sent him my blog and he showed interest in my skills.

That's where I noticed a bunch of messages are missing now, but I'll send the screenshots anyway.

There's messages missing when I was saying "O-of course!" and "I'd love to!" Though I can't recall what I was replying to, and sadly I didn't save the messages at the time. All of my messages are still there, and...his aren't. And I doubt these screenshots are totally complete because of it, but it's the evidence I have for this part of the story.

Oh boy, little did I know that it now really feels like a pact with the devil kek

I remember he would often refer to this as a golden pact/opportunity, and I should have seen that as a red flag language. I was naíve and didn't mind the odd comments. Sadly, I have barely any proof of this, so it's up to you to believe me or not. Though, other people do have proof of some of his odd comments, but it's up to them to release those and call him out on them.

Jokes aside, we joined forces, agreeing to help each other, but as it turns out, barely any progress on Marinette was made when I was working with him, although I managed to start testing with mapping styles and improve, and I also drew busts, sprites, CGs and other stuff for him (that was all discarded in the end. Well...almost everything.)

Currently he does use something that I did, without credit, but we'll get to it.

I did those things in such a short amout of time, and even though it started fun, it progressively started kind of sucking my energy and I felt for the first time what it was like to overwork myself.

Interestingly enough, I would act as if I was being commissioned or something, sending updates of every little thing. It was very time consuming to do that several days straight.

And did I tell him it was tiring me? I didn't have the guts to, until I left. I felt guilty if I took more than two days off because of the things he said.

I was not his partner at all, I was his spare artist, who he was happy to not have to pay.

He often made me edit his other artists' work so that he wouldn't have to pay extra for the edits! How on earth did I agree to this...?! I dunno, but I mentioned to him how uncomfortable I was with it later on.

Today, I feel manipulated and I know exactly what his reaction would be if I denied working on something. 

He reffered to the things I did as "assignments". He would tell me that "maybe you're not up for the task" "Are you turning down an assignment?" if I showed myself a bit relunctant and now I realize how innapropriate those comments were...and how dumb I was to not step out sooner.

I am lucky I didn't get too emotionally attatched to him too(like others did), but it still hit my pride when he made those comments, so I kept going.

Time passed and eventually he wanted me to design characters for him. Two in fact.

The one you know today as "Mira" and also a redesign of Kamui, that he hasn't officially used yet.

And that's where I want to claim credit for my work.

Proof of Kamui, in case he uses this design.

And most importantly. Proof I designed Mira:

(fun fact, Mira was supposed to have baggy pants ahaha)

This went on for quite some time, until I got called by my parents. Keep in mind I was a minor and as such, I had to hurry. I was being yelled at, but Yomi couldn't wait.

I can't express how frustrated I was. The messages that he deleted really were rushing me and I was still finishing the background (hence why the sudden "Fffffff").

I managed to rush my way through the BG and sent it to him, and still got scolded by my parents for taking so long. That was the story with Mira's designing "adventure".

...

Now...he still uses that design.

It is in his title screen, in the game he released the other day.

The title screen that was drawn by one of his artists, who I don’t even know who is.

The same picture he holds on the blog's frontpage.

But the design...was made by little ol' Mitt.

But was I ever credited for it? No.

...

Before I dive into when I left the partership with him, let me finish talking about this Mira situation.

I did send him a message a few days ago, asking him to credit me for designing Mira at least.

It's not a big deal, right? All he has to do is write the name "Mitty" in the credits. You know what the answer was?

To which I answered:

Which I got no answer to.

I'm just...disappointed. You still used it in the title Yomi. It's out there and it's the design WE made.

If you don't want to do a thing as simple as crediting, then I ask you, right here, right now, to completely change the design, because I'm not getting a character I designed for a game by someone who treated me the way you did ESPECIALLY without credit.

I have nothing against your game, but I hope you either add my name in the credits or remove this design you have of Mira completely out of your game or completely redesigned and CLEARLY distinct from this one.

It's a complete lie to say that my design was not used as a refference, no matter how many artists you had drawing her afterwards.

...

I'm not done yet, as much as I would like to be. I said I have screenshots from how mean and manipulative you were when I quit, and I'm tired of seeing you have that same behaviour with so many people. The fact that you deleted the messages just proves how much of a coward you are. I should have never let it pass like that.

These are the messages I have in my discord right now, from when I quit, which are incomplete:

Well...you get the gist.

It does seem pretty odd, no? It almost looks like I'm talking alone. Thankfully I got screenshots of the complete chat below.

I was panicking with this conversation, so I asked my confident and another friend for advice on it, while it was happening. Thanks to that, I have screenshots from the complete chat in this section.

And the complete chat is here:

I think the chat speaks for itself, and it's the most concrete proof I have of Yomi's innapropriate behaviour towards me. I also remember clearly that later he excused his behaviour by saying he has autism, but the message is deleted and I have no proof. That statement just..saddens me.

Even after all of this, Yomi kept sending me updates on his game and complaining about how other devs kept "yelling" at him (when in fact they were just suggesting a more readable way to present text), though the messages were deleted, mine are still there, when I tried to help him with it. It felt like he was vitimizing himself for every little thing, with no reason.

I ended up telling him I wasn't comfortable with those updates and we eventually stopped talking and we parted ways, until this situation happened and I noticed the deleted messages; I was also contacted by some friends who went through simmilar experiences.

I feel the need to talk because my experience is more work related, and not as much emotional related, even though some elements of it are present. I'm afraid the other people don't have much proof since Yomi deleted so much stuff, but I hope justice is made and we can all just keep going on with our lives.

Now, I wouldn't elaborate such a post if I didn't have the reasons to, so I'm here to defend also the +16 people that Yomi treated poorly in one way or another, I don't think what he did and is still doing is right. But I also won't expose their experiences without their consent.

Whatever happens from now on depends on who reads this. I've provided the information that I could, to clear things out on my end, as well as my opinion on the whole shazam.

Thank you so much if you've read this, and thank you for your support, it does mean a lot to me, and I wouldn't have grown so much if it weren't for every experience I had here and for each one of you who give me the motivation to keep going.

Ah, I think I've already spent enough energy with all of this. I hope you, Yomi, make the right decision. It can't just stay like this.

I'll go back to focusing on my game now that I've spoken up. Stay awesome, and I wish y'all the best,

Mitt.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

BROOKHAVEN COMPLETES LSST’S DIGITAL SENSOR ARRAY ** Synopsis: Brookhaven National Lab has finished constructing the 3.2 gigapixel “digital film” for the world’s largest camera for cosmology, physics, and astronomy. ** After 16 years of dedicated planning and engineering, scientists at the U.S. Department of Energy’s (DOE) Brookhaven National Laboratory have completed a 3.2 gigapixel sensor array for the camera that will be used in the Large Synoptic Survey Telescope (LSST, https://www.lsst.org), a massive telescope that will observe the universe like never before. “This is the biggest charge-coupled device (CCD) array that has ever been built,” said Paul O’Connor, senior scientist at Brookhaven Lab’s instrumentation division. “It’s three billion pixels. No telescope has ever put this many sensors into one camera.” The digital sensor array is composed of about 200 16-megapixel sensors, divided into 21 modules called “rafts.” Each raft can function on its own, but when combined, they will view an area of sky that can fit more than 40 full moons in a single image. Researchers will stitch these images together to create a time-lapse movie of the complete visible universe accessible from Chile. Currently under construction on a mountaintop in Chile, LSST is designed to capture the most complete images of our universe that have ever been achieved. The project to build the telescope facility and camera is a collaborative effort among more than 30 institutions from around the world, and it is primarily funded by DOE’s Office of Science and the National Science Foundation. DOE’s SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory is leading the overall effort to construct the camera -- the world’s largest camera for astronomy -- while Brookhaven led the design, construction, and qualification of the digital sensor array -- the “digital film” for the camera. “It’s the heart of the camera,” said Bill Wahl, science raft subsystem manager of the LSST project at Brookhaven Lab. “What we’ve done here at Brookhaven represents years of great work by many talented scientists, engineers, and technicians. Their work will lead to a collection of images that has never been seen before by anyone. It’s an exciting time for the project and for the Lab.” Brookhaven began its LSST research and development program in 2003, with construction of the digital sensor array starting in 2014. In the time leading up to construction, Brookhaven designed and fabricated the assembly and test equipment for the science rafts used both at Brookhaven and SLAC. The Laboratory also created an entire automated production facility and cleanroom, along with production and tracking software. “We made sure to automate as much of the production facility as possible,” O’Connor said. “Testing a single raft could take up to three days. We were working on a tight schedule, so we had our automated facility running 24/7. Of course, out of a concern for safety, we always had someone monitoring the facility throughout the day and night.” Constructing the complex sensor array, which operates in a vacuum and must be cooled to -100° Celsius, is a challenge on its own. But the Brookhaven team was also tasked with testing each fully assembled raft, as well as individual sensors and electronics. Once each raft was complete, it needed to be carefully packaged in a protective environment to be safely shipped across the country to SLAC. The LSST team at Brookhaven completed the first raft in 2017. But soon after, they were presented with a new challenge. “We later discovered that design features inadvertently led to the possibility that electrical wires in the rafts could get shorted out,” O’Connor said. “The rate at which this effect was impacting the rafts was only on the order of 0.2%, but to avoid any possibility of degradation, we went through the trouble of refitting almost every raft.” Now, just two years after the start of raft production, the team has successfully built and shipped the final raft to SLAC for integration into the camera. This marks the end of a 16-year project at Brookhaven, which will be followed by many years of astronomical observation. Many of the talented team members recruited to Brookhaven for the LSST project were young engineers and technicians hired right out of graduate school. Now, they’ve all been assigned to ongoing physics projects at the Lab, such as upgrading the PHENIX detector at the Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider -- a DOE Office of Science User Facility for nuclear physics research -- to sPHENIX, as well as ongoing work with the ATLAS detector at CERN’s Large Hadron Collider. Brookhaven is the U.S. host laboratory for the ATLAS collaboration “Brookhaven’s role in the LSST camera project afforded new and exciting opportunities for engineers, technicians, and scientists in electro-optics, where very demanding specifications must be met,” Wahl said. “The multi-disciplined team we assembled did an excellent job achieving design objectives and I am proud of our time together. Watching junior engineers and scientists grow into very capable team members was extremely rewarding.” Brookhaven Lab will continue to play a strong role in LSST going forward. As the telescope undergoes its commissioning phase, Brookhaven scientists will serve as experts on the digital sensor array in the camera. They will also provide support during LSST’s operations, which are projected to begin in 2022. “The commissioning of such a complex camera will be an exciting and challenging endeavor,” said Brookhaven physicist Andrei Nomerotski, who is leading Brookhaven’s contributions to the commissioning and operation phases of the LSST project. “After years of using artificial signal sources for the sensor characterization, we are looking forward to seeing real stars and galaxies in the LSST CCDs.” Once operational in the Andes Mountains, LSST will serve nearly every subset of the astrophysics community. Perhaps most importantly, LSST will enable scientists to investigate dark energy and dark matter -- two puzzles that have baffled physicists for decades. It is also estimated that LSST will find millions of asteroids in our solar system, in addition to offering new information about the creation of our galaxy. The images captured by LSST will be made available to physicists and astronomers in the U.S. and Chile immediately, making LSST one of the most advanced and accessible cosmology experiments ever created. Over time, the data will be made available to the public worldwide. TOP IMAGE....SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory installs the first of Brookhaven's 21 rafts that make up LSST's digital sensor array. Photo courtesy SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory. LOWER IMAGE....SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory installs the first of Brookhaven's 21 rafts that make up LSST's digital sensor array. Photo courtesy SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory