#now you know my terrible secret: i can’t draw old people

[paperboatprince]

colour wheel but dndads

red: nick close

orange: erin o’neil

yellow: terry jr

green: lark and sparrow

teal: jodie foster

blue: taylor swift

purple: the omega dads

pink: scary marlowe

[lady-elora]

I've finally finished it! It turned out to be a terrible longread, but I hope it was worth it. Sorry for possible mistakes: English is not my native language. And don't forget that everything below is just my personal opinion and nothing more.

The status: "it's complicated", or a word in defense of Sylvie

So, the season 2 of the Marvel Studios sensational and popular series "Loki" has died down. It’s powerful finale probably didn’t leave anyone indifferent, even those people who aren’t an ardent Marvel fan. That's just, alas, not all viewers were satisfied with it, and it frankly disappointed representatives of a separate category of fans.

Yes, now I'm talking about sylki shipers who expected a beautiful happy ending in old Disney classic style with a kiss / wedding / going to the sunset, holding hands (underline needed) in the season finale but in the end got something completely different. Even, I might say, the something exact opposite.

And now we have as a result a disappointed "howl in the swamps" from the aforementioned shipers in almost all major social networks. Not from all of them surely (I personally know quite a few of them who were quite satisfied after the season finale although they remained some emotionally traumatized as well). However, the "howl" is nevertheless massive enough to draw my attention to it and to make me interested in it as a social phenomenon.

So I naturally wonder: what’s the reason for such diametrically opposite reactions of the same category of viewers? After all, in theory, both satisfied and dissatisfied viewers watched the same series with the same events, characters, actions and dialogues.

The answer, if you just think about it, is pretty obvious: it's about perception. Actually it’s about the emotional, mental and cultural "baggage" with which each of us, the audience, approaches the viewing. And also it’s certainly about the life experience that is absolutely unique for every person, completely different from one another and therefore often going against what the creators are trying to show us on the screen.

A simple familiar example: a person whose relationship with his/her "other half" has always been quite neat and smooth, without any significant difficulties and shocks will never understand a couple that literally has difficulties all the time, that comes together and breaks up for hundred times, that has two people who being ardently and sincerely in love stil can’t agree or even just understand each other. That classical proverbial "Full will never understand the hungry".

Returning to our sheep (very secretive, stubborn and impossibly similar sheep, I must say), the relationship between Loki and Sylvie in the series is a psychologically complicated as hell and unimaginably confusing thing which is directly influenced by both their early life psychotrauma and the impending Multiverse catastrophe.

Unfortunately not all the viewers are able or want to dig a little deeper than what lies on the surface and perceive the events of the series (in general) and season 2 (in particular) the way its creators intended.

Most of all claims are made by both "ordinary" fans and sylki-shipers against Sylvie and how she is shown in season 2. The most common of them are:

* she dared to live a calm and quiet life in the devil-knows-where-place instead of realizing her guilt and rushing headlong to search for Loki;

* she met Loki coldly and behaved the whole season like absolutely nothing had happened between them in the previous one;

* she doesn't seem to regret or suffer at all;

* she doesn’t look broken, lost or unhappy (and then they often put Mobius as an antipode example).

Maybe it's not the whole list of claims, but, again, I've shown here only the most common ones.

And do you know what's the saddest and yet the funniest thing? If we look at the purely series "picture", without any trying to look deeper, read the context, understand the psychological background of the words and actions of the characters, then all the above-mentioned claims even seem quite justified.

But let's not pick the easy way. Let's try to understand Sylvie's nature and motives to figure out what's really happening between Loki and Sylvie in season 2 and why the creators and actors of the series are so strongly bending the line of Loki and Sylvie’s "deep emotions for each other".

Let's go!

"Difficult childhood, paper toys"

I'm certainly sneering now a little, but let's take a moment away from Loki's heroic sacrifice in the season finale and the universal crying for him and go back to the past, to the distant past of Sylvie and Loki, to their very childhood.

What do we know about Loki? Firstly, his childhood was quite happy and relatively calm (the constant "background" envy of his brother and from-time-to-time-confrontation with him don't count though we all remember his turning into a snake and back and stabbing Thor with a dagger, isn't it?) He had a father, a mother, a brother... a family. In general, he had a normal childhood.

And what had Sylvie at the same time? N-o-t-h-i-n-g! Her world was cut. Her loved ones died when she was just a child about 11-23 years old by Midgard standards.

And now imagine that strange people in military uniforms come to a kind and sweet girl who dreams of becoming a hero (which is perfectly shown in the series from her games), roughly drag her out of her usual life to no one knows where and finaly destroy her entire world. Can you imagine how stressful it is even for an adult, not to mention a child?

And what about her future life? It's a natural hell! A nightmare lasting ror centuries, where you have no rest at any point in time / space, where you are constantly being chased, where you are forced to jump through the apocalypses just to hide and survive. And by the way you can easily die not even from hunters hands but banally from the consequences of on those apocalypses...

Has all of this left a giant imprint on Sylvie's personality? Absolutely yes! Something like that would have put that imprint on any of us.

In general, Sylvie should have a monument erected for the very fact that living in this nightmare she managed not to go insane and even (more or less) saved her humanity.

But during those dreadful centuries she had completely forgotten how to trust somebody… or she had even consciously cultivated her distrust to everyone in the world. And given her constant running and life in the apocalypses where people often show their worst qualities in the face of death, this distrust is more than justified.

So let's keep in mind her first psychological feature – Sylvie has had great trust problems for many centuries.

About emotional maturity and some parallels

And then Loki bursts into her "gray days", almost literally turning everything upside down.

Sylvie experiences a real affection, maybe for the first time in her bitter life. For the first time and more than ever she is acutely aware of her loneliness and she wonders: is it really necessary to be alone? Perhaps one person, a special one, can be trusted?

She lived in the apocalypses. She has never had and couldn’t have had a long-term relationships. Therefore she simply doesn’t know how to build them or, moreover, adequately maintain them.

In this regard, Loki is much more emotionally mature than her. Not even at times, but dozens of times. She is insanely afraid of relationships, trust, because trust is also about opening up to a person. And "opening up" for her is equivalent to "becoming vulnerable" that she had never been able to afford herself since her childhood.

And here I personally see a clear parallel with Sherlock and Molly from my favorite BBC show (which, by the way, also made a big noise 5 years ago). Sylvie is Sherlock: emotionally traumatized in childhood, denying feelings, considering them to be "weakness" and in many ways emotionally immature person. And Loki is Molly, who entirely understands and accepts her feelings, who doesn't run away from them and can live with them.

So let's also keep in mind her second psychological feature – due to her troubled past Sylvie isn’t yet emotionally mature enough. She still has to go this way and hopefully we’ll even see it in the future.

"Just turn around now. You're not welcome anymore"

After all at some moment Sylvie decided to trust Loki. But then (almost right after that) there comes their great confrontation in the Citadel. Loki's opinion is so diametrically opposed to her own that it amounts to the very certain betrayal in her emotionally immature perception.

Really! While half of the fandom is damning her for "betraying Loki," it seems like only a few people think about the fact that he betrayed her as well.

The whole tragedy of the situation is that both of them are right, and they are equally right, but each of them is right in their own way. Both Loki's words "But what's good in free will if everyone's dead?" and Sylvie's words "You'll just replace one nightmare with another" are the pure truth.

And since both of them are right, then there're two ways to assess the consequences of their duel from the outside: none of them betrayed each other or they both betrayed each other.

However, judging by their further behavior they both prefer considering the situation as a betrayal, and each of them judges who really betrayed the other speaking from their own tower. Anyway being more emotionally mature, Loki has understood and forgiven Sylvie almost immediately. But Sylvie hasn’t. And analyzing the things shown in 2x2, all these months she weren't even trying to understand his motives and forget her offense, but she also were rubbing salt in her wounds in every possible way.

By the way Kevin Wright (EP of the series) also confirms this:

"Everything that happens in the season, I think, is still a ripple effect from Sylvie feeling deeply wounded and saing like "why aren’t we seeing this the same way?"

So there's a clear Sylvie's resentment at Loki's behavior in the Citadel and disappointment at the total discrepancy between their viewpoints.

As for the feelings for him... that feelings haven't got away. They became just even more acute and painful 'cause of her resentment (and btw that's also perfectly shown in the series). And that’s why he’s really not welcome to her in 2x2.

"I've been chasing you for three days just to tell you how much I don't care!"*

There's quite a funny thing that begins right from the moment of our complicated couple reunion.

Almost right after meeting Loki Sylvie, who lived a quiet life, worked at the MD and didn't even think about hunting numerous Kang's variants, begins to literally follow him on the heels, appearing from time to time right where he appears.

What's the reason? Imao, it's quite obvious. More precisely, there are two of.

The reason 1: she has to make sure that her beloved idiot is OK.

Despite the fact that during the months of her "quiet life" Sylvie had been trying to convince herself in every possible way that this relationship was over, that after the Citadel a "rollback" to their former connection was no longer possible, she still didn't forget Loki. And the fact that his new reappearance in her life only opened up old wounds and destroyed all the walls she had so carefully erected, is very clearly read in her behavior at this meeting.

As a smart girl (for a stupid one just wouldn't survive in her conditions), she immediately realizes that, holly shit, she's still loving him so hard! – this, again, is perfectly shown on her face at the moment of their first meeting, when she hadn't yet had time to gather herself, to fence off resentment and to put on a "sharp mask". But, as a girl who's not only smart, but also too proud and mortally offended, she wants his apology for what happened in the Citadel. That resentment is read in all her behaviour, almost in every phrase when communicating with Loki in 2x2.

Well, what happens next only outlines that desire more clearly.

First, she goes after Loki and Mobius to fight those hunters going to cut timelines. Then she follows them through the time-door to TVA (although she could just return to her time-branch and get it all out of her mind).

Yes, according to Sophia Di Martino, at first she does all of that only to "make sure that her new friends and new home weren’t damaged and didn’t disappear". But the motives for her further constant being next to Loki can be tied to this explanation with a very big stretch.

Even at the first time, she leaves only after she's finally convinced of Loki's desire to protect the "totally rotten TVA", after her new surge of anger and splashing it out on Loki (who at that moment isn't up to her resentments at all).

Is she being somewhat selfish? Surely. But, as a deeply offended and emotionally immature person, she simply can't do otherwise. She doesn' know how. This is by no means an excuse! This is a statement of fact.

So Sylvie leaves practically "slamming" the time-door. And really why would she come back if her timeline with her new home and friends are safe and sound? She could just live her quiet life and be happy. But paradoxically she does exactly the opposite! She comes back anyway, over and over again (!), first using the hunt for the Kang variant as a kind of reason, and then – just like that, without any clear reasons at all. The reason offered by Loki firstly doesn't hold any water (well, OK, she couldn't kill Timely – so what?) and secondly isn't confirmed by Sylvie herself loud and clear (she just admits that yes, she couldn't kill Timely, and explains why she couldn't do that but not why she came back).

No, the reason is clearly not in Victor Timely but in the underlying caring for Loki, which is confirmed by Sophia's words btw:

"She doesn’t care about the TVA. I think she does care about Mobius and about Loki".

Now reason 2: a direct consequence of her continued resentment.

Sylvie literally craves Loki's apology for the Citadel events. In 3x3, she flung her demands almost right at his face.

And that’s where the main problem of this couple lies (a very typical problem for a relationship in general btw): she's waiting for an apology, while he's completely misunderstanding: a) the importance of it to her and b) for what, in fact, he has to apologize if they are both right?

But it's really vital for Sylvie to get his apology in order to close this protracted gestalt, to forgive Loki and to forget her offense. And he completely ignores this moment over and over again… which is also very typical for a man involved in an important case btw.

Maybe if Loki had instantly understood what she needed they could be able to avoid a lot of mistakes and we, the fans, would get a completely different, much warmer and more romantic story. But... Now we have what we have. Moreover, this storyline is more than psychologically true.

And there can be the one clear conclusion from all said above: Sylvie feels anything but indifference towards Loki.

PTSD as it is

And here’s another point directly related to Sylvie's childhood. I’ve already spoke about it a little above, but now let’s look at it in more detail.

Have you noticed how painfully Sylvie still reacts to the death of timelines – especially when it’s caused by TVA?

It would seem that she and Loki are in the same conditions in the season 2: both have their homeworld cut, both, in fact, have nowhere to return. But unlike Sylvie, Loki accepted it, got over it and now is ready to move on without destructive anger.

Does he care about the demise of timelines? Surelly! Do gloomy thoughts and emotions prevent him from thinking clear? NO!

Why? Because, unlike Sylvie, he got over his trauma, he worked it out, but she was completely stuck in her PTSD, which her massive crisis of trust made only stronger.

Sylvie from the beginning of season 2 is Loki from the first "Thor": a deeply emotionally traumatized person who needs a lot more rethinking before he can work through this trauma.

She still fears and hates TVA and doesn’t trust any of its people. And when Loki suggests her to protect TVA, she naturally takes it almost as a personal insult.

And this is absolutely real, authentic and normal!

Just walk for a minute in her shoes. Imagine how you would react if you were asked to defend what you fear and hate? So, well?.. That’s better!

Time DOES matter

Also, let’s not forget about one more important detail. Since Loki and Sylvie were separated after the Citadel events, there has been a great time de-synchronization between them. I think only a few days (if not hours) passed for Loki between the events of 1x6 and 2x2. And Sylvie lived in her chosen timeline for 8 (!!!) months.

During that time she managed to organize a simple as 5 cents, but still a quiet life. A life without the eternal chasing. A life without destruction and death around. A life where she could have a very limited maybe though still a constant circle of communication.

Did she miss Loki after the Citadel events? Of course! Why? Just watch carefully the final 2x2 scene and most importantly – listen to the song playing in the background (Janis Joplin – Kozmic Blues). And all the doubts will disappear immediately.

And one another thing. Judging by the fact that she’s a frequent customer of the record store who chooses (by herself or with the help of a seller) music records of a certain genre and style, her longing for Loki didn’t appear right after a new meeting with him but long before that. Probably right after the Citadel.

Yes, she was offended, angry, convinced herself that she didn't want to see him anymore, but... she missed him anyway. And the time passed, gradually creating a habit.

In those 8 months Sylvie managed to get attached to her calm and simple life and began to appreciate it. And when Loki reappears on the horizon again, one of the many reasons for her unwarm welcome is just the desire to protect her cozy little world, not to let her quiet, peaceful life be taken away.

If Loki had coming a little earlier, before her habit forming, perhaps their meeting would be very different.

"I wanna be your number one"

And now we’re coming to almost the most important thing about their relationships in season 2 – to the thing that I personally suspected from the very beginning of their meeting after the Citadel events, but that was actually confirmed only in 2x5.

It turns out that all these long 8 months of her quiet life Sylvie had been sincerely believing that she was only on the second place on Loki's personal priorities list(!) and on the first place he had the TVA. And this is another reason why she gets angry, snaps, draws an invisible line between them by her whole appearance and behavior right from the very beginning of their reunion in 2x2.

She wants only two things from Loki – an apology for the Citadel fight and a confession that he came here for her. Just for her alone. But in the end, she gets something completely different – we might even say the diametrically opposite. And this only stings her pride more, only inflames her resentment more, generates even greater distrust... that causes many subsequent events in the future.

What's interesting is that Loki tells her the truth every time. (Quite a paradox for the God of Mischief, isn't it?) But at this very moment of her life, Sylvie doesn't need this kind of truth. She needs something completely different, which she doesn't get over and over again. And finally being tired of waiting she even hints about it quite openly in 2x3 and 2x4.

That's why their evening meeting at McDonald's in 2x5 is so significant. And btw that meeting is – a drum roll! – an alternative version of their reunion after the Citadel events, according to Sophia.

First and important: unlike the 2x2 reunion, this one is much more peaceful. Sylvie perceives Loki's appearance much more friendly. She practically doesn’t get angry, doesn’t "show her claws", but listens patiently and even takes him for a drink.

What’s the reason of such a dramatic change in behavior? I think that’s because of Loki’s coming on time and alone. Therefore there was a chance for them to explain the things for each other properly.

This time, Sylvie’s not at work and she has some free hours. This time there’re no others next to Loki (some annoying others like that guy in the TVA prison uniform, and we remember: everything about the TVA still angers and scares Sylvie). This time they can talk in private without attracting unnecessary curious glances.

And they really talk, at first quite calmly and peacefully, but then again (!) the conversation turns completely away from where Sylvie expects.

The whole bar dialogue from her side is built in such a way as to find out clearly and ultimately: what Loki is fighting for. Rather, in her interpretation, the question sounds like this: Who is at the top of his personal chart?

And if Loki had said at that moment that first of all he wanted to save the world for her – that would be enough! The ice between them would have cracked completely and absolutely. If he had admitted directly and openly that Sylvie was, is and always will be the first for him, then lots of things would have turned out very differently.

However, though Loki is speaking honestly at that moment, but he's telling not what she wants to hear at all. She asks him what does he want and in his response he puts not her, but his friends – i.e. TVA – on the first place again. In such a case there’s no even matter that Sylvie is still hates the TVA. She wants to be his number one. This is of huge importance to her.

Well, we remember: Sylvie is only at the very beginning of her emotional maturity journey. And since she’s also a Loki, she has typical movie-Loki flaws which are some kind of selfishness and morbid vanity.

Sylvie doesn't want to be the second fiddle. She wants to be the first or the nobody for him.

Here, by the way, Sophia’s quote about the bar scene:

"Well, I think because she had to meet up with Loki and tell him to go and find himself and figure out his purpose, that whole bar scene is about her trying to help him figure out what he wants. And I think it’s just big seeing someone again – that brings up so many emotions, doesn’t it? – after such a long time. So she’s probably had a s**t day because of that".

Indeed, when you’re forced to meet your ex, it often causes a lot of emotions. But in most cases they’re anger, sadness and regret. Does Sylvie express anger during the bar talking to Loki? Absolutely not. Does she express sadness and regret? Oh, yes!

Why? Because despite everything she's convinced herself of, Sylvie still loves Loki and has hope for them. But again she was forced to say and hear something completely different from what she wanted. If she had really enchanted him and looked into his heart in 2x2, she would have seen the truth at once. But she just doesn't want it in 2x2, and he no longer offers it to her in 2x5.

As a result, she remains in the dark. And that’s why, at the end of their difficult bar conversation, Sylvie, being deeply offended and disappointed (once again!), with the eyes full of tears, tells Loki that they need "to write their own (i.e. separate from each other) stories" and then she leaves... to that record store where she completely drowns in melancholy.

Here I should put another Sophia’s quote about Sylvie's feelings at that moment:

"...it’s that feeling when you listen to a beautiful song and you just cry, but it sort of feels nice".

Now think about how often do you cry when listening to even a very beautiful, lyrical and soul-touching son? And in general, will you cry when you’re in a glad, joyful and/or peaceful state?

I think a lot of people will agree that a song or music makes us cry only when it’s in tune with our current mood, when it touches certain painful strings of our soul, when it reminds us of something from our bitter experience.

Yeah, there are, of course, deeply sentimental people who can be touched by any little thing. But Sylvie is definitely not one of them. Otherwise, she would have behaved and talked to Loki in a completely different way.

And here we come back to the issue of Sylvie's indifference. Think about it: if she really didn't care about Loki, would she "heal her mental wounds" this way? And would they even be – these wounds?

But nothing ever real

Actually Loki and Sylvie have two main problems in the season 2: 1st) an acute lack of time and 2nd) a total misunderstanding of each other. And the main reason for their misunderstanding is the lack of experience of real relationships for both.

Yes, as we know from their train conversation in 1x3, they both had some love affairs before. But the true feeling of love and care came over them only for each other. With all the consequences.

At the time of season 2, they’re both still learning how to build relationships and work on them. And if they had more time, they would certainly have learnt this.

But unfortunately a cruel fate in the face of the show creators decided otherwise.

Breaking the ice

So Sylvie comes to season 2 with all these inner mess. And it’s manifested by sharpness, coldness, anger.

However being next to Loki, she seems to slowly thaw and becomes softer. And at the moment of their final "farewell", where Loki reviels her the price they have to pay to save the Multiverse, she’s no longer angry, she’s not trying to stop him. Instead she demonstrates full acceptance of the situation and the pain that Loki got such a hard lot.

We can see the tears in her eyes. Her pride, resentment, stubbornness – that all disappears before the coming catastrophe. She finally realizes it’s inevitability and (please, mind it now!) she doesn’t even try to stop or dissuade Loki in any way. She only says that she’ll not bless him to kill her.

Once again: she’s not resisting at that moment! Sylvie – is – not – resisting! Not at all! Surely, deep inside she knows, she feels that Loki won't do it, he’ll be able to find another way. Btw, Sophia also talks about it in the interview I shared a link above, about their hidden unspoken rule – not to kill each other.

However, the very fact that Loki was faced with such a choice causes Sylvie great pain.

"I need to get out there!"

And then comes the epic finale. The moment of truth. Loki makes his difficult choice and goes down the stairs to the door leading to the Temporary Loom.

At the same moment – mind it too, please! – the others are just staying and it seems like they aren’t even noticing what’s going on. It’s only Sylvie who Immediately realizes what Loki is up to, and who first rushes for him with an expression of not just concern, but almost panic on her face. And only then Mobius goes as well.

Sylvie tries to break through the door (with a very expressive exclaim btw: "No! No, Loki!"), but she just can’t open it. And then she rushes upstairs, turning to O.B.: "I need to get out there!" Unfortunately even such a technical genius as O.B. can’t open that damned door. I guess Loki, who had become a great tech-savy during those centuries, blocked it really good.

"I need to get out there!" That one phrase shatters down all the claims of some viewers to Sylvie's feelings and behavior at that moment.

She didn’t just "stay and stare" as Loki actually sacrificed himself. She was ready and she wanted to follow him. It was him who didn’t allow that.

"Soft gets you killed"

And so the die is cast. The sacrifice has been made. The Multiverse has been saved, and all the show characters have to find their place in it again.

And then we got a lot of viewers (especially among the sylki-shipers) who ‘came really outraged by Sylvie's "too happy" smile in the end of her final conversation with Mobius. Like while he stands being completely broken and lost, she squints in the sun and smiles "carelessly".

And for unknown reason, no one... well, almost no one comes to mind that this scene is mirroring the dialogue between Loki and Mobius from 1x4, when Loki is informed that Sylvie has been cut.

Remember: what does he do after hearing that? A few seconds of a complete embarrassment and then he leans back in his chair and smiles, trying his best to hide the pain. But his eyes and the crack in his voice are instantly catching him red-handed.

It's exactly the same story with Sylvie in the finale. She smiles and "flippantly" shrugs her shoulders after Mobius' question of where she's going to go now. But just a minute earlier, she says: "It's weird without Loki here, isn't it?" with exactly the same voice crack, and tears are shining in her eyes exactly the same way.

Sylvie has been used to hiding pain since her childhood. Softness is a weakness for her. And she can only show her weakness and vulnerability to one being in the Multiverse. And it's definitely not Mobius.

P.S. A few words about Sophia

In conclusion, I want to add a few thoughts not just about Sylvie, but about the series as a whole, and a little about the fandom.

If you've read the full Sophia's interview I put the links above you must have noticed how carefully and as if with constant caution she speaks about her character's relationship with Loki. Unlike the screenwriter and EP, who openly talk about deep feelings Loki and Sylvie are having to each other, she prefers to call what's happening between them not "love", but "quite strong trust" (which btw significantly contradicts the behavior of Sylvie herself in the series). And although sometimes the idea that Sylvie "definitely won't let things just go" breaks through in her interviews it's like she always tries to soften her answers to the overwhelming number of questions about Sylvie and Loki relationship.

Many fans of the couple may be upset by this, but if you think about the root cause of such caution, there'll be no reason for such an offence.

And the root cause is just the fans themselves, the fandom, the violently negative reaction of a certain fandom part to the character and to her romantic line with Loki.

Remember the storm made by the fans of that fandom part (we all know what is that part, isn't it?) at the end of season 1. Remember those tons of negativity poured out not only on the character itself, but also on the actress who played this character! Because of this negativity, Sophia was eventually forced to close comments on her Instagram profile. And since then, she has become much more careful about speaking out something about the series in the interviews.

However, despite all of that, she still allows herself to be a little frank on Instagram sometimes. As a huge fan of Sophia, Sylvie and the series in general, I strongly advise not to ignore that fact.

If you doubt that Sylvie's feelings for Loki are true, just go to Sophia's Instagram profile and look at some of her stories and posts. Her playlist "Sylvie Mix Tape" on Spotify alone says ten times more than all her interviews.

P.P.S. UST and fans' interest

In the end of this huge meta, I want to add a few words about the good old UST (Unsolved Sexual Tension).

There's a wonderful phrase in one of my favorite sci-fi writers novels: "Always happy character isn't interesting." Indeed, the hero, whose life is a continuous Carnival and who literally reaches everything easily, ceases to seem real very soon, causes readers' boredom and even begins to annoy at some point.

It's really interesting and exciting to follow the hero who's overcoming difficulties – physical, psychological, romantic – no matter. And the more difficult the task, the higher the stakes and the more desperate the struggle, the stronger the reader's or viewer's interest is.

The same goes for romantic relationships between characters in a book or movie. I.e., paraphrasing my favorite sci-fi writer's quote: "Always happy relationships aren't interesting."

Yes, our fan hearts are certainly warmed by "happily ever after" for the beloved characters. But let's be honest with ourselves: how long will our interest and empathy for our beloved couple last, if everything settles down and everything goes well, if there're no more difficulties and struggles in their lives and relationships, if that notorious UST (the sexual tension that hasn't found a way out) disappears (you know, that thing when between the characters everything literally sparks and blazes, but at the same time they stubbornly don't admit their feelings either to themselves or to each other)?

Something tells me it won't be for long.

And as a quite vivid (even, I might say, a classic) example of UST, I can cite the relationship between Mulder and Scully from another sensational series – "The X-Files". The twists and turns of their relationships, shown by hints and semitones, were incredibly interesting and even hot to watch ... exactly until season 7, where their UST was finally resolved – clearly and unambiguously.

Another classic example of UST is the relationships between Sherlock and Molly from the BBC series "Sherlock". But in the case of this couple, the show creators acted more competently. The sexual tension between them remained unresolved in the finale. The audience was given only a hint, thereby leaving both interest and space for imagination.

Exactly the same (and maybe fortunately) happens to Loki and Sylvie. Their story is not over yet, as both the show EP, the screenwriter and the actors say in one voice. Here and there, insides pop up that Marvel still has plans for these characters.

Would it be interesting to follow the new adventures of Loki and Sylvie if they were an established couple? Maybe. But something tells me that it's not nearly as interesting as it is now, when they are apart again, and their "sexual tension" hasn't been solved.

This is what the Marvel leadership has been playing, is playing and will continue playing on. And UST has always been, is and will be, perhaps not the main, but a very significant thing to drive the plot.

Well, that's all for now. Thanks for your attention! And if all written above hasn't shed at least a drop of balm on your soul wounds made by season 2, remember: there's no such a finale that couldn't be fixed by a good fanfiction. ;)

* My favorite quote from "An Ordinary Miracle" by Eugeny Shwartz.

[celestiall0tus]

Lady and the Scoundrel - Chapter 8 - Family

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            Chloe milled about her room as she cleaned it while she stole glances outside. The leaves began to turn that signaled the beginning of fall. She sighed as she watched other students play about and enjoy each other’s company. Since the visit with Felix a couple weeks ago, she had withdrawn further. Not that anyone would have noticed. She hadn’t made any friends, and she was afraid too.

            Chloe craved the acceptance she saw her old classmates get, but never knew how to get. She thought she could try again, but why try if some people never see the change? What if it’s all a lie and she can’t change? Is there any point to her trying at all if that’s the case? She had Barkk, but Barkk was made by design to love. She was sure it wouldn’t matter what she did, Barkk would still love her.

            Pain struck Chloe’s heart as she thought of Sabrina. Tears rimmed her eyes at the sweet moments they once shared that she soured. She took advantage of Sabrina’s friendship and loyalty. She pushed and pushed until it was too late. She lost Sabrina and she feared she’d do the same to Barkk.

            A knock interrupted Chloe’s thoughts. She gasped, wiped away the tears, and turned to the door as Barkk peeked in.

            “Hey, Chloe. There is, uh, someone here that wants to speak with you.”

            Chloe raised a brow when Memoria moved around Barkk into the room. Chloe’s eyes widened and darted to the door, but it was shut and Barkk was gone. Chloe forced a smile as she met Memoria’s eyes.

            “Hello, Chloe. How’ve you been?”

            “I’m… I’m perfect. How could I not be?”

            “Your eyes say otherwise. There is a compounded grief and guilt heavy in them. What troubles you?”

            “It’s… it’s nothing. Just… memories.”

            “Which ones? Marinette? Adrien? Sabrina?”

            “Sabrina.”

            “Would you like to talk?”

            “No. And why do you even care? You don’t even know me!”

            “I do. I know Barkk would have told you by now. I saw her and Velze in your memories.”

            Chloe took a step back. “You did? Why didn’t you say something?”

            “It wasn’t important for the Graham de Vanily’s to know. Besides, it’s not my secret to share.”

            “Then… why are you here?”

            “May we sit? It’s… it’s a lot.”

            Chloe nodded as she and Memoria took a seat. Memoria took a deep breath and sighed.

            “Every word I said before was true. I don’t believe young like you should be abandoned. It was long written by Velze that the elders were to teach their young, that only through knowledge and memory could we learn. If the elders don’t impart that wisdom and leave terrible memories, how are they to expect better of the young?”

            Chloe’s eyes widened as she jumped up. “Yes! Exactly! I-!”

            “I know. I saw it all, and that’s what upsets me. You don’t know any better. You were left to fill in the blanks. You cried out, but no one saw further than the bullying. Even when they did, they were quick to turn on you when you relapsed. No one gave you the chance as they saw the monster you were becoming. You were dealt a bad hand in your past, but you can still draw a new hand.”

            “How? I… what’s the point? If people can’t see the change I’m trying to accomplish, then why bother? What if I can’t really change? I thought I was doing good as Queen Bee, but when Ladybug picked Ryuko to save my parents with over me, I just… I messed up. I fell into Hawkmoth’s hands and ruined everything.”

            Memoria gently took Chloe’s hand and drew her into a hug. “It’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, dear Chloe. That is the horror of manipulators. They know how to strike you, make you vulnerable, and play you for a fool. The worst of it is you are the one left to pay the price. No one ever blames the manipulator, but always the victim.”

            Tears sprung from Chloe’s eyes as she clung to Memoria. “It’s not fair! I could have been a hero! I could have been great! But Ladybug and Hawkmoth ruined everything! Then that half-of-a-sister showed up and I… I couldn’t do anything. Nothing I did was good. I just… I lost everything.”

            Memoria smiled sadly as she cradled Chloe. She rocked back and forth as she hummed a lullaby. Chloe sobbed until she calmed down. Chloe sniffled as she relaxed in Memoria’s arms.

            “How do you feel, dearie?” Memoria asked.

            “A little better,” Chloe admitted.

            “Crying will always help. Never forget, you can’t always be strong. You must allow yourself a moment to slow down and reflect. Crying will help with that.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Always. Actually, that’s part of why I’m here.”

            Chloe furrowed her brows as she shifted to look at Memoria.

            “See, I am the kwami of memory. Everything that ever was I am to remember. That includes the memories of mortals. You mortals have always fascinated me. The lives you lead, they’re never the same. Everything you all experience is so… mundane and magical at the same time. But most of all, you grow. You’re allowed to be more than your past. To invent and design who you are. It’s all so… fantastical.”

            “It doesn’t feel that way,” Chloe grumbled.

            “That can change. I may not be the best for this. You may need something more, but if you’ll permit me, I’d like to be your guardian, parent, or whatever you call it.”

            “What? Why?”

            “Because that’s something I’ve always wanted to experience. I see the joy, frustration, sorrow, and pride of raising another lifeform. I see it in mortals, but most of all, I saw it in Velze. As I was, I could never experience that myself. Even as I stepped into the memories, it wasn’t enough. I wanted to experience it for myself. I thought I had that chance with Felix, but he doesn’t regard me as anything. Then I saw what happened to you. I hated it, but not as much as the joyful selfishness I felt that I could be an elder.”

            “I don’t know. I don’t exactly want to be a Graham de Vanily, or Fathom, or whatever. No offense to Amelie. She’s sweet and loving, but Felix… you know.”

            “I do, and Amelie is respecting your wishes, but I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. If you would allow me, I would like to be your guardian. I hope in time you’ll see me as more, like a parent, but for now, I’ll be your elder. After all, you’re still so young. You have your whole life ahead of you and you’ll only learn to be better with guidance.”

            “I mean, I have Barkk.”

            “I know. And Barkk is amazing. She’s done so much to help you and will continue to. However, there is a limit to what she can guide you on, and I want to be the one that helps you where Barkk cannot. To help you grow into the fine mortal you can become.”

            “Do you… do you really think it’s possible? You don’t think I’m a lost cause?”

            “No one is a lost cause, Chloe. Mortals just… lose themselves in that thinking. They hear it all their lives and nothing else. What are they supposed to think otherwise? It must be true at that point, and nothing else matters, but that isn’t the case. You were never beyond hope, Chloe. Not for a second. Who you were is not who you are now. Never forget that.”

            Chloe’s breath caught. “Are you… are you sure?”

            “I know it. I saw it all. You have changed, and you’re doing amazing.”

            Chloe smiled as fresh tears fell. She giggled as she squeezed Memoria. Memoria smiled and returned the hug. She sighed, wiped away her tears, and sat up.

            “I… suppose it might not be the worst idea to have you as my guardian.”

            Memoria beamed as she squeaked like a dolphin. Chloe’s eyes widened as Memoria cupped her face and planted kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and top of her head. Warmth bloomed in Chloe’s chest as more tears fell. The affection was small, but full of love, and the type of affection she had craved from Audrey once.

            “Now, here’s my number. Text or call whenever you need me or just want to talk. I’m always available, never fear. I also have talked with Amelie, and her house is open to you for whenever you’re allowed out, like on weekends and on holidays. If you aren’t comfortable, I’ll be sure to visit here instead. I believe that should be everything, right?”

            “I think so?”

            “Wonderful! Now, you have dinner soon, yes?”

            “I do.”

            “Then I’ll leave you to it with Barkk. I’ll be sure to see you this weekend, dearie. Oh, and one more thing.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Keep up the good work as Chloe and Queen Spaniel.”

            “What? But I’m not doing anything as Queen Spaniel. I’m supposed to be hunting that supervillain, instead I’m occasionally helping random people with their small issues.”

            “Maybe, but never forget this: it’s the small things that matter most in life. You’ll find it’s those things that will always bring a smile to your face without fail or tear you down.”

            “Well, I suppose it makes me happy, kinda, sorta, maybe to help people. But should I make a habit of it?”

            “Does it put a smile on your face?”

            Chloe considered. “I’d say so. Yes.”

            “Then keep doing what makes you happy. As long as you smile, it is worth doing. Just as you should keep being with people that make you just as happy.”

            Chloe smiled and hugged Memoria. “I will. I promise.”

            “I’m glad. Keep up the amazing work, and I’ll see you soon, dearie.”

            Memoria planted a kiss atop Chloe’s head, then vanished. Chloe grinned long after Memoria left and Barkk returned.

            “So, how’d it go?” Barkk asked.

            “It was incredible. Thank you.”

            “What’d I do?”

            “You encouraged me to test socializing with Felix. If not for that, I wouldn’t have you and Memoria.”

            Barkk’s eyes widened before her face softened. “I guess she’s right, eh? It’s always the small things.”

            “It really is. Then let’s keep doing what we’re doing, yeah?”

            “Yeah! Oh, but after dinner. C’mon, we can’t be late.”

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[altcomics]

I’m so sorry for being so stupid. I definitely should never have talked with Molly D. The language and optics look real dumb at best but I promise my innocence. Especially out of context it looks terrible. It was the height of Covid with no end in sight and I was alone through most of it . I was just happy to have the internet to talk to people with common interests. The way that I noticed her was when she would like a bunch of my picture at once. I wasn’t trolling Instagram randomly but I definitely shouldn’t have chatted with her when I found out how young she was. Seeing someone younger representing r crumb and GG Allin gave me hope for the next generations and made me curious. Curiosity killed the cartoonist. There was no way I’d have a 17 yr old stay at my place. Maybe not 18 even. I was forward projecting to some unknown future where Covid lockdowns were finished and we could see people again. And it wasn’t even with sex in mind but simply saying that there’s a bed here to crash like the kindness that was given to me a bunch of times when I was starting out. “Zine fair in town? Come crash”. Ask Liana Finck or anyone else who’s come to visit. It doesn’t mean sex. When I asked if she could keep a secret it was because I was sharing some red room pages before announcing the book and was just trying to sound cool. Tone is missing. When I said “naughty girl” it was sarcastic after she told me some simple crime or infraction she committed. The whole pile of my dms she collected to show is just awful to look at. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offer professional favors to anybody or use my “position” (what a joke) to get into anyone’s pants. We’re all in the art game so why not introduce new friends to old friends? When I was bringing up any professional stuff to anybody it was just common ground conversation.

 Then seeing these dms even further out of context on other news outlets and media sites. Matt P at the Pgh city paper, you know what you did to skew your narrative. Fuck you. But they surely gave themselves their own plausible deniability by asking me for comments right as I’m trying not to jump off a bridge or something.

 Molly Wright is a conundrum to me and her actions border criminal. He said/ she said never looks good but none of what she said happened and I can’t believe she’d be so malicious and pile on like this. Now that I’m officially checked out I think my family has a civil lawsuit and she should be held accountable. She pushed this over the edge into “multiple women” territory. It’s so corny. I absolutely never asked for a blowjob in trade for anything ever. She successfully made me look stupid and everybody accepted her word as fact. Citizens of the internet are playing such dangerous games with people’s lives. I never had anyone lined up for an open relationship with her. I never was interested in a relationship with her. We had sex twice and she initiated both times. The first time was a surprise. When we were done watching a movie or just hanging out (I don’t exactly remember the circumstances 4 years ago) she jumped on me and started kissing me, telling me how comfy I made her feel. We quit hanging out during Covid lockdown but kept in touch here and there and I thought things ended naturally. Thankfully her post including the piece about me dissing Jim Rugg , super emotional “fuck Ed Piskor” type language, and the Red Room sales stuff portray she’s a petty woman scorned. Punitive and false. My house was burning and she threw gasoline on it. There needs to be recourse for my loved ones. I’m dead. I don’t have a reason to lie. Hold Molly Wright accountable, please. Reputation destruction is her form of aggression and there were very real consequences. My lawyer is Harris Miller. Is it possible to subpoena all texts and dms I had with her?

 Big titty Taff? Yeah, I would draw you naked all day and never apologize for wanting to. I like drawing tits and tattoos when I’m not drawing comics. 

 I’m a solitary guy and I’ve put every ounce of my time and life into my work for around the past 20 years. I never felt satisfied with my skill so I constantly worked really hard and tied it all to my identity and self worth. Every waking moment was spent working and ideally I thought it would be best to have all friends who share the same passion. It’s why I offered to introduce them to my friends. It’s like my cherished Japan trips introducing Koenji Shawn to Bryan Moss and Moss to Skeme and Skeme to Danika. I was the only person who knew everybody on the trip and by the end of it, we were all friends. 

 Social media was how I met people. My greatest relationship began at the end of Covid thanks to meeting on Instagram. A rocky but amazing 3 year relationship with someone who taught me true love. That said, I’m so glad we broke things off when we did so that she doesn’t get any slack. She’s way better off. Hope you’re well, Clam. I never stopped loving you. This all happened before I knew you.

 Now it’s all gone. Art show evaporated. Was about to sign a $75k deal for Switchblade Shorties with Abrams, Cartoonist Kayfabe ends with Jimmy’s “shocking revelations” statement (those words hurt). I have no friends in this life any longer. I’m a disappointment to everybody who liked me. I’m a pariah. News organizations at my door and hassling my elderly parents. It’s too much. Putting our addresses on tv and the internet. How could I ever go back to my small town where everyone knows me? 

 Some good people reached out and tried to help me through this whole thing but I’m just not strong enough. The instinctual part of my brain knows that I’m no longer part of the tribe. I’m exiled and banished. I’m giving into my instincts and fighting them at the same time. Self preservation has lost out. From the sound in everybodies voice I think we all knew this was the conclusion. Jim Rugg came to my house unsolicited and gave me a hug and told me he loves me. If you know Jimmy, you know how huge that is! 

 I’m sorry to my family for making such a mess (no pun intended) and for creating this hassle. I wasn’t trying to be a creep. I’m also sorry to everyone who got this note and the baggage that may or may not come with it depending on how well we knew each other. 

 I knew I wasn’t going to be able to survive this. Comics is beyond a profession to me. It’s everything. That might sounds sad and pathetic to some, but this culture and medium gave me the greatest joy in life. 

 No public statements would do. Nobody against me would be convinced. Maybe this drastic move will convince a few? Maybe it will get a couple more people to consider not joining online lynch mobs over gossip? Doubt it will have much of a blip. I’m not doing this out of guilt though, once again, it was super dumb chatting with Molly D. My intentions were never nefarious with her or anybody. Im doing it out of intense shame. We’re not built to have hundreds (maybe a few thousand?) people judging and/or harassing us at once. A private and solitary mind can’t take it. 

 There were so many out there waiting in the wings for something like this to emerge. Daryl Ayo Braithwait called it a kill shot. You all got your wish. You were waiting for something to blow out of proportion and it got served to you on a silver platter. Ramon Villalobos, Cam Del Rosario, JB Roe, Molly Wright, congratulations. You got your pound of flesh. Evan Dorkin, I hope skeletons from your closet get revealed someday. Alex DeCampi, may you continue to have zero success no matter how hard you continuously leverage other people’s business from your bully pulpit. 

 The very next morning after Molly D posted the screencaps I put my last will in testament together. Freewill.com. Great service in a pinch. These are the papers I was trying to hide from you, Jimmy, when you came by with soup. I actually found a nice lady and witnesses who notarized it and made it official on a Sunday morning. How’s that for efficiency? It’s sitting on my brown desk in the corner. 

 Mom, Dad, Bob, JP, and Bri, I’m sorry. Mom, dad, get this will of mine straight and move into a nice home that doesn’t have many stairs. Leave whatever you don’t use the rest of your lives to my siblings. Daddy hit me up this morning and wanted me to come home but it’s just too far gone. It was great hearing your voice today also, mama.

 The shame will never go away. Please make good use of what I’ve built up and take comfort for the rest of your years. This will give my life and this tragedy of events some positive meaning. 

 These are the files for Switchblade Shorties. Please download it and maybe a book deal can be made for my heirs. Bob Mecoy was my agent and we were supposed to sign a $75k contract with Abrams. Maybe in death, after I explain myself, it will be something they won’t balk at. Then again, the culture is sick enough that maybe a bidding war among publishers will push the price up even higher. Bob, can you try to get my folks a sweet deal? My family can use the money. Please download these files asap while my Google drive exists but they are also on the portable hard drive in my backpack that I had with me during my final act. Don’t let the cops keep it forever. I brought my data with me so that it would be easy to find.

(Redacted)

 There’s a black hardcover sketchbook full of autobiographical comics on my brown desk, standing up, in the hutch next to drawing tablets, that I intended to see print when I passed away. I didn’t put anything in my will where that’s concerned but hopefully it can find a publisher and get released. It was what we were gonna do with Fantagraphics under the title “Mudfish”. I didn’t sign any paperwork on that with Fanta so Bob, maybe you can help my parents there too?

 I realize that I didn’t make any notes in the will about my authored books and intellectual properties. Jim Rugg, can you maybe help make sure my people don’t get jacked by the publishers? I haven’t gotten my HHFT omnibus royalties so my family should be getting a good check soon. Can someone make sure to hold Fantagraphics accountable with my royalties and perhaps an audit of their accounting books is in order also, to see if I got all that was coming to me. Eric Reynolds gave me no benefits of doubt and I don’t know if fanta’d be tricky about my stuff in death. His suspicions of me make me suspicious of them. That’s the thing that sucks about going through this. You don’t know who your friends are. 

 Jimmy, can you also post our unlisted videos and make our private streams to Patreon live to the public. That’s the perception I wanna leave. A dude having fun talking comics with his brother. Please keep cartoonist Kayfabe up and monetized and share half the loot with my family each year. Maybe schedule the vids each day as we did for years until our roster is complete. Don’t dissolve the llc but split the take with my heirs. 

 Oh yeah, and I was avoiding the internet as much as possible, mostly relying on some friends who relayed me info here and there. I was not making/using burner sock puppet accounts to try to defend or attack. Hopefully those accounts will still tweet a bit so that you guys believe that, at least. Maybe someone can dig up ip addresses to confirm.

 What a week. I wouldn’t wish this shit on my worst enemy. Leave it to me to get into trouble without ever leaving the house. I don’t have email addresses for any of my family. Please get this message to them. My phone is fully charged and it’s on so I’m sure it can be pinged and tracked by first responders. I have a battery pack case so the phone should be on for a few hours at the very least. My phone number: 412-915-4501, license plate: JFA8859

Im wearing a black hoodie. Maybe a black peacoat, black dickies, terrex continental boots.

 Hey mom and dad. Liz’s rent is $675 and she just paid up through April. Let her move her man in with her if they take that step. Keep the house. It’s not too shabby and will bring in a trickle of income each month.

 Anastasia James, please hook my parents up with that artwork from the show. I didn’t watch the news reports but I guess you can get their address right off the video. These represent some of my best pieces for hip hop family tree and if I salvaged my name at all they will be worth good loot on the market. Don’t sell the cover to volume 1 for anything less than $25,000 

 Once again, I’m guilty of being stupid. No doubt. But, that’s all. I never thought in a million years that I’d take this step but I also never in a million years thought that something so Orwellian would ever happen to me. Ya never know in this life. 

 I was murdered by Internet bullies. Massive amounts of them. Some of you out there absolutely contributed to my death as you were entertaining yourself with gossip. I wasn’t AI. I was a real human being. You chipped little bits of my self esteem away all week until I was vaporized. Maybe I’ll be able to haunt you dorks as a ghost. I come from Gypsy heritage and I’m definitely cursing a lot of you.

 This is the calmest I’ve felt all week. It’s over for me. I’m sorry for the hurt it’ll cause my family and closest buds. I hope it makes people think twice when joining an internet feeding frenzy. There you have it. Control freak ‘til the last. Peace out. 

 Ps. There’s $852 in my wallet, 

cash, in case the Jake’s get sticky fingers and steal my shit

Eddie P

1982-2024

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 4.5

oh I'm looking forward to Verona's perspective on magic school

Mrs. Durocher, supplicant of the cascus wilds, and Mr. Raymond Sunshine, creator of the Atheneum Arrangement, the Black Box, and Gold Garden.

some quick googling: cascus is latin for ancient, which makes sense.

On the topic of guest teachers, I would like to extent my gratitude to Mr. Bristow, Electra Miraz, the Ports, the Crowes, Mr. Musser, and Ms. Lair,

wonder who these guys are? Interesting that we have one person referred to by first and last name (unless electra is a title).

To others too numerous to name, I would extend thanks for the loaning of books for the student library.

insert arson emoji here

“Together with Mr. Bristow and Mr. Musser, we annihilated the god, shared out its power, and we drank together that night.

questions of morality aside, this is a great line

It wasn’t the power that I was happiest with -and I was as power hungry as they come- but the moments I had been with other practitioners and felt purpose and felt like we were all better for those deals.  Better informed, and we all know having the right information makes us strong.  Dealing with other practitioners makes us safer, better equipped, stronger, and more capable of covering our weaknesses.

I really like this conceptually, shame about the guy running it :[

Moving from insular apprenticeships and secret family traditions to more open sharing of teaching is vital, both for the knowledge it gives students and for creating shared ground to build on. In Pact, this would have been life-changing for Mags. Of course, Alexander is getting a lot from running the school, and loopholes aside it does not seem to be open access, but still a step in the right direction.

We named it after one of the faces the god in the machine had worn.

god in the machine is one of the coolest magitech things there is

Patterns mean we often get more out of specializing in a field than we do by diversifying.  Power… there’s only so much to go around, so we tend to covet and protect it.  Here, we’re changing those preconceptions.  Having a specialty does not mean we can’t learn about other things, too.  What you learn, the connections you make, and the way we all elevate one another is critical. 

I think I've heard this exact speech from people talking about interdisciplinary studies in college

“We’re welcoming seven new practitioners.  Tymon and Talos’s younger sister Jorja joins us, already an adept caller of a greater Urban spirit.  She should be recognizable or even familiar to those of you who attended guest lectures with their mother.  Dom, as anyone familiar with the Driscoll family knows, is a beginner city mage and historian, and we’re excited to see if he takes after his big sister and parents.  I’m also very pleased that a long-time colleague of mine finally has a child old enough to send to classes here.  Talia Graubard is a beginner Dollmaker.”

names! Tymon is polish, Talos is from Greek mythology, and Jorja is apparently an variant of Georgia.

Also, says a lot about the school that everyone is introduced with both their field and their family.

Mrs. Durocher surmises they draw on some of the pre-Solomon ways of practicing. It will be very interesting to see what they’re capable of and how they take to the classes.

this feels like a target

“She’s stealing your job as tour guide, Zee,” the guy said. “It’s ‘Zee’ now, Chase?” “I’m American, it’s how we say it. Stop bitching,” Chase answered, shrugging as he walked off, down the left hallway.

as I said before, douchebag

Nicolette said.  “Come on, terrible trio.  Unless you want to tell me to go, if you don’t trust me.” “It’s fine for a tour, at least,” Lucy said, wary.

I am hopeful!

“My friend Jessica,” Zed said.  “She has a girlfriend.  She spends about half her time here, and half her time at the reserve, staying with her.  Before, I was going to suggest people you could trust or befriend.  And I got stuck.  Jessica can be trusted, if you need to talk to someone you haven’t…”

I feel very vindicated in liking her from the little we saw in 3.z

“Nicolette could be a friend, because I see similarities,” Zed told them, “but I get the impression you’ve interacted before and I don’t know if you can trust her.” Nicolette made a lips-zipped gesture.

I do hope they all are able to work through the past issues

“We keep running into Others that call my friend Lucille, because she used it while awakening.” “Ah,” Lucy said. “And you changed your name? How do you do that?” Verona asked.

this is something I've been wondering about for years! Before I read Zed's answer, I'll say what my own idea was: probably some kind of ritual, formally announcing the new name to the spirits, then counting on daily use to reinforce it.

“There’s a few ways,” Zed said.  “Trade it, rewrite the fabric of your being, steal a body that comes with a name, I even looked at redoing the awakening ritual, to re-introduce myself to the spirits."

man those are some major steps. Though I guess the last one is basically what I was thinking.

“Yeah.  But hey, if you end up looking into it, and you find out anything?” Zed asked. “I could pass it on, if we’re on good terms and it’s possible, sure.”

Lucy is really good at not accidentally making promises

“There’s way scarier things about the practice,” Nicolette said, sounding amused. “Like being turned into a bunny someone’s killing, in some weird dream loop?” Avery asked. “Oh honey,” Nicolette said. “If you were stuck in a scene like that for a thousand years, it wouldn’t come close to some of the stuff out there.”

I love Nicolette, this is so condescending and passive aggressive

“A pugilist, who wanders, looking to take down the undefeated,” Nicolette supplied.  “Or a nemesis, to answer and match the investigator or rising star that’s doing well.” “Would have to be a rising star in an underground band scene or something,” Zed said. “They don’t have backgrounds and can’t spring up in contexts where people would be free to dig into who they are.”

I would watch this anime

“If you’re willing to say we’re more or less square, I’m happy to have you here. So many people here are maneuvering for position, in the big picture.  It’s exhausting.  Others, they’re kids who couldn’t name three television shows your average twelve year old watches, or who grew up in households where willing human beings were ritually sacrificed several times a year. ”

practitioner society is fucked up! And this makes the Kennet Trio good allies for Nicolette, because they're not interested in jockeying for power within practitioner society.

Quasi.  A book on Others who had a flirtatious relationship with being human, and humans who walked the line of being Other.

:|

That thing Nicolette had said, but drowning, dragging someone else down with her. To do that to Lucy or Avery was the scariest thing she could imagine. And it would be so, so easy.  She’d already done it twice.  And the way the curse had worked, and the way the Faerie fighting technique worked, threes seemed to matter.  What happened if there was a third time?

I can see this being a big issue down the line. Not so much the third time itself, but what Verona is willing to do to prevent it.

Also interesting to see how each character has their own insecurities about the others. Verona feels the she messes up, makes mistakes and gets the others in danger and is a burden to Lucy. Meanwhile Lucy has pretty frequent insecurity over how easy and intuitive Verona finds the practice.

[mlwritersguild]

Ladynoir but they don't want to go public immediately. It eventually devolves into a bet to see who will give it away first. shenanigans ensue.

Hidden Dates (and not so hidden kisses), by @bugchat

AO3 link; Fluff, Shenanigans, Bet, Secret Relationship, Dating, Rooftop Date, just pure fluff, Banter, Humor, Fluff and Humor

Summary:

Ladynoir doesn’t want to go public immediately. It devolves into a bet to see who will give it away first. Shenanigans ensue.

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

Chapter 1

“You’re terrible at keeping secrets,” Ladybug tells Chat Noir one night. 

They’re on a roof near the Eiffel Tower, looking up at the many lights and the stars above. It’s warm, despite being near midnight. The breeze is nice, but it’s not long before they should both leave. To their separate lives, where they don’t know each other, and the other doesn’t know them.

He huffs at the terrible joke because he obviously can keep secrets. A superhero can’t be a superhero without some secrets here and there. Being a superhero with a secret identity was even worse. Lying, running away, leaving friends… 

“Am not.”

“You revealed your crush on me on live TV when we were fifteen years old.”

He sputters, shooting half upright to lean on one elbow as he waves his other hand wildly while Ladybug smirks, still looking up at the sky. “We were, as you said, fifteen . I was terribly in love . How dare you hold it against me? We are dating right now because of it, remember?” He gestures between them before making a heart with his thumb and index finger, pouting at her. “Don’t you love me?”

She shrugs. “The supervillain was watching as you said it, probably.”

Ladybug laughs as Chat Noir flops down. “There is no convincing you that I can keep a secret, even though I literally can keep you from finding out who I truly am?” He draws out the ‘truly’, making a face so ridiculous Ladybug almost rolls off the roof.

She turns to face him and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Chat Noir smirks back at her. “Tough talk for someone who got so distracted one time she got hit by Mr. Pigeon.”

“You promised not to bring that up again!” she huffs, pointedly looking away from him.

“Not to mention you wouldn’t even say what got you distracted the first time, but I figured it out anyway! And so did the Ladyblog! Your terribly large crush on Adrien Agreste back then was out for the world to see .”

She’s trying to stop him from talking, putting her hands over his mouth, but he’s faster and backrolls over one shoulder until he crouches in front of her when she rolls onto her stomach. “ You’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

“I’m keeping the ones that matter ,” she counters.

“Oh yeah, like which ones?”

“Like, my secret identity, duh. ”

He holds a hand to his chin, nodding, gesturing at her with his other hand to continue. “I do so, also. Is there another one you can hold over me?”

She suddenly has that shy look on her face, one that he rarely gets to see of her. He loves her openness with him at moments like these and treasures that he is probably the only one who gets to see it. But it also scares him because that shyness hides insecurities, and he wishes he could take them away for her.

“Well, the only other big one I can think of is the fact that we’re dating.”

He nods. “Yeah, but it’s not as big.”

“I’m just saying we shouldn’t go shouting it from the rooftops because it might attract attention to us instead of the fact that there’s been a bad guy manipulating people into working for him for the past 6 years to execute his evil bidding which could collapse reality itself.”

He watches her breathe in deep for a moment before tilting his head to the side, lips slightly pouting. “True, but…would you mind the attention?”

She sighs, standing up to move to the edge of the building. He follows her, watching as she crosses her arms to rub at them, tilting her head to the side. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world, Chaton.”

“So you’re saying that if it were to come out, you wouldn’t be…disappointed? Scared?”

“Kitty,” she sighs out, “we’re adult superheroes who've worked together for almost six years. I’d say we can handle a bit of gossip. I just think that maybe it isn’t the smart thing to announce. It might give the wrong impression.”

“But don’t you want to be able not to have to sneak behind every corner to give me a kiss?” he says, leaning into her space and watching a cloud of red blush spread over her face. She sputters, hands tensing around her arms. “If you want to keep a secret…”

“I don’t,” she says, voice impossibly soft in the midnight air.

“Then why don’t we tell?”

She sighs, leaning into his embrace with all her weight, indulging the selfish need to be away from the world and its scrutinizing eyes for a second. “Like I said, it might give the wrong impression.”

“That the two heroes protecting the City of Lights, City of Love, are together in both crime-fighting and a relationship?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“I would never make you do something you’re not comfortable with, Bugaboo,” he says, softly slotting his arms around her.

“No, I’m not uncomfortable,” she says, leaning back in his arms to look at him. His hands are still linked behind her as he looks back at her with slightly wide eyes and his eyebrows pulled up. He purses his lips and tilts his head slightly downward further, encouraging her to continue. She opens her mouth, closes it, and groans, head dropping into his chest. “Words are hard.”

“I’m like a five-year-old anyway.”

She shakes in his hold with a slight chuckle, turning her head into his shoulder. “Superheroes. City important. Protect.” She sighs again. “We don’t want to seem too busy with each other to stop the Akumas.”

Chat Noir just barely keeps from joking that the Akumas keep them too busy to be together enough, but Ladybug is being serious and honest with him. She deserves a serious answer. “You’re right, as always, M’Lady,” he says, rubbing circles into her back. “But telling people we’re together doesn’t immediately have to imply we’re not busy on other things anymore. Despite still being two people with their own lives, we have a duty to this city and its citizens. Saying there’s a second thing doesn’t make the first go away.”

“It just seems so superficial and fake to announce on TV or something.”

Lightbulb.

“Who says we have to announce it?”

He feels her frown. “What do you mean?”

“Remember what I said about keeping important secrets?”

“That you have no filter when it comes to your love life?”

“Hush Bugaboo, I have a serious proposal.”

Ladybug moves back from him, staring him down. The unspoken skepticism is so evident, that he doesn’t even have to meet her eyes to know it’s there. He’s known her long enough to nearly always know what she’s thinking, especially when it comes to his ideas. Or actions. 

(It makes him wonder whether she knows him as well as he does her, and it makes him fuzzy to think about her paying that much attention to him.)

“Battle of the Secrets; whoever lets slip first we’re dating loses.”

Her mouth drops open, a smile tugging at the ends, eyes crinkled with ridicule and joy. “You’re turning this into a game ?”

“Contest.”

“To keep a secret we want to come out.” 

“Correct.”

“What did I just say about being too busy for a second thing? Now you want to add a third?”

“Technically, this is still part of the second. And like I said, just because there’s a second…”

“If we’re counting like that, shouldn’t a civilian life count as the first?”

“Exactly!”

Ladybug groans, laughing as Chat Noir spins her around. “What do you say, M’Lady? You up for it?”

How could she say no to those eyes?

[bouwrites]

Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 84

Petrichor

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

Daithi drops into the bench across from Veery, sliding one of the two mugs he holds towards his hands. “I heard you favored mead,” Daithi says. “Bit sweet for me, but I’ve an Albinean on the crew, so I got used to it fast.” He grins like she’s sharing a secret.

Veery chuckles. “Trust me, I know what that’s like.”

Daithi snorts. “I did share a drink with Caub back in Brigid. I’ve no doubt you know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Veery smiles, fondly holding the amulet around his neck. “You said you have an Albinean on the crew?”

Daithi nods. “Aye, Trygve. He’s, ah… well, he’s Albinean. They’re all a little bit crazy, but you’ll never find someone more reliable.”

They’re all a little bit crazy, huh? Veery really only knows three, including Caub, but he can’t honestly deny that.

“So, you’ve finished the war,” Daithi says, drawing Veery back from his thoughts of home. “Have you given more thought to what you’ll do from here?”

“Only a little,” Veery admits. “I need to go home. I need… I want to look Caub’s parents in the eye. I can’t run from that.”

Daithi’s gaze softens. “I understand.”

He doesn’t offer more than that, but Veery feels like he does. He shakes his head. “But after that? I don’t know. I’ll enjoy the wilds a bit, then… who knows?”

“You are welcome to join my crew,” Daithi says. “The offer stands.”

Veery ducks his head, smiling despite himself. Being stuck on a ship for weeks at a time doesn’t like his idea of fun, but… there is something appealing there. To be untethered. To just go wherever the wind takes them. Daithi is a traveler. He’s seen more than Veery can imagine. It might be nice, even if just for a time. “Are you just this focused on recruiting, or is it just me you want?”

Daithi sighs. His eyes hit the table. “I lost a lot of good men to this war,” he answers.

“…Oh.”

Daithi raises his eyes, shrugs, and continues. “Nothing can be done about it now. They knew what they were fighting for. Every one of them gave their all, and I am honored to have been their captain. That said, I’m not pursuing you just to fill in my crew again. Do you have any idea how useful a healer is aboard a ship? When you’re days out from land in any direction, even something as simple as a small cut, if unlucky, can spell doom. Your experience would be invaluable.”

That makes sense. Infection is a terrible thing which can make even the smallest of injuries deadly. When you’re far from land, and thus far from medical treatment, any injury must be dealt with by the crew themselves. “If healers are so valuable, why don’t you already have one?”

“I did,” Daithi says.

Oh. Was it the war…? “What happened to them?”

Daithi smiles. “They settled down.” He takes a long drink and a deep breath. “You must understand, Veery, we are wanderers. For most of us, our ship is the only home we have. Healers are rare because the kind of people who become healers, the faithful, are rarely stricken by our kind of wanderlust. Their very faith ties them. And that’s not a bad thing, but they’re unlikely to be willing to set sail with no destination but the horizon, if you understand what I mean.”

“I think so,” Veery says. The healers he knows are like that. Mercedes would never leave the church for long. She’d take joy in travelling, in healing people beyond the normal reach of the church, but she’d miss being there herself. Marianne is much the same way; she depends on the church. Only Linhardt might be more willing, but he is not so faithful, anyway, and has his research tying him down regardless. Not to mention obligation to the people they already serve. Healers aren’t typically the kind of people who are unfettered.

“Our old healer, we called her Bonnie… one day, we docked at a small village on coastal Faerghus. It was in a bad state, recently raided by the Albineans. Well, Bonnie, she took one look and said ‘we are not leaving until these people have been helped.’” Daithi smiles, shaking his head fondly. “That is the kind of person she is. She cannot see suffering go unaided. Well, we stayed for a while, helping them in any way we could. When they were back on their feet and we were ready to sail once more, Bonnie had already fallen in love. She came to me and she said, ‘I have found where I belong.’ And that was that.”

So, she’s okay. Hopefully.

“It happens from time to time,” Daithi says. “We’ll find somewhere, and someone in the crew will say ‘this is where I belong’ and… who am I to deny them home? Few can wander forever. It is in our nature to seek home. Stability.”

“I understand,” Veery says. “So, she left before the war started?”

“That’s right.” Daithi sighs. He’s quiet for a moment, then, “I only want to do what is best for my crew. I wonder if, had we a healer when this war began… If I had been more proactive about recruiting someone who could fill Bonnie’s role…”

“Daithi,” Veery whispers, “it’s war.”

Daithi smiles again. “I know. But that is why I will not relent until you deny me. You have every skill I’m looking for and mastered them far beyond what I’d hoped for. And, not that it’s pivotal, or anything, but you’re quite beautiful, you know. Selfishly, I wouldn’t mind having you around more.”

Veery rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know how to sail.”

“We’ll teach you,” Daithi says immediately. “You’d be surprised how many on my crew had no sailing experience. I know you do not suffer seasickness, and that’s all that’s required on that front.”

Veery can’t help but laugh. “It might be nice, just seeing the world.”

“There is no feeling like it. And I promise you will be accommodated. I admit there is not much room for privacy aboard a ship, but the crew already knows of your shifting, you will be free to do so whenever and wherever you please. And while we don’t have a proper room, we do have curtains and a space set aside for an infirmary. It is… occasionally overtaken by cargo, but it’s there, and it’s yours, if you want it.”

“You’re really selling this, huh?”

“What can I say?” Daithi grins. “I want you desperately.” After they snicker together, he adds, “Although, perhaps the offer will be more tempting if I recruit Kieran as well. He is cute, isn’t he?”

So, humans think he’s cute, too? Veery had wondered if it was just him. “Kieran has his own ship and crew,” Veery says.

Daithi nods. “True. And, alas, he’s far too devoted to Brigid to sail so far beyond it.”

Kieran is. Veery isn’t. That’s true. Too true. Maybe he should just set sail and go. “Say I agree,” Veery says, watching how Daithi lights up. “What’s the plan?”

Daithi takes a moment, tilting his head to consider. “You are, of course, more than welcome to come straight away, but I suspect you have business at Garreg Mach to take care of first.” Veery nods in agreement. “I also have business to take care of. I’d like to visit Bonnie, just to check on her, see how she’s fared in the war. And I have… a couple house calls to make. Like you with Caub’s family, I have people who I need to face as well.”

Understandable. Veery… respects that a lot, that Daithi is willing to go back to his crew’s loved ones and face them directly. Especially for someone who defines himself with wanderlust, with being untethered, it means something.

“I can meet you… in Derdriu, perhaps? One month from now? Or would you need more time?”

“One month,” Veery echoes. Claude won’t need him for that long. He probably won’t need him at all. It’s enough time to make sure everyone is as okay as they can be, and he really shouldn’t put off going back to Albinea. “I can do a month, if you can take me to Albinea. Probably Hoarvug, too.”

“Gladly. Will you be staying long in Albinea?”

“Ah… what month would that be?”

Daithi hums thoughtfully. “In Fódlan’s time? It is currently the Verdant Rain Moon. A month from now would be the Horsebow Moon.” Daithi winces suddenly. “Ah. Once the Wyvern Moon approaches, there may not be much choice. Definitely not by the Red Wolf Moon.”

“Then I won’t stay long,” Veery says. He’s glad he has the foresight, at least. It’ll be an excuse to avoid the winter, and if he does hate it, he’ll go back home and that’ll be that. “Just long enough to do what I need to.”

Daithi perks up, grinning, “Does that mean…?”

“I’ll give it a try,” Veery answers.

---

Finally back at Garreg Mach, Veery lays in a muddle with Sadi and Hoarvug. They’re not shifted, partly because Sadi is still injured, but they enjoy their time in their quiet, lonely classroom. Hardly anyone ever enters these rooms anymore, so they’re great places to hide out for a while.

They listen to the footsteps come and go, just soaking in, until steps come right up to the door and don’t leave.

Creaking announces the opening of the door, and Claude steps in. He smiles at them. “I was hoping I could talk to you three,” he says. “Do you have the time?”

“Far more than you,” Sadi answers, stretching languidly. “Come, let us discuss.” She disconnects herself from their pile to perch on a desk, inviting Claude to join her. Veery and Hoarvug share a look and reluctantly get up as well, moving to the desks to have this conversation properly.

Claude sits, the only one actually sitting on the bench as intended, and clears his throat. “So,” he says, “the war is officially over. I wanted to thank you again for coming here and fighting with us. You especially, Sadi, Hoarvug, you had no reason to care, but you still came and fought. Thank you.”

“We did not fight for you,” Hoarvug says plainly, “nor for your country. We have our own reasons to be here.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Claude says. “I understand at least some of those reasons. Even so, I appreciate you being here. I appreciate you being there for Veery when I… didn’t know how to.”

“It is no task to look after Veery,” Sadi says. “It is our greatest honor.”

“I could not agree more,” Hoarvug purrs.

Claude smiles fondly, shaking his head. “Of course,” he says. “And how are you recovering, Sadi? No troubles, I trust?”

Sadi hums and rubs at her shoulder. “Improving with each day, though I am unfortunately not in the clear yet.”

“You’re well in the clear,” Veery says, exasperated. “You’ll be able to shift again in a matter of days, so long as you don’t stress it, but you’re in no danger of dying.”

“If I cannot shift soon, I will not be the one dying.”

Veery snorts. “Good threat. How do you mean to kill the humans, then? With their crude weaponry?”

Sadi curls her lip in disgust then, and realizing that she’s really not that dangerous otherwise without being able to shift, huffs. “When everything is done, I’m joining you in hand-to-hand, Hoarvug.”

Hoarvug grins. “The others will quickly learn fear if you are joining!”

“Anyway,” Claude says, not trying at all to hide his amusement, “now that that’s out of the way, what I really wanted to talk to you about is what you’re going to do next. I’ve been going around getting a feel for everyone’s intentions, but you guys… you’re a bit of a mystery to me. I suppose you’ll be heading back to Albinea? I can help arrange transport if you haven’t already done so with Anna.”

Sadi smirks. “Wrong. I intend to stay.”

Claude blinks. “You… do? I know we talked about how to include space for the agell in the new Fódlan, but… Albinea is still your home. I thought you’d want to go back and start trying to handle things there.”

“You think I trust a human to create space for agell without one of us present? Hardly.” Sadi snorts. “I will return eventually, but I will not miss this land’s development. These founding years will be the most important.”

“That’s very true. I’m glad; I’ll be relying on you.”

“I should hope so.”

Claude chuckles, then turns to Veery and Hoarvug. “You two are going back, though?”

“Aye,” Hoarvug says, “we will be returning home.”

“Have you already talked to Anna?”

Veery shakes his head. “Daithi, actually. But yes, we already have a ship.”

“Daithi?” Claude blinks. “When are you leaving?”

“About a month.”

Claude furrows for a brief moment, like he’s hurt by the revelation. “I see. That’s… so soon.”

Veery smiles gently. “We have to beat the winter,” he says. “I need to face Caub’s parents, and Hoarvug just needs to get home, and once winter comes, we won’t have that option.”

Understanding crosses Claude, and he nods acceptingly. “I see. Are you just going to be visiting, then? Will you come back to wait out the winter?”

“I…” Veery rubs his arms, “I’m going to join up with Daithi.”

“Really? With Daithi?”

Veery nods. “I want to travel. I want to see the world. On his crew, I can do that.”

Claude hesitates for a long moment over his words. “I…” he admits eventually, “I didn’t realize. I knew you were interested in seeing more of the world, but… I thought for sure you’d prefer solitude. I didn’t realize you were so close to Daithi – I’ve only talked to him once in person, I think.”

“Not that close,” Veery says. “We’ve only talked a few times, though he and Caub got along while we were still in Brigid. It’s more convenience. Healers are valuable, apparently, and it’ll be easier to travel with a crew that wants me than to try to figure out how money works. I’m not going on another money-making adventure with Anna.”

“Ha! Well.” There’s the smile back. Veery doesn’t realize how his leaving might seem to Claude, especially considering it was always the plan. But not just going home to sit in his mountains, but joining a crew to sail around the world… that is different. That’s people. That’s Veery choosing people, people that aren’t his family here in Fódlan. “I’m going to miss you.”

The truth is, Veery isn’t really choosing people, especially not people over his family here. He just… he isn’t sure how much more time he’ll have to explore the world. Before the Degradation, there was never any pressure to do all the things he hopes he can. He has his whole life – hundreds of years. Now… if he’s going to see the world, he can’t pass up this chance.

And besides that, he needs to be somewhere he can be contacted. He’s going to keep looking for solutions, and he needs to be accessible should Lysithea or Linhardt or the people in Beyul find something that might help. He can’t afford to disappear yet if he means to survive.

“Hey,” Veery says. He reaches out to grab Claude’s shoulder. “Even when we say goodbye, that’s not going to be it for us. We’re brothers, remember?”

Now Claude really smiles. “That’s right,” he says. “I know you’ll be there if I need you. I’m still going to miss you, you know. What am I going to do without your cute face around?”

Veery shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll be busy enough with Fódlan that you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Claude groans. “I wish I could deny it… Though, I’m sure to notice when your devoted followers start coming to me to ask where the precious patchwork god disappeared to.”

“Don’t you dare tell them.”

Claude laughs, and soon enough Veery laughs too, and the moment ends up light. Good.

Claude, still chuckling, turns to the last cat. “What about you, Hoarvug? I expect you’ll just follow Veery to the ends of the earth?”

“Gladly,” Hoarvug purrs in answer. “But my Veery is a cat made for solitude, and we would not want him to tire of me, would we?” He’s teasing, Veery knows, with his sly grin Veery’s way. The truth, though, is that Veery isn’t happy about Hoarvug’s decision. He feels hollow just thinking about it. He respects it a great deal, and he won’t say a word against it, but… he’s going to miss Hoarvug. He’s going to miss his partner.

“Wait, really?” Claude gawps. “You’re really not going to go travelling with Veery?”

Hoarvug shrugs. “Perhaps I will, but not immediately. There are yet things I must do at home.”

Claude blinks. “You? Really?”

Hoarvug chuckles. “You humans are not the only ones who harbor hatred in your hearts. I despise all of you. Most agell do. If you truly mean to create a world where we live in peace, you cannot approach from only one side.”

“That’s… surprisingly insightful. And you’re volunteering to try to change the agell’s minds?”

“Who better? It is not to love the humans which we must preach. No one will let go of their hatred so easily. It is cooperation despite that hatred, and the glorious things that can be done through it, which I will relay. Besides, I suspect many will want to hear how this war has tempered me.”

“I understand that,” Claude says, “I just didn’t expect that you’d care about making peace between your people and the humans.”

Hoarvug curls his lip, affronted that he’s even questioned about that. “My Veery fights for that peace. How can you possibly think I would not as well? His struggles are mine, as mine are his.”

It is, by definition, how their whole relationship works. If an agell was surprised by it, Veery would be shocked, but a human, even Claude… not so much. But that’s why Veery understands Hoarvug’s drive to do this. That, and when he shares hearts with Hoarvug, there’s a bone-deep ache there, under all the sunlight jubilance.

He hasn’t asked, but he doesn’t really need to. Hoarvug misses home. He misses the gatherings, spending time with others of his kind. He’s tolerating humans, and even has fun with them sometimes, but he’ll never be the kind of cat that can make a home among them. While there’s a war keeping him here, there’s no problem, but as the thrill of struggle dies down… homesickness fills its place.

So, he won’t go with Veery. At least not right away. And Veery accepts that. It’s something Hoarvug needs to do.

It’s still sad, parting ways. Veery is going to leave Fódlan, leave Albinea, and leave all of his companions behind. Sharing a look with Claude, Claude is just open enough with his expression that Veery thinks he’s feeling the same way.

They’re together because of the war. Not just Veery, Hoarvug, and Sadi, but all of the Deer. Now the war is over, they’re going back to their respective territories, back to their lives.

Veery leans against Claude. “We’re not the only ones who are connected, you know,” Veery says, taking Claude’s attention. “Every one of us is. The rest of the students, even the others. We’re going different ways because we don’t have one shared goal to walk towards anymore, but that doesn’t mean our paths are diverging completely. Not so long as we choose each other.”

Claude chuckles weakly, ducking his head. “How did you…?” He shakes his head. “You really do know me too well. I…” A sigh. “I don’t know. I know that, I do, I just… last time, I hung all my hopes on a promise. And five years later, there you all were. Even Teach, even when we hadn’t heard from her that whole time. Now everyone is walking away again, but… there’s no promise this time. I kind of want to force everyone together and ask to meet up in another five years, just to reassure myself that I’ll see you all again.”

Oh, Claude. He admits once, a long time ago, that he thinks being alone is one of the worst things in the world. Veery feels for himself, for a moment, Claude’s terror at being left behind. Fear of being left alone, of not having anyone to rely on, to talk to, to care about. Veery cannot imagine how that feels.

It’s true that he’s afraid of much the same thing, but the key difference is that Veery is not afraid of being alone. His fear has already come to pass – he’s had to kill the people he’s grown to care about. They turned on him, they ended up on opposite sides, and he had to kill them to survive. Just being alone, though? That doesn’t scare Veery in the slightest. That’s where he’s most comfortable.

They are both afraid of being left alone, but Veery’s fear is in the how, not the loneliness. Claude’s… is different.

“But you’re right,” Claude says. “We’ve all been through too much together. Even if we go our separate ways now, we’ll remain connected. I have to believe that.”

“Count on it,” Veery says. “I do.”

---

It’s nice to just laze about the academy like Veery used to do during those days. Not that he ever really stops even with the war on, but it feels different when there’s not something like that hanging over everything.

It’s peaceful. Serene. Just him, the grass, and the sunlight. The only scar on that pastoral scene is the naggling feeling he has like an itch in his tail. The war is finished, but something, it feels like to him, isn’t. But he doesn’t know what that is. It must be paranoia, or Caub haunting him until the time comes for him to go back to Albinea and face his parents, but it bothers him still.

Not enough to ruin lazing in the sun, but it does bother him nonetheless.

Marianne collapses next to him, leaning back against him with a mighty sigh. Veery chirps softly, asking what’s wrong through his amusement.

Marianne turns to press into his fur. “Lady Rhea isn’t recovering like she should.”

Rhea? Oh, right, she’s here. Well, no, of course she’s not recovering. She should be sleeping. Although… Veery has a bad feeling about that. Maybe that’s where that itching comes from.

“Lady Rhea is a dragon,” Marianne says. “Her wounds are severe, but there’s every chance she’ll survive them. Dragons are sturdier than humans, even when they’re not shifted. The problem is… I don’t think her wounds are only physical.” Not only physical? Considering she was in the hands of the Koterija, that’s not just possible, but likely.  “Something’s wrong with her, and if we don’t figure out what before it gets worse… I don’t know what might happen.”

Veery rumbles low, turning his head towards the Golden Deer banners outside the nearby classroom to ask his question.

Marianne slowly shakes her head. “No, I haven’t told Claude. I’ve talked to Flayn and Professor Manuela about it, but… Claude has so much planning to do restructuring Fódlan, and we’re not even entirely sure anything is wrong at all. I just… maybe I’m just being paranoid. Now that peace is here, I don’t know what to do with it, so I’m just waiting for the next tragedy. It seems like… so much of my life has been spent that way…”

It's possible. It’s always possible that their suspicions are just paranoia. But Veery gets a similar impression from Rhea, when he looks at her, and if Flayn and Manuela agree… something must be wrong.

Maybe she’ll just die. Veery will be okay with that. It’s her own fault for refusing to just hibernate and heal as her body is supposed to.

But there’s nothing Veery can do about it either way. With no problem except “we get bad vibes” there’s no solution. With no solution… their hands are tied.

(And, frankly, Veery isn’t bothered either way. He’s only tangentially related to Rhea’s care at all, and only because he’s specifically asked to help.)

So Veery just nuzzles into Marianne and purrs.

She giggles, weakly pushing at his snout, but quickly relents and relaxes into him. “…Thank you,” she says. “I should try to relax more. The war is over, after all. And I’m certainly not going to get any rest at Claude’s grand victory feast.”

Ha. That’s very true. Veery intends to avoid the thing if possible. In the meanwhile, he nudges Blutgang, ever-present at Marianne’s side.

She hesitates. “You want me to…” Her eyes dart around, looking for anyone who can see them. They are sitting out in the courtyard where anyone can happen across them at any time, but that’s hardly an excuse. After a while, she smiles again. “I suppose there’s no reason not to. I’ve never just… sat around like that before. I guess it is still new, but… why not? I’ll try it.”

She shifts, then, into her majestic draconian form, and now she’s larger than Veery, so he can curl up against her, rumbling insistently with his purring.

Her scales feel odd, but… she’s warm. It’s not long after she lays down her head that Veery falls asleep.

---

Claude’s victory feast is in full swing. The noise is insufferable. Veery does attend, mostly because Claude drags him there, but after just a hurried bite he makes his escape.

Too many people. Too many of his cultists eager to share a meal with him. It just gets worse and worse.

Claude allows him to abscond without a word, which Veery is thankful for, so he sets off to get away from the noise and the people. Mostly, he wanders, until he finds himself on the bridge leading to the chapel. The wind caresses him, and the view from off the bridge reminds him that he’s still in the mountains and reminds him of home, so he stops there, leans on the wall, and breathes.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, just existing. He’s only broken out of his reverie by the near-silent approach of the one knight he generally has absolutely no problems with.

“I heard you’re leaving,” Shamir says, joining him on the wall. “You’re going to join up with Daithi’s crew?”

“That’s the plan,” Veery says. “I’m going to meet him in Derdriu in a few weeks, then we’ll stop in Albinea, then… wherever.”

“Good,” Shamir says. “Traveling is good for you. I think you’ll like it.”

Veery chuckles. “I’ve liked it so far, despite everything.”

Shamir smiles, shaking her head. They’re silent for a while, staring at the mountains, then, “I’m more a mercenary than a knight these days. I work to get paid. I never was too attached to Fódlan. Even back before we all met here and started this resistance I was considering leaving.”

Oh? Shamir never seemed very attached to this place, nor is she faithful, so it’s not a huge surprise. Still, Veery thought she liked Catherine enough to stick around so long as there is still pay. “Where will you go?” he asks. “Back to Dagda?”

“I think so,” she says. “The war has made me… sentimental. It’ll be nice to see home again.”

“Have a plan yet?”

“Not yet,” Shamir answers. “Do you think Daithi would be willing to take me on for a while? No rush to get to Dagda, of course. I’ll be happy just working until we end up there. Then… maybe I’ll leave, maybe I won’t.”

Huh. Join with Daithi, just like Veery? Veery will appreciate the more familiar presence, but that’s not his decision. “You’re welcome to come and ask,” he says.

Shamir nods. “If not, then I’ll stay in Derdriu until I can get a different ship to Dagda. That’s fine. When are you planning to leave for Derdriu?”

“Friday after next,” Veery answers. “Thought I’d give myself at least a week to get there… Last time Hoarvug and I travelled Fódlan alone, well… none of us are very good with maps.”

Shamir shakes her head, though she’s still smiling. “I know the way,” she says. “We can get there from the monastery in a few days max, but it’s smart to give yourself some time in case something happens. Friday works. We won’t get lost.”

Veery chuckles. “That’s actually kind of a relief. I can get anywhere I want to go in Albinea, but Fódlan…” he sighs.

“The sun travels a different path in the sky,” Shamir says. “Even the stars aren’t in the right places. That happens as you move north or south. If you’re going to be travelling with Daithi, you’ll learn to compensate for it.”

“Yeah,” Veery agrees. “I guess I’ll have to. That should be interesting. I wonder why that is.”

“Lady Rhea could tell you,” Shamir answers. “She’s always been interested in astronomy. Probably Daithi, too. Most sailors I know know something about the stars, and one who travels as far as him almost has to.”

“And you?”

“I know the world we live on is tilted. As we move around the sun, the direction of that tilt doesn’t change, so we get variable seasons as certain parts of the world are in more direct light.” Veery tries to imagine what she’s talking about, tilting a ball in his mind and moving it around the sun. He… thinks he sees how that works. That also explains the long night in Albinea, doesn’t it? Though how close to the pole must he be to get something that extreme? “That’s why the sun changes positions as the year passes. Stars too. But don’t ask me how anyone came to that conclusion. That’s just what the educated people have said about that.”

“Huh. I’d have to spend a lot longer thinking about it but… I think that makes sense.”

Shamir smiles. “I’ll be ready to leave on the Friday after next,” she says, pushing away from the wall. “Sunrise?”

Veery doesn’t have that specific of a time set. It’s equally as likely that he’d leave in the middle of the night as right at midday. But that works. Shamir gives him a look like she knows this full well, even as he agrees, “Sunrise.”

---

As Veery sits on his high perch overlooking the monastery, he’s struck by a sudden pang in his chest. A soft ache, almost wistful, which permeates his bones and holds him tight like a frightened hug.

He still has some time yet before he leaves, but… when will he next see this? When will he see the monastery again? When will he see the people he loves again? Hoarvug is perhaps the keenest blow, even if they will be parting last, but the others are not far behind.

He doesn’t yet regret his decision. He thinks leaving is right for him. He thinks he’ll do okay on Daithi’s crew. But… one problem with being completely untethered is that there is nothing to hold on to. Veery hates promises and debts because they mean someone has to return to be a bother anew to repay or fulfil them, but it never occurs to him through all this that there might be people who he wants to know will eventually find him again.

How strange. When do people usually say goodbye? Veery doesn’t think he can fit them all before sunrise if he waits until the day of his departure. Humans tend to sleep until sunrise, so doing so then will likely hold him up. Or maybe that’s why Shamir decided that time? To give them time here for that and still make good progress towards Derdriu?

Veery honestly has no idea. He’s never had to think about it before. Last time, when Veery left Fódlan, he was captured and sent on his way by Edelgard, so he never had the chance to say goodbye. But when he went on that expedition to Brigid, Claude saw him off at the gates of Garreg Mach. It wasn’t a huge production, though, and Veery can think of a few people he’d like to say goodbye to who may not be at something like that.

“I thought I might find you here,” Petra says, amused.

Veery glances over at her. “Mm?”

Petra makes herself comfortable next to him, carefully shifting the sword at her hip so it doesn’t get in the way. “People have taken notice of your gift to me,” she says, gently stroking the pommel of her sword. “I have been called many things since we took Enbarr. Some have even credited me with winning this war, as if I could do such a thing alone.”

“Perhaps not alone,” Veery says, “but you did win it, didn’t you?”

Petra smiles. “I suppose that is true. Still, Brigid… has Fódlan’s respect, now. The loyalists who still don’t like you have extended that view to Brigid, of course, but likewise all those in Fódlan who believe you are a god have taken your gift to me as a sign that Brigid is in your favor.”

“Everything about it except the climate,” Veery teases.

Petra barks out a sharp laugh then dissolves into giggles. “Veery! I am trying to be serious.”

“I’m being serious,” Veery says. “I do like Brigid, and mostly I like you, but the climate there is probably one of the worst things I’ve ever had to deal with in my life. War notwithstanding, of course.”

Petra scoffs playfully. “Says the Albinean. You tease about Brigid’s climate, but at least we don’t have to hide for half the year to avoid ours.”

“Right,” Veery agrees. “You have to hide the whole year to avoid it.”

Petra rolls her eyes. “It is much better to be hot than cold.”

“Oh, I completely disagree,” Veery says. “In the cold, you just need thicker fur or to move a bit. In the heat, what are you going to do? Drown yourself in the ocean?”

“It is not nearly that bad. The cold though… you must wear so much just to be tolerable that you can’t even move.”

“That’s why fur is better than clothes.”

That sends Petra into another giggle fit. “I have never understood Fódlan’s obsession with clothes,” she says. “Albinea I might understand. Even Faerghus. And the laborers, of course. But Adrestia? It is still warm there, and it is not as if most in the cities need protection from brush, wind, or sun. Why do they insist on wearing so much?”

Veery snorts. “Lorenz tried to explain ‘modesty’ to me once… it doesn’t make any more sense now than it did then.”

Petra laughs. “He’s also talked to me about it! ‘It is improper for a princess to expose so much of her body.’ Perhaps in Fódlan that is true, but in Brigid royalty does not dress in finery like nobles do here. Clothes are for protection.”

Clothes are for protection. “Wait,” Veery says. “So, by wearing next to nothing, you’re actually trying to say almost the same thing that nobles do by dressing up like clowns?”

Petra smirks. “Almost, yes. It is a symbol of status.” Veery blinks dumbly, realizing suddenly that, practically since he went to Brigid, he’s been wearing little but boots, shorts, and a decorative sash around his waist. That’s expressing status? As if he really needs that. “Sailors and other laborers must wear very practical clothes to protect themselves as they work. To be able to go through the day with so little protection is to say that physical labor, or even spending much time exposed to the elements, is not required.”

That, frankly, makes a whole lot more sense to Veery than buying the most expensive thing and flaunting it. But then, he also still barely grasps the concept of currency, much less its value, so that’s not surprising even to him.

“I obviously wear armor,” Petra says, “and that has to be practical. But normal daily wear is different.”

“You wear light armor as daily wear.” Veery points out. “And not very practical armor at that,” he adds, eyeing all the exposed skin in front of him.

Petra laughs loudly. “The trade between protection against assassination – it does cover some vital points ­– my reputation as a warrior princess, and flaunting status. It’s daily wear, so it has to be much more comfortable than normal armor, but because it’s daily wear, it’s actually mostly decorative. Honestly, most days I feel like I’m in a costume. Better to take the whole thing off and go naturally.”

Veery snorts. “Imagine. Fódlan would have a conniption. You remember when people realized I don’t wear clothes when I’m shifted, right?”

“Ha! I do! I laughed so hard! How did they not realize that? I suspected at first that you would be more like the Fódlanders in matters of modesty because you need lots of clothes to stay warm in Albinea, but when I saw you shift for the first time, I realized you would be much more like me. It was quite entertaining to watch as everyone figured it out. Oh, poor Caspar made a scene for weeks.”

“He still blushed whenever I talked to him for months after that,” Veery says. He sighs fondly, even as his chest starts to ache. “Edelgard, too, now that I think back on it, but she was a lot more… composed about it.”

Petra giggles, but the sound is just off enough to be clearly affected by the topic. Still, she presses on. “Ferdinand was adorable when he first saw me naked. We had just finished a mission quite far from any town and went to clean up some of the grime in the nearby river. Of course, I thought nothing of jumping in – we swim nude all the time in Brigid, it does not matter with whom, there is nothing intimate about it. But Ferdinand…” She shakes her head. “He immediately began insisting that all the men must wait at camp, well out of view of the river. Even when I told him it was not necessary. And the whole while his face is bright red and he’s refusing to look anywhere remotely close to me.”

“Which is weird,” Veery says, “because they have open baths here, at least within the same gender, so you wouldn’t think it’d be such an issue.”

“Right? It is not as if men and women can only be attracted to the other. I mean- Dorothea, right?”

“Do you mean she likes girls or you like her?”

Petra giggles. “She is a very attractive woman, is she not? And I’m pretty sure she likes women, as well. So… both? Regardless, in hindsight, I’m thankful Ferdinand did that. Not because I would have minded them seeing me, but because I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason we managed to coax Bernadetta into bathing at all.”

“That sounds about right,” Veery says. “Once, when it was starting to get cold, I found Bernie in the classroom. I think she thought I’d eat her? Well, she fainted there, curled up under the desk. I didn’t know what to do! No one else was there. So, I pulled her out and put her by the fire, then took a nap.”

“I remember that!” Petra says. “I went into the classroom one day and saw you two sleeping near the fire. I thought you’d finally talked and were starting to get along.”

Veery snorts. “No such luck, I’m afraid. I think the first time she talked to me without running away or fainting was the night of the ball.”

“You came in together, right? What did you talk about?”

Veery smirks. “How scary humans are, mostly. I think admitting that I was afraid too helped calm her down a bit, even if that wasn’t really what I was going for.”

Petra nods sagely. “That’s probably it. Speaking of admitting similarities, did I ever tell you about when I admitted to Ferdinand that I felt competitive with Edelgard, too?” She groans fondly. “He was so insistent about comparing everything we did to her that it actually made me less competitive. I eventually got so fed up that for a while I stopped caring whether Edelgard was a better princess than I was. I never wanted to think about comparing us ever again.”

“I don’t know how he did it,” Veery admits. “Comparing yourself to others all the time must be exhausting. It’s hard enough just being around people. Basing yourself on others is… a bad idea.”

Petra chuckles. “In many ways, yes. But it did make him a good man. He always strove to be better. I admired that about him greatly.”

“I see that,” Veery says honestly. A drive to improve is a good thing to have, even if it comes about from something as stupid as competition. “Caspar, too. He always wanted to be stronger. And he’d make me get stronger with him. And louder.”

Petra snorts. “I often wondered if he trained his voice as much as his muscles, or if he was just like that.”

“A little of both,” Veery says. “I caught him practicing his battle roars a few times. He said it’s how he gets himself fired up.”

“Battle roars!” Petra exclaims. “It is very much like your battle roars, isn’t it?”

“A little,” Veery concedes. “They’re mostly for intimidation and to startle, or to draw attention, all of which Caspar certainly did.”

“That is brilliant.”

And from there, they keep going. Story after story of their old friends – mostly the ones who aren’t around anymore, but sometimes veering off into stories about others, as well. Veery hears all about the Eagles, and about Acis and Vanora, Kieran, and even a few stories about Petra’s grandfather. And Veery shares stories about the Deer, about Hoarvug, Sadi, Anna, Vick, Eva, and Caub. They jump from story to story with just the smallest of threads tying them together and a thick blanket hanging over them, but they smile and laugh and that’s what matters.

They stay there, high up over the monastery, talking animatedly through the dull ache in the air and their chests, until the setting sun calls them back to the ground.

The strange thing is, after a bath and a nap and some time alone, Veery feels, despite the ache and the weight that blankets the whole conversation, lighter.

[boldlyvoid]

Million Dollar Man | chapter two

18+

summary: Spencer's therapist recommended he branch out and meet new people who don't want to talk about his work... she didn't expect him to sign up for a Sugar Daddy website.

Content warnings: sugar daddy!spencer, age gaps (14 years), daddy kink, blow jobs, kissing, drinking mention, lowkey perv!Spencer, cum play, praise, oral (female receiving), grinding, love confessions, arrangements, Spencers anxiety, (more to add)

word count: 3.4K

a/n: updates on Wednesdays and saturdays at 2 pm est

Chapter Two | Masterlist

She sat on the subway with an anxious pit in her stomach and her purse held close to her chest. Her laptop in her bag, she didn’t want to lose it on her way to the most important meeting of her whole life.

Her story was becoming a book, she was almost done the final draft, they were making touch-ups to the cover and picking the type of paper today.

Her dreams were coming true within the next month, soon she’d have a physical copy of her book, her pre-sales were showing that she’d be on the bestseller list, and her name was finally going to be on the cover of this one.

She sighed and reached for her necklace, holding it between her fingers as she took a few deep breaths. She was doing so much better today than she was last year and it was all because of Spencer, he was the best thing to happen to her. To think she complimented his sweater vest and now he’s the only person in her life she can count on.

All she can think about is him for the rest of her journey, through 4 more stops she keeps her eyes closed as she thinks of all his little facts and his cute laugh. She smiles to herself and the anxiety slips away, she loves him and she knows that for sure, but she just doesn’t know how she loves him.

She’s never had a sibling, her best friends are all women, her previous boyfriends were all shit and her other sugar daddies were never this wonderful, and her parents are lesbians… she doesn’t know what her feelings really are for Spencer, mainly because she’s never known any other men to compare him to.

But she does know the exact moment she realized she fell for him.

He booked a hotel room in DC after a local case, asking her to meet him in there at 10 pm. She was waiting in the bathtub when he arrived, bubbles galore, her hair up and arms open, “welcome home, honey.”

He laughs, “you want me to get in there with you?”

She just nods, “let me take care of you, daddy?”

He takes off his blazer, pulls his tie off and starts to unbutton his shirt. She watches patiently as he gets undressed, and it’s not sexual to her. He’s her person, her best friend, the only human being she would ever share a moment like this with and that’s when it hits her.

She doesn’t accept it just yet.

It’s not until he’s lying on her chest, between her legs, cheek resting on her boobs as she runs a sponge over his back while he gives her a little run down on his terrible week. His co-worker almost died, his mom is stressing him out, the only good thing he has left is her and she knows that.

“And then I get to my moms facility and she’s had a really good day, she knows me and she knows all of my childhood again and she’s all right there in front of me and yet she’s so far away. I’m never going to get all the time I want with her and it’s really hard to accept.”

He shares things with her that he doesn’t even tell his therapist. Because his therapist doesn’t hold him like a child against her chest and tell him he’s okay when he get’s upset.

Y/N loves him, so she kisses his forehead, “I’m so sorry, I have 2 moms if you’d like to have one?”

“It’s okay, I would love to meet them sometime though,” he wraps his arms around her waist a little tighter under the water. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Did I mention my leg is 44 inches from hip to toe?” She asks in the middle of the silence, quoting pretty woman, knowing he hasn’t seen that far into the movie yet. “So basically we’re talking about 88 inches of therapy for the bargain price of $800 dollars a week.”

Her legs wrap around him and their naked bodies are closer than they’ve ever been and yet it’s completely platonic, “I’d spend a million dollars on you if it always meant feeling this good after.”

She runs her cheek along his wet hair as he snuggles into her neck, “mmm, I like the sound of that,” she teased. “My million dollar man.”

Her stop rolls around and she pulls herself out of her day dreams to get off the train and head to her meeting. She smiles as she walks through the station, up the stairs and onto the busy downtown streets when she gets a text with Spencers special chime. She opens it when she gets to where she’s going, safely inside and in the waiting room.

It makes her laugh in the waiting room. People look at her but she doesn’t care, he’s so special to her she feels butterflies in her stomach even when he’s not around.

“Y/N!” She hears her name being called by her editor, he’s over ecstatic as he comes running out to get her. “Come, come we have so many choices to make!” He jumps up and down as he holds her arm, like a child in a candy store.

“Andy, chill man,” she laughs at him and plays it cool, “It’s just the cover being finalized.”

“It’s our baby!” He teases back, pushing his glasses up and tugging her behind the glass doors of the office.

She’s surrounded by people and paper and huge versions of her book cover. She has a sharpie as she fixed mistakes and jots down final ideas. “And I wan’t Phil to look more human and less like data from Star Trek?”

“But Dorothy looks okay?” The artist asks, nervously and Y/N can tell.

“She looks beautiful! You really brought her justice,” she smiles, “really she looks the same in my head! It’s just Phil and I’m sure it’s tough getting a drawing to look like a robotic human, let alone human.”

“I have some ideas?” She opens up more, taking her iPad out and sliding it across the table, “I wanted to give him more of a Sophia feel? His face is silicone but his joints and everything are more like an Elon Musk crash dummy.”

“That’s perfect!” She’s shocked, “why didn’t that go in the first draft?”

“I was worried it was too much,” she’s a little older than Y/N, and yet her anxiety is that of a teenage girl. “I’m going to get working on the final, do you want some emailed versions tonight?”

“Yes please,” she smiles.

“So we’re done?” Andy asks, “we’ve made all our final calls?”

“I believe we have,” Y/N closes her laptop and takes her phone out, taking a photo of the final rough sketch of her book cover on the table to send to Spencer before he comes to pick her up. She can’t wait to see him now.

—

They’re sitting side by side in matching spa robes, he’s getting a pedicure while she gets her nails done. Leaning back in her chair with a face mask and cucumbers on her eyes, she’s never felt more relaxed in her life. And just in time too, her back was killing her from writing, her knuckles hurt and she just needed a break.

Spencer did too, he was genuinely not having a good time at work anymore, every case made him spiral and he always looked to Y/N on days like that. They met more than once a week now, she got $800 every Friday and she didn’t even really need it anymore. He was coving for so much of her bills and lively hood that her savings account was growing and growing because of him.

For the first time in her life she thought she would be okay if a man left her. As terrible as it was, as much as her moms tried to raise her differently, she fell down the daddy issues rabbit hole and she’s never going to find her way out— however, luckily for her, Spencer is down here too, and he brought a flashlight.

He understands her, more than anyone else on earth. He knows all her secrets, every crush and bad grade and snide remark she’s ever kept to herself. He didn’t judge her, he could actually listen to her issues and tell her why she had them. He gave better advice than a therapist and he was able to get information for her if he didn’t know the answer to what she was going through.

He’s absolutely everything to her and yet he’s 14 years older than her, he’s still traumatized beyond belief, he’s sad and ashamed and recovering… but he’s the best man in the whole world and she wishes he could see that. If he just looked at himself from her eyes, if he felt how she did in her soul when they were together, he’d love himself.

They’re too relaxed to drive home, and Spencer knew that would happen beforehand, bringing her a change of clothes (lingerie) and that robe me mentioned. He books a hotel above the spa and takes her to it. Arms linked as they enter the suite, she’s amazed to find more than one gift bag on the bed.

“How many gifts is this now?”

“We’re at 5 out of 24.”

She laughs as she wraps her arms around him in a thank you hug, “this is what you consider 4 gifts? Spencer there are like 8 things on the bed, let alone the massage and manicure?”

“If you think this is too much I guess you’re going to get really mad next week,” he teases as she looks up at him with a surprised look on her face.

“Spencer, I am so busy next week, I cannot be galavanting around with my sugar daddy,” she tries to act like she doesn’t want to go on an adventure with him again.

The last trip they took was the best week of her life. They went to all the historical sites in the UK that she and Spencer had talked about. Mainly old churches and castles, strange poets graves, random art and most importantly; stone henge. It was a trip of a lifetime and he took it with her.

“I watched the rest of Pretty Woman the other day,” he smiles, “and I thought I’d pull an Edward Lewis and really surprise you because you deserve it.”

“You know how the movie ends, right?” Her heart beats really fast in her chest and she wants him to love her so bad but it’s also terrifying now that she’s this close.

“He lets her choose,” he whispers.

“He rescues her,” she corrects him.

“And she rescues him right back,” he really did watch the end of the movie.

It makes her heart skip a beat as she swallows sharply, “what does this mean for us?”

“I have a whole plan, a whole sequence of events I want to stick to. I wanted to make you fall in love with me this week and ask you on your birthday, can we still do that?” He pleads with her, he’s so serious. He’s clearly put a lot of effort into this.

“Absolutely,” she smiles, “but if you’re going to make me wait that long for you to ask, you still can’t kiss me till then. No matter how much I already love you.”

“Really?” He’s so soft with her, she knows he’s not reacting to the teasing. He’s never had someone tell him they love him and then stay after.

“I would never lie to you about that, spence. I know what love means to you, I know how scared you are and I’m scared too. But I know there is no one else in the whole world I’d rather be scared with than you,” she holds him tighter and rubs her nose against his, “so what’s in the bags, daddy? Finish your surprise.”

She plays along perfectly, stepping back and hauling him towards the bed. “I got you some outfits and things for the next 2 weeks, we have a few things planned. We’re going on a flight soon, I have new luggage being delivered to your apartment this week and we’re going to see your moms for 3 days.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “there’s no way, Spencer, I haven’t seen them in 5 years, I’m going to cry.”

“I know,” he cups her jaw with his hand. “They’re really excited to see you.”

She hugs him tight, kissing his neck as she holds him. “Thank you, daddy, do you want me to put something on for you now?”

“I’m just going to take it off you, plus, what your wearing is sexy enough, he whispers back. “You’re always so beautiful, baby.”

“I thought you were saving the best for last?” She asks as she pulls back, overly eager and he can tell.

“I want to repay the favour from the other night.”

She doesn’t mean to gasp and yet she does, “please?”

He pulls on the tie of her robe, opening it enough to snake a hand behind her back and draw her in with a hand on her bare back. “Please what?”

“Please, daddy?” She looks up with her best begging eyes, perfect pout and all. “I want you to touch me, I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

He steps away from her to swipe all the bags off the bed before picking her up and laying her back against the pillows. He kisses down her body, hand on her lover back as she arches, he drags his bottom lip from her belly button to her cleavage. Nipping and sucking at the exposed skin on her chest, pulling her breasts out of the bra to suck on her nipples, she moans and it’s louder than she expected.

As she plays with his hair, he marks her, bruising small little love bites all the way down as he makes his way between her legs, “take me, please?”

He’s been dreaming of this for so long, he can’t even give you an accurate number of times his mind has drifted to the thought of how wonderful she would taste, how beautiful she’d sound…

“Tell me how badly you want me?” He asks as he spreads her legs and kisses her left thigh.

“I haven’t had sex in 10 months while waiting for you. Daddy, please you’ve owned me for so long, just take what’s yours already for gods sa- OH!”

With a broad lick, his tongue flattens against her core and it shuts her up. She gets what she wants, holding into his hair as she tosses her head back, taking it all in and enjoying it. He’s been on her mind for months, every time her vibrator was where he is now, she thought of him. he’s been the man of her dreams longer than she’s known him, and he was proving it.

“Right there, daddy,” she speaks through shallow breaths, “do you know how much I’ve thought of this?”

“You know I don’t,” the vibrations of his voice against her skin are glorious, he looks up at her through his lashes as his tongue flicks over her clit and she shakes a bit.

“Fuck,” she gasps, gripping his hair tighter, “better than I thought you’d be, fuck, too bad you— Jesus, don’t have the stash anymore…”

He stops and looks up at her, the smirk on his face glistening with her juices, “the stash?”

She nods, “I’ve thought about calling it the pussy tickler,” she teases, running her hand down his cheek and swiping her thumb across his bottom lip before bringing it up to her mouth to taste, “I want more of you.”

He kisses back up her body and she reaches for his robe the second he’s close enough. “Just grind against me? I know you’re waiting but we can still feel good together?”

He kisses the side of her mouth and she takes that as a yes, wrapping her legs around him so his hard cock is pressed right against her core as they move their hips in synchronicity with each other. His breathing is heavy as he kisses her cheek and jaw, her nails scratch down his back, he feels absolutely amazing against her.

She feels so empty, she wants him so bad she’s clenching around nothing as she squirms against his cock and wishes she was full.

“I wish I could move time,” she whispers. “Fuck, why can’t it be my birthday?”

He laughs against her, grazing his teeth over her neck and drawing another moan from her but then he stops moving his hips, “why are you so impatient?”

“Remember I said I stopped enjoying everything? Well, taking a 10 month break from sex and thinking about you every time I got off has made me desperate,” her hand cups his cheek, “I’d wait forever for you, but a girl needs to be fucked hard every once in a while.”

Only she could find a way to make something both profoundly beautiful and whorish at the same time, he loved her for it and she knew that now. He smiles and leaned in to rub his nose against hers and it takes everything in her not to kiss him. The same way it was taking everything in him not to slip into her as he began to grind against her once more.

She’s so close, the accidental edging has added a whole new level of desperation she’s never felt before. She wants to cum for him so bad, but more importantly she wants him to cum for her.

“Take my bra off,” she whispers, Spencer’s hands travel behind her back to unclasp it and he helps her out of it before tossing it to the floor.

“Cum for me daddy,” she whispers in his head with a hand in his hair, gripping him tightly as he bites at her neck, “cover me with your cum like you’re marking your territory.”

“Shit,” his hips sputter against hers.

“Say it, I know you want to,” she teases, so close to the edge but it’s too good of an opportunity. She loves seeing him fall apart like this and she can’t wait to see it again. “Who’s am I?”

“Daddy’s girl.”

He grinds down on her harder and faster and she’s so close, the bubble in her gut is reaching a fever pitch and with a gasp, she’s cumming and then she feels it. His load covers her stomach as he pants against her neck and grips her hips tighter as he comes down.

She wraps her arms around him and holds him as close as humanly possible, her breathing still heavy as he rises and falls on her chest. He’s heavy but she doesn’t care, she just kisses the top of his head and thanks him.

He brushes his nose against her neck, nuzzling her like a cat, “do you really mean it?”

“What, honey?” He remembers so much, this could be a question about something she said 2 months or 2 minutes ago and she has no clue.

“You’re not just playing along with my kinks right, you genuinely want to be mine?”

For being her million dollar man, his heart sure was broke. This is why he wasn’t ready, he still didn’t understand why she would want to stay without anything in return, he’s gotten so used to paying her for her time now that his anxiety has managed to convince him that she’ll leave when he stops being worth it to her.

“What does my necklace say?” She asks, knowing how close he was to it. “Read it to me, I forget.”

“Daddy’s girl,” he smiles again.

She soothes her hands over his back, “I would do anything with you because I love and trust you, but also because everything you do is sexy… you could read me the dictionary and I’d still want you to pump me full of cum after.”

“It sounds so crude after,” he laughs, “speaking of, we really need to have a shower.”

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine?” She teases as he gets up.

“Only if you let me wash the front too?”

She smacks his bare ass and races him into the bathroom, turning on the water and getting in with him while still laughing and carrying on. He’s her best friend in the whole world, there’s no one else she would rather do this with… there was no one she has done this with. No one has made her feel this good, before during and after sex.

Spencer Reid was an anomaly, but he was hers.

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Sugar daddy fic (Some tags didn't work)

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[n0bamak1s]

whisper of the heart- megumi fushiguro x reader

summary: you begin to take notice of the name “megumi fushiguro” on all the tops of your library checkout cards. a semi-retelling of whisper of the heart featuring you and megumi. (genre: fluff, high school au, meet cute)

warnings: none! except maybe slightly ooc megumi

word count: 3.2k

a/n: hi everyone! ty all again for being so patient with me publishing this. i’ve been very busy with college apps lately, but i’m gonna try to keep this blog as active as i can while balancing it with school life. anyways, i had a lot of fun writing this, but i’m definitely not used to writing megumi, so feel free to leave feedback ^^ i also changed some details from the original movie and left it a bit open ended, so feel free to let me know if you want a part 2!

“who the hell is megumi fushiguro?”

your gaze was fixed on the faded ink reading the now all too familiar characters. the characters spelling out a name that managed to keep showing up on the yellow tinted checkout cards tucked into the books you borrowed.

nobara glanced over your shoulder, inspecting the piece of cardstock tucked between your fingers. wrinkling her nose in disgust, she plucked the card from you, holding it closer to her face.

“whoever it is, they have terrible handwriting.” she stuck her nose up, turning back to you with a playful smile. “i don’t know how you managed to get ‘megumi fushiguro’ out of that chicken scratch.” a face of mock distress crossed her features as she did air quotes around the name, as if she couldn’t believe such a delicate name would be given to someone with such handwriting. she’s always had a tendency to be a bit over dramatic about trivial stuff like this.

with nothing more than a huff in response, you snatched back the card, tucking it neatly back into your library book. your fingers grazed the worn down cover for a moment, gliding along the slight tears around the corners and the stiffness of the yellowing pages.

‘i wonder how many of these creases came from megumi fushiguro?’

“whoever it is, it seems like that name shows up in every book i check out in the library.”

nobara kicked a rock as she walked, leaving a small cloud of dust around her feet. “maybe you’re just imagining it. you always stay up so late doing whatever the hell it is you do in your free time that you’ve probably begun to hallucinate.” she nudged you playfully, eliciting a dead pan expression from you.

“i’m serious nobara. i mean, i’ve never really believed in fate but there’s no way it’s completely coincidental!”

she raised an eyebrow, as if to say you can’t be serious. “i think you’ve been reading too many romance novels, for all you know this person could totally be just some weird old guy with nothing better to do than visit the library.”

“hey!” you acted as if that last bit was a personal attack on you, and knowing nobara it probably was. “i’m not saying this megumi fushiguro person is my soulmate or anything, i just think it’s a very strange coincidence.” you shrugged off your backpack as you talked, putting away your book. noticing the suspiciously light weight of your bag, you rummaged your fingers around for a moment to find that your sketchbook had gone missing.

crap.

nobara turned to you, perceptive as ever of your suddenly altered demeanor. “forget something again?” it was almost annoying sometimes how well she knew you. was it really that obvious?

“just my sketchbook,” your hands rifled through your bag one final time to make sure you really didn’t have it “probably left it on the park bench or something, it’ll just be a minute to get it.” you turned to her with a sheepish smile, silently pleading her to follow you there. she stared blankly at you for a moment, probably having one of her internal monologues about how lucky you were to have her as a friend, before rolling her eyes and following suit.

“this better be quick, i have places to be you know!”

“no you don’t.” you turned around before you could meet her melodramatic glare.

behind you, you could hear her huff of dissatisfaction, though she made no move to leave, reassuming her position next to you, giving you a gentle nudge as she brushed next to you.

as you walked, the sunlight peeking between trees framing your pathway began to warm your face, highlighting the ends of your eyelashes and the tops of your cheeks with the warm glow of the first hints of summer time. for a moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped in it, before your fleeting thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bike coming in your direction. you felt as if you’d jump out of your own skin in that moment, hearing a “move out of the way!” from a husky, disembodied voice.

it probably looked pretty ridiculous how you jumped out of the way, kicking up a fleeting cloud of dust as you avoided the sudden presence of the biker. grounding yourself, your eyes flickered up to the source of the voice, being met with the gaze of stormy blue eyes, framed by long, dark eyelashes that nobara would most definitely be envious of. taking in the boy’s whole figure, your eyes were drawn to the messy black hair atop his head, formed at the ends into contradictorily gentle looking spikes. the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up taut around his forearms, leading your gaze to his hands wrapped tightly around the bike handles.

oh, right. he’s still biking.

you turned your focus back to keeping to your side of the path momentarily, before the sight of your name written atop the sketchbook peeking out of his bag came into your field of vision as he continued to move past you. before you had time to think rationally, you turned to his now retreating form, breaking into a jog, kicking up a few more dust clouds as you did.

ignoring nobara’s incredulous calling of your name, you tried to call to the boy who had no intention of slowing down. “excuse me!” you cupped a hand around your mouth, hoping to project your voice louder. “hey!” the irritation in your voice was clear, but you breathed a small sigh of relief as the bike slowed to a stop, and the spike headed boy turned to your direction.

after an awkward moment of your continued jogging to him while he stood with a blank expression, you stopped in front of him, an accusatory look grazing your features.

“i think you have something of mine.” you tried your best to imitate the confident attitude you always admired from nobara, placing a hand on your hip and using the other one to point to his bag. his gaze followed the direction of where you pointed, his eyebrows raised while the rest of his face remained stagnant.

“oh, this?” he tugged the cardboard covered sketchbook out of the pocket it had been placed in, examining the cover. his eyes flickered between your name written in the top corner, and your currently annoyed looking face, as if he was playing some sort of word association game. you simply nodded in response, anticipation clear in your actions.

as he held out the sketchbook to you, he leaned down so his face was closer to you, as if to tell you a secret, voice low and eyes trained on you. “you should be more careful next time. you’re lucky i’m nice enough to not just steal this from you right now.”

you didn’t have an explanation as to why your heart began to race.

taking your silence as a response, he pushed it into your hands, his fingers brushing against yours gently. “nice drawings by the way, i recognize your friend over there from the portrait you drew of her on the first page.” his face remained stoic as he pointed at nobara, who was tapping her foot in boredom.

face warm from embarrassment, you snatched the sketchbook from where his hands lingered on it, muttering a bitter sounding “thanks” before stalking over to nobara once more, who looked relieved that she’d finally be able to go wherever it was she was going to.

“what an asshole.” you glared at him over your shoulder as he biked away, your gaze lingering a second too long for someone so insistent on hating him. nobara shook her head in response, clearly annoyed at your own obliviousness after witnessing the whole interaction.

a smug smile crossed her soft features. “maybe that’s megumi fushiguro.”

you raised a brow as you glanced at her. “as if!”

despite your insistence on your distaste for the mystery boy, he managed to have flooded your thoughts. ‘he must be using sorcery or something to keep himself on my mind, weirdo.’

still, you couldn’t deny how just a few more of your portraits were accented by ocean blue eyes, or pointed ends to the different mops of hair you sketched. how did you manage to keep attracting mystery people into your life?

when you returned to the library, you gripped a thick science fiction novel, the pages brushing your soft fingers as your marched it up to the checkout counter. as the librarian wrote the date on a small piece of cardstock, you took note of the fact that your name would be the first one there. had megumi fushiguro missed out on this one?

a pleasant smile stretched across your face as the librarian handed the book back to you. scrawling your name at the top of the checkout card, your eyes flickered to a stamp of ink beneath the slot for it.

donated by fushiguro.

of course it was.

the library door squeaked quietly as you pushed it open, one hand on the door, and the other placing your new book in your backpack. zipping it up and throwing it over your shoulder, you were met with the feeling of a dog sniffing your leg. your eyes trailed down to a dog almost akin to a small polar bear brushing its nose against your calf. reaching your hand to scratch softly against the back of his head, you coo gently at the not-so-little little guy.

“what’s got you all by yourself buddy?” an involuntary smile creeps onto your face at how he calms at your pats.

wordlessly, obviously considering this is a dog, he turns and walks a few steps forward, before pausing and tilting just his fur covered face toward you, egging you on to follow him just as you had the other day with nobara. you considered for a moment, before shrugging and giving in to his pretty minimal amount of convincing. nobara would be out getting lunch with maki today anyways, so you could use something to do today. after all, it could be fate.

it was almost as if you were one of those people who walked their dog without a lash, but in reality, it was more like the dog was walking you as it lead you down tall, sidewalk-lined hills and through parks filled with young parents having picnics with their children and couples going on walks. you wondered to yourself if this was a worthwhile excursion, was he just leading you to a dead end, or worse, was he some dog trained by a gang to lure people into danger?

after walking a few minutes more, you found out the spot you were being lead to was, in fact, even worse then both the possibilities you’d been brainstorming in your head, when you were met at the bottom of another hill with the stoic expression of that spike head. his eyes softened at the sight of the dog, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips that quickly vanished as he met your gaze, his eyes hardened in contrast with the bashfulness that shone on his cheeks.

“oh, you found him. thanks for that.” he cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his gaze back to the dog. you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. to be fair though, what did you expect you’d do when you found where the dog was leading you?

“i should probably go.” your usually collected demeanor had been replaced with that of a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. with a stiff wave, you took your leave, turning on your heel.

“wait.” his voice wavered, as if trying to catch himself before he spoke. “i can walk you home if you want. it’s the least i can do after you got him home.” he forced a smile onto his face, though it made him look more constipated than inviting. what happened to the snarky, aloof boy who had handed you your sketchbook just a few days ago?

still, you nodded, lips pressed into a line that you hoped resembled somewhat of a smile. surely, you should have been more worried about his sudden change in demeanor, but the relieved expression on his face seemed to soothe your nerves a bit. he assumed a spot next to you, tucking his hands in his pants pockets.

“your little buddy there lead me all over the city trying to find you, so i don’t exactly know how to get home from here, but maybe you can just lead me to the library.” you turned so you faced him, now aware of the close proximity between you two. nobara would probably laugh in your face if she could witness the moment you paused, stunned by the eye contact he made with you under his thick eyelashes. had you been perceptive enough in the moment, you may have noticed the blush creeping up his face. he nodded his head, which was already tilted down to face you fully, with eyes hazy and lips slightly parted.

“it’s just this way, i’ll show you.” he removed his hand from its pocket to point up the hill that had brought you to him in the first place. you gripped the straps of your backpack and faced in the direction he pointed to obediently, hoping to ignore the weird tension in the air. what could you talk to him about?

before you could continue your internal dilemma, he cleared his throat again. “you seem to like the library a lot, huh?”

by god was this boy terrible at small talk.

“i guess i do, but i don’t know how you came to that conclusion considering i only just brought up the library.” you cocked an eyebrow as you looked at him, probably sounding more annoyed than you’d intended.

he smiled knowingly at you, a hint of disbelief on his features as he raised his eyebrows. “i guess you wouldn’t know since your nose is always buried in a book, but i see you there like every day.”

your eyebrows furrowed so they practically touched, trying to rack your memory for seeing him in the library. “i’m sure i’d be able to recognize you if you did.” you were completely oblivious to the implications of how memorable you found him that laced your statement.

he shrugged nonchalantly. “believe it or not. i even tried sitting down in front of you a few times, but you were always too focused on your books to notice.” his smile was almost bittersweet as you waited by a stoplight. before you could respond, he continued. “it’s kind of admirable though. i think it’s nice that you’re so passionate about your books.”

you took a chance to look at him, really look at him, for the first time since you’d glared at him biking by. he held your gaze, eyes gentle. there was absolutely no way this was the same boy carrying your sketchbook in his bag from a few days ago.

“well if you think i’m so nice, what was with you trying to be all smart about my sketchbook?” ever the stubborn one, you were.

he shrugged his shoulders, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “you really should be more careful of your stuff. i was just letting you know. it’s not like i would have put in that effort for just anyone’s sketchbook. i guess i was just trying to make sure you wouldn’t lose it again. sorry if i offended you.”

the way he was blushing would have made any bypasser believe he’d just asked you to marry him.

“it’s just…” he continued “after seeing you in the library all the time, i thought you were really impressive. i thought if i tried to return your sketchbook, i could impress you too.” he kicked a rock that touched the edge of his sneaker.

“why would you wanna impress me?” your obliviousness was excruciating for the poor boy, though it was completely sincere on your end.

“you know, for someone so smart, you really are dense.” he pursed his lips, feigning annoyance. “and here i was thinking i was so obvious.”

at this point, you were nearing the library, and suddenly desperate to continue this conversation that you would have been dreading at the start of this walk.

“when it was obvious you weren’t gonna look up from your book, i tried checking out as many books as i could to get on your radar.” his smile had a weird hint of sadness behind it. you stayed silent, piecing together facts in your head.

“recognize the name megumi fushiguro?”

oh.

it pained you for a moment to know you’d have to tell nobara she was right.

“you’re megumi fushiguro?” your eyebrows shot up in surprise, mouth slightly agape. he seemed to stifle a laugh at your expression.

“i mean, what were you expecting?” he looked a little too smug for someone who was too scared to talk to you in the library.

“some weird old person, probably.” you shrugged, still with an incredulous look on your face. “i’m glad it wasn’t though.”

“oh?” he really did have a nice smile. “i guess you’re glad it was me then.” even he was unsure of this sudden confidence.

you pondered his question for a moment, but your body moved before your brain did, nodding your head slowly. he seemed to loosen up then, hands out of his pockets again, making you aware of how close you stood to him with the way his fingers brushed yours every few steps. a slight sadness filled your being as you stopped in front of those squeaky library doors that suddenly seemed so uninviting.

“i’ll tell you what then,” he started confidently, juxtaposing the bashful way he avoided eye contact with you all of a sudden “come to the library again tomorrow, and i’ll meet you there. really meet you this time, not just walking past your table. i can show you my favorites there and you can show me yours, it’ll be…fun.” he looked up almost worriedly for your reaction, slightly angry at himself for his sudden shyness, you seemed to have quite the effect on him.

there was a beat of silence, and he almost cut the tension in the air by taking back his request and booking it back home. before he could fully hatch his master escape plan, you reached over to grab his hand, his slender fingers lacing through yours. you gave it a light squeeze, and swore you could feel him jump a little at the contact.

“i’d like that a lot,” you looked in his eyes, which had gone from defensive to doe like in just your five words “megumi fushiguro.” he loved the way his name sounded coming from you. his anticipation cracked into a smile as he squeezed your hand back, and you prided yourself on getting to make him smile again.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, then.” he leaned down slightly as he said it, reminiscent of how he had scolded you about your sketchbook just a few days ago. you nodded in response, unable to stop the giddy smile stretching across your face.

tomorrow couldn’t come any faster.

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

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

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

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

Something about last summer sucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

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

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

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you.”

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

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

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“Me too.”

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

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that would be me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Some things never change, you suppose. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

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

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

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

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

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

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

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

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

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

“Is this your first year at camp?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

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

You want to be honest?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Try what?”

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

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

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

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

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

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

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

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

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

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

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

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

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s getting easier. 

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

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

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He means that part, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

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

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

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

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

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

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

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

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

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

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

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do? That is news to you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t be. 

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place will never not remind you of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you want to do.”

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

You nod. “Five minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Needed for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut

[somerpmemes]

The Owl House Starters

Change as needed

“No! My only weakness! Dying!”

“That doesn’t count, right?”

“Do you have any friends? Real ones?”

“Tiny trash thief!”

“Oops, that happens sometimes.”

“I’m a squirmy little fella.”

“I like food, I like love, just let me write about it!”

“Oh, he gets so cute when he’s thirsty for power.”

“I’ve never actually broken any of your stupid laws… in front of you.”

“I hate everything you’re saying right now.”

“We’d be the strongest power couple ever.”

“Self-doubt is a prison you can never escape from.”

“Anyways, let’s bounce before any more monsters fall in love with me.”

“I am not your cutie pie!”

“No one wants an un-oiled snake.”

“Remember, never befriend a man in sandals and always measure twice, cut once.”

“Be back by nightfall or risk mortal peril!”

“I know I’ve had enough delight for one day.”

“Sorry to break it to you, ___, but no one here is that well-dressed.”

“This has been a rough day.”

“Big houses always belong to big whack jobs.”

“Today just got good.”

“Wizards are just old people with glitter in their pockets.”

“Anyways, your food is gone and we are too.”

“Never trust a man in casual drapery.”

“All that mean-spirited laughter made me sleepy.”

“I don’t like this. I really don’t like this.”

“All your food was so tiny and cute.”

“If you can think of a better plan I’d love to hear it.”

“Betrayed by my own cool accessories.”

“I didn’t have to be part of this!”

“I… don’t like this.”

“I think I’ll head home and look at pictures of animals that are still… alive.”

“Wow, you’re so unnoticeable I almost rolled into you.”

“It’s okay, the thorns only went through a few layers of skin.”

“Alright, into the darkness you go.”

“Oh my god, I haven’t eaten real food in so long please give me some.”

“You can’t just cut open a human, can you?”

“Keeping junk in my pocket saved my life!”

“Ahh, baby’s first wanted poster.”

“Even demons have inner demons.”

“This is my paying attention face.”

“Look, now we’re boo boo buddies.”

“It’s like a rainbow, but looking at it turns you inside out.”

“I respect your cunning but I also hate you for it.”

“Oh, gross. Can I keep that?”

“This is terrifying, so why do you look so happy?”

“Oh no, a twist!”

“I’m kind of over that nickname, but okay.”

“Oh, what lovely thing do we have here? It’s just so dang shiny, oh my.”

“And look, I drew flip book.”

“I will literally do anything to stop this.”

“If I’m seen, I could go to jail… again.”

“Alright, let’s see this mess.”

“That’s probably fine.”

“Time to prepare for bloodshed.”

“Welcome down to my level!”

“I know I should be repulsed but that look is fierce.”

“I’m gonna steal everything that’s not nailed down!”

“I was up all night poison tasting and, for some reason, I don’t feel great.”

“I need an extra pair of eyes looking out for pickpockets. And an extra pair of hands in case I want to pickpocket.”

“I got leaves in my pants. And I like it.”

“I was a strange child.”

“You think this can stop me? I can still bite your ankles.”

“If you’re gonna eat me, just do it now!”

“___, you’re getting all swoony again.”

“Rivals are meant to be annihilated, not befriended.”

“Witches eating babies is so 1693.”

“Ugh, you.”

“I thought we were as cool as cucumbers but we’re as sour as pickles.”

“Whoa, I almost passed out.”

“It’s been hours, how can it keep screaming!?”

“Say that again and I steal your tongue.”

“Keep going, this is fun to watch.”

“Isn’t that taking it a bit too far?”

“Just go away before things somehow get worse!”

“This never happened.”

“And who doesn’t like their name in lights?”

“That’s the incorrect reaction!”

“I smell an easy mark.”

“Well, I hate her.”

“It’s like demonic possession with the ones you love.”

“This is just like my favorite early 2000’s movie!”

“I’m so old… and pointy.”

“I’ve got some very confusing emotions right now.”

“My life’s not a joke! But yours is!”

“Novelty costumes are where I draw the line.”

“I am not above disrespecting my elders.”

“This vacation just took an alarming, back-alley turn.”

“Geez, I thought I’d like being babied. But I feel small and helpless, like some sort of baby.”

“Hey, take this, society!”

“I didn’t like her telling me what to do before, but now I love it!”

“Let’s go let out some teen angst!”

“This is how the cool kids ride. Super backwards, on purpose.”

“Your life is pretty terrible. But, hey, it’ll probably be over soon.”

“This is some of my best work, really captures the shame.”

“That’s sweet, kid. Now let’s never speak of this again.”

“Show, don’t tell, man.”

“Oh, look what you did. I’m gonna go rub it in.”

“That seems like a potential problem to me.”

“You being the razzle, I’ll bring the dazzle.”

“Do you always have confetti on you or—?”

“You’re just gonna be unhelpful, huh?”

“Okay, time to run for no particular reason!”

“Oof, I’ve had this nightmare before.”

“Like I’d actually apologize.”

“I want power, and I want drama.”

“Are you ready to give up?”

“I was afraid, I acted stupid.”

“I just wish you told me the truth.”

“You know, it didn’t taste as bad as I thought I would.”

“Impressive, still alive.”

“This is a throne worthy of a tyrant!”

“No, no, keep those sticky hands away.”

“No one wants to see that.”

“Since when are you into sports?”

“Gross, sympathy.”

“Don’t spend all night plotting revenge.”

“Oh, this is an interesting development.”

“I’ll take that weird grumble as a yes.”

“I’m feeling confident about this plan.”

“Trust must be earned.”

“If you run, you’ll just make it harder for yourself!”

“Your pride has destroyed you.”

“So tiny, so angry.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again.”

“If you ever want to search for the truth, I’ll help you.”

“Aww, that’s a horrible lie.”

“Partake of my free snack samples!”

“Why isn’t anyone paying attention to me?”

“A, eww. B, I’m bored. C, I feel like pickpocketing some dork while they browse.”

“I know my good angle.”

“Ugh, what are the basement dwellers doing out in natural sunlight?’

“Hey, there’s more to life than shipping.”

“___, I know you’re trying to help, but I think you’re crossing a line.”

“Ooh, I love punching.”

“You’re ominous, and I like it.”

“And of course you would be here just to be a nuisance.”

“I wanted to compare sunglasses.”

“Fame can really box you in, you know?”

“Besides, if anyone’s putting you down it’s gonna be me.”

“If it’s disappointing in any way I’ll spend the rest of my life trashing it.”

“He scammed us. Can you believe he scammed us?”

“Good entrance. But that outfit? Hah!”

“I’ve got a new crush and her name is education!”

“Ahh, fresh garbage.”

“I have never seen such an extravagant earring.”

“Wow, a surprisingly peaceful domestic moment. When will it be ruined?”

“Weaponizing my pride, well played.”

“Sorry, whoever’s over there!”

“Well, go on. Eat the snow.”

“Huh, it’s no fun if they don’t tremble.”

“Oh, okay, alright. Yup, an idea’s happening.”

“Shh! I don’t need your validation!”

“Get back here before that thing bites you!”

“No, we’re gonna die.”

“Cool. I didn’t actually think you could do it.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Alright, your adorable banter is literally making me sick.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.”

“Aww. I won’t be doing that, but thanks.”

“Quitting: it’s like trying, but easier.”

“You humans are filled with liquids, right?”

“I guess I have always liked pouring things into other things.”

“Time to scrounge through the trash.”

“I ain’t no desk jockey.”

“You don’t know diddly dang about squiddly squat!”

“I love secret rooms!”

“You have an aura of lies.”

“Also, you can eat trash.”

“Do the right thing, you dingus!”

“It just goes on like this for an hour.”

“Carnivals bring crowds and crowds bring suckers.”

“We’ve got scams to run.”

“I know poison when I see it.”

“You can’t scam a scammer.”

“You should really put a lock on your closet.”

“I love crimes!”

“Now this is my kind of weird.”

“That’s way safer than becoming blood brothers.”

“Beat up the man and steal his things for me.”

“This mama is ready for trauma.”

“All right. Approval!”

“Curse these stubby legs!”

“Sketchy carnival rides are not to blame this time.”

“___, you’re lucky I can’t be mad at your adorable antics.”

“Just when I thought I couldn’t respect the law any less…”

“Aww, what a supportive sign.”

“Yep, I just counted to one million.”

“Looks like we ruined his life for a second time.”

“I’ve always wanted to own a jagged piece of cheap metal.”

“Yes! Bread puns, bread puns forever!”

“Now I know what friendship tastes like.”

“I think today is a talons day.”

“It’s fun because it’s stupid.”

“I’ll admit, I was adorable.”

“Be careful with my brain.”

“Wouldn’t you rather talk about it?”

“That’s my motto after all, ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’”

“No schemes, no plots, no ruses. None.”

“I can’t believe I made him cry.”

“Are you solving a crime or about to commit one?”

“Sadly this is one problem crime can’t solve.”

“I’m supposed to choose someone interesting, accomplished, and noteworthy. People aren’t meant to be all those things!”

“Yup, her brain’s burned up real good.”

“Be still my fantasy-loving heart.”

“I’m pretty good at getting stuck inside people’s heads.”

“Hey, I found something magical.”

“I’ma put my face in it.”

“It’s like a little doghouse for angels.”

“If you’re handing out attention, I deserve it.”

“Eww, I mean, aww.”

“I really messed things up.”

“It’s eggs, it’s full of eggs.”

“No one turns down an interview with someone this pretty.”

“Me? Avoid? What? No. But let’s skip it.”

“There’s levels to me, kid. Levels I say!”

“Oh, right, I put people in there.”

“I’m gonna hug you so hard you’ll never forget me again!”

“I regret teaching you about the internet.”

“Ah, a severed hand. Perfect response.”

“Hmm, the demon at my shoulder makes a good point.”

“Always trust a shoulder demon.”

“The more I look at him, the more uncomfortable I get.”

“Man, you’ve got some quick grabbers.”

“I can’t wait to get overdressed, take awkward photos, push all the buttons!”

“We’re gonna turn this bloodbath into a fun bath.”

“Do you think I could pull off red eyeshadow?”

“Girl, you could pull off anything.”

“We’re style geniuses!”

“Ominous footsteps, creepy woods, this is no problem.”

“Dang, I look great.”

“___, you always go overboard and I end up bailing you out.”

“Now, what’s the fun in watching a kid get eaten by a monster if it’s my kid?”

“___, I don’t think you’re ready but we’re literally out of time.”

“Why so twitchy, witchy?”

“Teenagers are brutal. They’ll boo anyone and that kind of public humiliation will stick with you for life.”

“You look nice. Strange, but nice.”

“Honestly, I’m kind of amazed with how fearless you are.”

“You’ve done things I could never do.”

“Thing is, you’re sitting in my personal chitchat zone, which means you gotta talk.”

“I am a little weirdo.”

“You gotta pander.”

“Cheating a isn’t anything to brag about.”

“Well, can’t reason with crazy!”

“I’ve been talking for too long.”

“Feeling sentimental?”

“I love water.”

“I don’t know much about sports but I do know about sports movies.”

“What happens in the montage stays in the montage.”

“Not everything can be solved with a good attitude and a dope movie soundtrack.”

“Sorry, I just really love backstories.”

“You just destroyed your social life.”

“That’s such a stupid rule!”

“You’re not gonna show this to anyone, right?”

“I haven’t forgotten what you promised me.”

“Ahh, you’re a thorn in my side but you always dig your way into my heart.”

“Jeez, you’re morbid.”

“Ahh, it’s a fate much worse than death if you think about it.”

“Please don’t make me regret taking you here.”

“Love me a properly ventilated castle.”

“I spy with my little eye something coming this way!”

“I’m going away and I don’t know if I can come back this time.”

“And  ___, thank you, for being in my life.”

“I want her back as much as you do.”

“Don’t look at me like that, this is for your own good.”

“Ah farts, I got caught.”

“You understand, don’t you?”

“Please tell me that’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“To be great, you have to make sacrifices.”

“Ahh, ___, you chose the wrong side.”

“I like your spirit, but try that again and things won’t end well for you.”

“Go on, then. Go be a hero.”

“I may have lost but so have you.”

“I can teach you what I know, and what we don’t know we can learn together.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 301: All My Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: We learned that when a bunch of superpowered villains are suddenly set loose with nobody around to stop them, things get fucked pretty quickly. Old Man Samurai and a bunch of other useless people decided to make “I pretend I do not see it” their new mantra, and resigned. Endeavor had a moment of despair on account of being crushed by the guilt of having ruined the lives of himself, his family, and basically everyone else in the entire world. For various reasons the heretical notion of “person who has done bad things feels sorry for doing them” sent fandom spiraling into a meltdown, so that was fun. The chapter ended with the entire Todoroki clan descending upon Enji’s hospital room to have a dramatic chat about Touya and All That General Fuckery.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “here’s the story of how Baby Touya slowly went insane trying to win his father’s love.” It’s a tale full of subverted expectations and heartbreaking inevitability, and also like twenty panels of the cutest fucking kids who ever existed on planet earth, who are so fucking cute that I can’t stop thinking about their cuteness even with all of the horrifying family tragedy unfolding around them. It is absolutely ridiculous how cute they are. Touya is out here pushing his tiny body past its limits because he inherited the same obsession as his dad and neither of them can put it aside even though it’s destroying them, and yet all I can think about is Baby Shouto’s (。･o･｡) face. Anyways what a chapter.

so I have to confess that even though I managed to avoid being caught off-guard by the early leaks, the number of people reblogging my Endeavor posts from earlier this week and using the tag “bnha 301” kind of gave me an inkling that this chapter will include more Tododrama lol. that said, I don’t know anything else about it, so we’re still good spoiler-wise

AHHHHH FLAHSBAKC AHHHH. omg I know I typoed the shit out of that, but I’m just going to leave it lol I think it’s fitting

holy shit holy fuck. so this is Rei and Enji’s first meeting, then??

yepppp, oh shit

so wait, I know this is not even the slightest bit important, but are they meeting at Enji’s home or Rei’s? because I always figured that Enji was the one with the super-Japanese aesthetic, but maybe that was Rei’s side of the family all along

(ETA: from what I found during my very brief google search, omiai meetings are often held at fancy hotels or restaurants, so maybe that’s what this is.)

there’s such a period drama feel to this setting. like it’s so outrageously formal fff how can anyone stand this kind of atmosphere though seriously

OH THANK GOD

I mean they’re still stiff af but at least they’re not rigidly sitting in seiza and staring at each other unblinkingly anymore lol. Enji’s actually got his hands in his pockets now. why is this somehow almost cute

oh damn it’s the flowers

Rei seems so subdued and it’s so hard to get any idea of what she’s actually thinking. I want to see her side of this dammit

but anyway, so at least from Enji’s perspective it seems like even though the marriage was arranged and he picked her because of her quirk, he still loved his wife and wanted to do right by her. the fact that he was watching her and noticed that she liked the flowers, and remembered that detail for all these years -- there’s a reason why Horikoshi’s showing us this. we know what’s going to happen later on; we know how much fear and violence and breaking of trust is coming up ahead, and while it may seem like this scene is serving to soften Enji’s character further -- which to be fair it is -- it also helps drive home the full impact of his abuse. that it’s so terrible not only because of the trauma of the abuse itself, but also because of the way it retroactively destroys all of the good things as well. this could have potentially been such a sweet scene, but it’s inescapably tainted by the knowledge of what’s to come, at least for me. and that’s just brutal

anyways, shit. is the whole chapter going to be like this?? feel free to toss in something I can actually make a joke about sometime, Horikoshi

oop, back to the present

omfg lol

“are you all right” “NO I’M NOT ALL RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK.” “oh, right, because of all the stuff that’s happened with me abusing you and you having a mental breakdown and being hospitalized for ten years and then our son coming back to life and killing thirty people, right, right. I almost forgot.” whoops

omfg you guys I’m loving this new and improved steely-eyed Rei. I’m loving her a lot

and what do you mean “part one” fkjds how long is this going to be. TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR ONE CHAPTER TO HANDLE

oh, hello

yeah I’ll say you did. didn’t seem to bother you much at the time, though

HMMMMMMMMMMMM

Dabi Is A Noumu intensifies even further. anyways though would you fucking look at this boy lounging on this moth-eaten couch doing his best DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS impression wtf

Dabi what if you actually had killed him??? what would you feel?? satisfaction?? regret?? anything at all?? tell me your secrets goddammit

who are you talking to buddy

Fuyumi-chan, Natsu-kun (is it common for brothers to address each other as -kun?? can’t recall seeing that in many other anime, but hey), and “dot dot dot,,,,,, SHOUTO” lol thank you so much for this bountiful heaping of Tododrama Horikoshi we are blessed

AH, WHAT DID I SAY THE OTHER DAY

ULTIMATE MELODRAMATIC THEATER CHILD. “I’M JUST GOING TO LIE ON THIS COUCH SHIRTLESS AND ALONE AND MAKE SPEECHES TO MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO AREN’T THERE AND SAY THINGS LIKE ‘WATCH ME IN THE PITS OF HELL’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE BECAUSE NO ONE’S THERE TO JUDGE ME.” WELL JOKE’S ON YOU MISTER CHATTERBOX BECAUSE I AM IN FACT JUDGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LOL

(ETA: and on a more serious note, it’s interesting to see that “look at me”/”watch me” theme being used again though, because we see that same sentiment uttered repeatedly by the younger Touya in the flashback. well kid, you definitely got your wish at last. don’t know what else to say.)

OKAY HORIKOSHI HAS DECIDED THAT’S ENOUGH FUN, TIME FOR MORE FLASHBACKS

oh my sweet precious lord

just as cute as we left him. giving us a child this cute when we all know full well what’s going to happen to him is just unspeakably cruel though

HOMG

I’m fucking speechless. you broke me, congratulations. what am I even supposed to do with this

I can’t get over this. moving forward my life will be split into two distinct parts, B.P. (Before the Pout) and A.P. (After the Pout)

and meanwhile there’s ALL THIS BACKGROUND ANGST BUILDING UP, AND I CAN’T EVEN FOCUS ON IT. Touya’s arm and cheek are covered in bandages (I’m guessing this is shortly after that “ouch!” panel we got some chapters back), and Enji is deliberately avoiding training with him because he doesn’t want him to hurt himself further. I can’t fucking get over the irony that all this time everyone thought Touya had died because Enji pushed him too far in his training, and it turns out that it’s the opposite -- the tragedy ultimately happened because he didn’t want to push him. but I’m jumping ahead of myself though I guess

by the way,

remember this?? just wanted to remind you that it exists just in case you forgot

so now someone is talking and basically saying that Touya is the exact opposite of what Enji was hoping for when he decided to start playing with quirk genetics

-- okay hold up

...lol no, never mind. for a second I thought “holy shit he looks kind of familiar WHAT IF IT’S UJIKO OMG” before I remembered that Enji would have recognized him during the hospital capture mission if that was the case. so NEVER MIND, PROCEED

IMAGINE THAT, ENJI DOESN’T QUITE SEEM SATISFIED WITH THIS SUGGESTION OF QUITTING NOW

(ETA: how the fuck did this man go around saving 62 towns in a single day what even is All Might.)

[clicks tongue several times] trouble a’brewin’

MEANWHILE BABY TOUYA HAS UNFORTUNATELY INHERITED HIS DAD’S STUBBORN STREAK

KLDIHWOEIJFL:KSDJ

!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god. oh my god. what is this chapter. WHAT IS IT

so now Touya is all “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY MANLY DESIRE TO BURN MYSELF ALIVE” well you got her there champ

THEY’RE TOO CUTE. OH MY GOD. HIS FURIOUS LITTLE TEARS. HER CHUBBY LIL FACE. HIS STUBBY LIL FISTS. SOMEONE HELP ME

also are they just home alone lol or what. “hey Touya, you’re what, like six now?? do us a favor and look after your baby sister for a couple hours for us would you? make sure not to set yourself on fire or anything.” WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!!

now it’s nighttime and Enji and Rei are arguing, presumably about his decision not to train Touya anymore

whew. okay. so, a couple of things here

1. first of all I think this conclusively shows that Enji really was trying to do the best he could for Touya. he stopped training him as soon as he realized it was hurting him, but Touya was still determined so he tried to make it work anyway, and even visited doctors to try and figure out if there was anything they could do. then, once they were absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to work, he tried multiple times to explain to Touya why they had to stop. he didn’t just abandon him out of the blue, which is really important to note. “no matter how much I tried telling him...”

so yeah, that debunks another common fandom accusation. so by the time he finally makes this decision, which we all know is going to turn out horribly, it’s basically because he’s already tried everything else he could think of. which, by the way, still doesn’t mean he handled this right. but at the very least he was taking Touya’s feelings into account and he was trying, and he didn’t just abruptly toss his son aside (at least not yet)

2. buuuut, then there’s this panel right below all that

which is the other side of it. if he’d just quit like the doctor person advised him to, that would have been the end of it. Touya would still have been upset, but he would have eventually gotten over it and the family would have moved on and possibly even been happy. but what happens next happens because Enji can’t let go. he still has this maddening urge to surpass All Might, and so he and Rei keep having more children, and then Shouto is born, and Enji finally has a kid he can start projecting all of his hysterical ambitions onto once again, and everything starts spiraling out of control soon after

though p.s. none of that is Shouto’s fault though!! he’s one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess and I’m very happy that he exists. the tragedy is that his dad fucking lost his mind over his quirk and fucked everything up. but that’s on him, not Touya or Shouto

anyways, SLKFJLSHGLKJL

I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS YOU GUYS??? LOOK AT THAT LIL BUTTON OF A NOSE??? I’M LOSING IT HERE???

AND TOUYA JUST SEEMS DEVASTATED OMG

because children aren’t stupid, after all. he understands that his dad is still looking to surpass All Might. and so he feels like a failure, and feels like his dad is trying to replace him because he wasn’t good enough. and even now, isn’t that what the adult Touya is trying to prove?? that he was good enough after all?? “I’ll show you what happens when you give up on me, dad”?? “I’ll show you what I can do”?? fuck my life fuck everything

AND YOU CAN SEE THE TOLL THAT IT’S ALL TAKING ON REI GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS WELL OH GOD

really nice touch here with the panel outlines becoming all shimmery from the heat of Endeavor’s flames (and/or becoming more unstable as the family gets closer and closer to their breaking point). but man, Horikoshi I can’t handle this, please show us more cute kids or something I can’t

GKELKWFJLDKSHFLKL

WITTLE BABE. BEEB. BUBS. SMOL. lkj; oh ouch a piece of my heart just detached and latched onto him huh look at that

TODOROKI “I’M SO SMALL AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON AND I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE” SHOUTO AHHHHH

crazy how they all just seem to know right off the bat lol. kid doesn’t even have object permanence yet, let alone a quirk. but do they care?? IT’S THE HAIR, RIGHT. WE’RE ALL THINKING IT, I’M JUST GONNA COME OUT AND SAY IT. they knew the minute they looked at him lol

AND MEANWHILE TOUYA IS OFF HAVING UNSUPERVISED TRAINING/CRYING SESSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OR WHATEVER, AND, UH OH

are those blue flames yet?? they seem pretty close

(ETA: this is one of the few cases where the manga being in black and white is infuriating lol.)

OH MY GOD AND STILL

so it’s not like he was so disinterested that he didn’t notice what was happening, and he was still trying to stop it and get through to him. trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things he could do with his life, but this one particular thing just wasn’t going to happen

fucking hell. it’s agonizing seeing how close they actually were to fixing it. if he’d only said the right words, or if he’d realized at this point how destructive his obsession could be to his kids, and backed off from putting that same pressure on Shouto. we came so close to possibly having a happy ending

AND ALSO THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING BUT PLEASE LOOK AT HOW TOUYA IS LIKE THREE AND A HALF FEET TALL AND HIS DAD IS LIKE NINE AND A HALF FEET. Touya barely comes past his knees flkjlkg. the Todoroki household must have been so filled with like plastic stepstools to reach the bathroom sink and all the little baby toothbrushes, and baby gates to keep the kiddos out of the important grown-up rooms and stuff. and also days-old half-empty cups of water and stale crackers and hot wheels and my little ponies strewn everywhere

“BUT EVERYONE AT SCHOOL SAYS THEY’RE GONNA BE HEROES” a wild Deku parallel appears?? how bout that

I know this is like a pivotal moment in the Todo Tragedy and all, but fucking look at this lil dumpling

“sup bro, it’s me, the manifestation of your fears of inadequacy and lack of fatherly affections. a GAAA. ba-baAA-baa [gurgling baby sounds]”

OHHHHH IT’S THE SOUND OF MY HEART BREAKING OH NO

HE WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU ENJI. good lord somebody please just get this family some therapy

“DAD YOU IGNITED IT IN ME” flkjslkj nope, nope. not ready for this pain here

baby Shouto, would you like to weigh in on this affair? “DA!! ba-ga-daaa, [pacifier chewing noises]” oh my, you don’t say. so insightful for one so young

OH MY GODDDDDD

IT’S SO DRAMATIC BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE SHOUNEN WOOSH LINES SURROUNDING FOUR-MONTH-OLD SHOUTO LOL HE WAS LIKE THIS FROM BIRTH OH MY GOD I AM DYING HELP

SHOUTO YOU’RE RUINING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER!?!?!

“yo, the fuck kind of family was I fucking born into” oh, son. if you only knew. IF YOU ONLY KNEW!!

(ETA: lmao I got so distracted by the ridiculous cuteness that I glossed over the fact that Baby Touya seems to possibly be aiming at him?? it’s hard to tell because he’s also super out of it from heatstroke and may just be losing control in his attempt to show off his upgrade.)

ANYWAY THAT’S THE END EXCEPT WHAT’S THIS LAST LINE OMG

ffffff. and we’re in for ANOTHER chapter of this next week?? MORE drama?? MORE BABIES?? MORE OF EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TOUYA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO MADNESS. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT, BUT ALSO YES PLEASE SIGN ME UP

[ladylynse]

So I was reading your lucifer stuff when idea popped in my mind. What if lucifer and chloe are going on new case, The dead body is 14-15 years old black haired boy.

While they're trying to understand what heppend, Ella (after taking pictures ) walking around the place, searching for clues when suddenly the same dead boy ( but in opposite colors, white hair, green eyes...) showing up in front of her, floating, point at the body and says: "hey! You found my body! Now, can you move so I can please climb back inside?"

(she's the only one who can see him ofc. And lucifer, but he's busy with Chloe)

Honestly, this is a fun idea whether you take the weird episode as canon (ie Ella can see ghosts) or just canon-adjacent (ie the story she's writing with that plot is not drawing on personal experience).

If this is an Ella who regularly sees ghosts, then she'd probably try to shush him and explain--through his protests--that even if she had the power to clear the scene of all personnel, he couldn't just climb back into his body and expect to come back to life. It doesn't work like that. She's sorry, he's dead, and she'll try to help him cope with that somewhere that's not here, but there's no going back, so could he please just wait for her quietly until she can get away from all these people and talk to him in private?

Danny, who is absolutely Done with the whole situation, doesn't think this is terribly different from what happened with the Fenton Ghost Catcher in the past, even if his other half is lying on the ground instead of talking to him. Being dead has never been a big deal to him because he's always been able to go back. It doesn't click for him that maybe Ella's right, that maybe this time, he can't. So what if he has a weird memory gap about what happened? This has Vlad written all over it. He can figure this out.

If this isn't an Ella who is used to seeing things no one else can (since presumably she wouldn't have twigged to Lucifer's reaction if he hasn't actively disengaged from the conversation with Chloe to follow up yet, and perhaps he hasn't even noticed that she can see the ghost, because he'd know Danny was a ghost, and therefore didn't think there was any rush), it would take her longer to realize that no one else is reacting to this, and she wouldn't be able to hide her own reaction. Thankfully, no one else is really paying attention, too focused on the work at hand. But there's this.... Spirit. Ghost. Lost soul. Who hasn't moved on, gone on to what's next.

I mean. Yes. She's heard stories about ghosts. Everyone's heard stories about ghosts. And being the subject of a crime scene isn't exactly the definition of someone being able to rest peacefully. But this would freak her out, be enough to have her clutching her necklace and whispering a few prayers. She knows the biblical stories of people being raised from the dead, knows exactly that that is what this ghost thinks will happen if he just settles back into his body--because it's definitely the same boy, even if death has somehow shifted his colour scheme--and knows that this is a golden opportunity to get some insight as to what happened because she could ask the victim if she could just make her mouth form the words, but this is just....

This isn't supposed to happen to her.

And there's definitely no one here with what she'd call saintly power, no one who could help the boy in a way she can't. (Ella's ignorance as to Lucifer and family would continue for a while longer if I were writing this fic. After all, why should she question it even when she finds out he can see the boy, too? Lucifer made a vague comment about it being a family trait, and honestly, for all she knows, it does. She's not about to introduce a ghost to her family to find out if that's the case with her, too.) But he doesn't look like someone who wants to listen to her say encouraging words about having faith that whatever is coming next for him will be better than what he faced here on earth. He looks like he's five seconds away from flying through her and trying to go back into his body and is only not doing that because there are too many people around, too many questions that would be asked if that same body got up and started walking and talking like he clearly thought it would.

How can she convince him he'll just pass through it now, like he is everything else, without letting him try and face that disappointment? How can she prepare him for that disappointment, to cushion that blow? How are you supposed to tell someone they're dead?

Danny wouldn't be amused, arms crossed, waiting for her to start listening to him because she's the only one he's been able to get a reaction out of so far, even if he's pretty sure he caught someone else's eye earlier, too. That guy is definitely next if she doesn't help, but she looks like she has the certification to be here and Fancy Suit Guy doesn't even if they aren't ushering him away from the scene like they are everyone else, so she'd have more power than him. If only he can convince her to listen.

Sure, it's weird that no one else can see or hear him--he's not invisible, and even if he were invisible, he's not inaudible--but he can figure this out. It's probably not some weird new power; it's gotta be because of how he was split from his body. He doesn't know how that happened, exactly; he wouldn't have spent the last however long searching for his body if he did, and frankly he'd have expected to find himself searching for his other half instead of lying in the middle of a crime scene, but whatever, he'll figure this out and fix it.

(He'd become a little more worried once he realizes that he's apparently intangible even when he wants to be intangible. Which means he can't even contact Jazz to let her know she doesn't have to freak out, let alone put Sam and Tucker on the case to see if any ghosts know what's going on. And, oh, crud, what is he going to have to do to convince Ella to keep them from contacting his parents once they find out his identity? If he shows up at home after being declared dead, they'll try to kill him all over again--probably even if Jazz breaks down and tells them his secret, if only because they might not believe her without some sort of proof.)

Cue Ella working on this case as much unofficially as officially, with Danny's snarky comments and death glares at Lucifer because they somehow got off on the wrong foot. (It is entirely possible that Danny may be under the impression that Lucifer is not an angel but is very much possessed; red eyes are a sign of being overshadowed, after all, and Vlad would find a way to try to control this situation once he realized it had spiralled sideways on him, because of course it's Vlad even if he's not reacting to what should be some very pointed jabs. Who else would pick the guy in the expensive suit and not, y'know, the detective in charge of the case, solely because he's convinced he can manipulate her just as easily without having to overshadow her?)

(more like this | the other DP/Lucifer stuff)

[saphirered]

Hi welcome back! Hope you’re doing well. Random question b4 my request, bc I want to give back as thanks for the great writing: are you a coffee, tea, or hot chocolate/cocoa drinker? I prefer hot chocolate and sweet tea.

How would the m9 respond to an SO/friend with a kid? Where the reader is a single parent with a child of at most 10 years old. Thanks :)

- 🐋

This took a while to write so sorry for that 😅. I'm so glad you like my writing! I love writing for you lot. I'm definitely a hot cocoa person. I hope this one turned out to your liking 😘.

----------

Caleb:

You never hid the fact you had a child from Caleb, if anything you’re proud of them. Though, you do know in certain company it’s better to keep that fact a secret for safety reasons. Caleb understands that fully he respects and admires you always put your child’s best interests first.

This is why when you began getting more involved with Caleb you kept your child out of it and took a good amount of time before introducing them to the wizard. You didn’t want to set expectations for both sides and wanted to protect and preserve them both should what you and Caleb had going not work out after all.

It’s no surprise Caleb is good with children. He takes a gentle approach when it comes to all things good in this world to the point of almost being afraid to ‘ruin it’. You assured him many times he was in the clear and how could his heart not warm at the curiosity and search for knowledge your child was already displaying.

With your permission Caleb began teaching your child some things here and there. The theoretics of magic and eventually simple spells. The smile it brought to their faces while they worked couldn’t make you happier. Caleb definitely earned your child’s approval to stick around.

Beau:

At first Beau is surprised. She knows children come from somewhere of course. She’s not stupid but actually tying a child to their parent let alone being very close to that parent is a whole new story. Especially learning you raised your child on your own and seeing you want to provide what’s best for them definitely earns you her respect, not having a parent with the same motivation herself and all.

The day of introductions came along and as expected Beau is the most awkward, trying not to be a terrible influence and be on her best behaviour, makes her very much on edge. An perceptive child picking up on this awkward behaviour calling her out leaving her cursing like a sailor, then apologising for said curses, even less of a surprise. You had to assure her many times it was fine.

Beau makes a promise that no matter what, she’ll make sure you’ll be returning to your child and make sure they get the love and support they deserve. Growing up without loving parents is one thing. Growing up an orphan another. She’d do everything in her power to keep you safe.

It may have began with joking comments such as ‘finish your homework’ to ‘do the dishes’ and ‘be nice to your parent while I’m gone’ but it didn’t take long before Beau was helping them with their homework or cleaning dishes after you cooked.

Absolutely treats your child as someone capable of making decisions of their own and speaking for themselves. No baby voices or cooing like too many adults tend to do even to a child regardless of their age. Your child has thoughts and opinions of their own and for the love of all that is sacred, can speak for themselves. You’re glad Beau treats them with a sense of maturity.

Fjord:

Fjord may have done what can only be referred to as a spit take the moment you said you had a child. Clearly didn’t expect it but giving him time to recover and process he’d ask all sorts of questions. What are they like? What do they like? And of course the dreaded question about your partner.

Supportive Fjord for the win. After finding out you’re on your own he’d always have your back, checking in with you and making sure you’re doing alright amidst the stress of the world and raising a child in the mix of it all. He’d open up to you about his past and being raised without any kind of proper parental figure. What he wouldn’t have done to have someone like you around when it counted for him.

Introducing them went rather smoothly. Fjord is surprisingly good with children. While some might find him intimidating, he nearly melted when your child embraced him as a thank you for looking out for you. Fjord was happy to answer any and all questions your child asked.

Whenever you’d be swept away for a while having to leave your child in the care of your trusted ones, Fjord would tell your child to ‘have the wheel, sailor’ which they would return with a salute before biding you both goodbye. Fjord slowly transcended into a bit of a father role and none of you minded in the least. You were happy.

Veth:

When she spoke of her boy she left behind you pitied her. A child shouldn’t be without their family. They deserved to be loved and sheltered from the darkness of the world until they are ready. When you told her you had one of your own Veth really felt safe to confide in you with her worries and troubles. You bonded over it really, drowning out all the sad stories and struggles with fond memories of both your families. Sadly for you, that would only extend to you and your child, the memories of their other parent perhaps somewhat painful to share.

You wondered what it would be like if your children ever got to meet in person. Then the day came. Nicodranas really had a way of bringing families together didn’t it? First time may have been a bit strange, your child being fully aware of Veth’s need for a disguise with her son, played their part well. Both you and Veth may have wiped away some tears when Luc claimed your child their big sibling from now on, and you his third parent.

Work and life are a difficult combination for Veth. She wants nothing more than to be with Yeza and take care of her boy but as long as the world’s in peril and her other family needs her just as much if not more, she’ll have to leave them behind. Knowing that you and your child are with her husband and son when she can’t be eases her mind a lot and she’s forever grateful.

It goes unsaid that Veth’s time away from children and in the presence of adults, specifically the Mighty Nein may have left her a bit out of the routines of raising a child as shown by giving Luc and your child fireworks, promising them to teach them how to shoot a crossbow and more. You did have to hold her back a little with the help of Yeza and keep things a bit more contained for their safety, but mostly yours.

Jester:

Of course upon learning you’re raising your child all by yourself Jester goes onto a rant about how her and her mom were always alone and how Marion used to read stories to her and do you read stories to your child and do you sing to them and draw with them and give them hugs and cuddles after nightmares and… You have no idea how that girl doesn’t run out of breath.

Jester couldn’t be anyone but herself when meeting your child asking about their interests, do they like to draw and sing and dance and… You ran out of breath just listening to her talk and your child replying in similar fashion. Everything went quite well and the two of them got along. Jester would be singing them songs and teaching them how to draw resulting in many dick drawings randomly appearing in your books, notes and other places, followed by mischievous giggles.

Having bought your child a lovely green cloak and letting them pretend they’re the Traveler here to spread mischief and fun and leave behind many phallic shaped objects drawn and carved wherever possible sent you all in laughing fits but you swore you heard a more masculine chuckle and saw a green cloak fade into the shadows. Odd.

What only can be summed up as the combination between big sibling, fun wine cupcake aunt and mom, remained a constant in your life and you couldn’t be more thankful to have that ray of sunshine be there for all of you.

Caduceus:

Caduceus is very calm and collected about learning you have a child. Less of a response than perhaps anyone else perviously unknowing. “That’s nice.” He’d nod. You’d almost start thinking he may have been able to read it off you for some reason. He confirmed he was, the tired eyes, and the recovery of exasperation at times but sense of accomplishment and reward was a look he had seen from his own mother many times.

“You’re weird.” A stare down ensued. “You’re weird too.” Eyes sharpened. “I like you.” The ice broke and smiles followed. For a moment you were afraid that maybe your child wouldn’t like the odd firbolg and thinking about how you would keep friends and family separate but a wave of relief went over you knowing that all was well between the two most valuable people in your life.

You’d be handed a fresh cup of tea by your child, a plate of snacks by Caduceus, all too innocent smiles on their faces but all it took was a raised eyebrow from you to have them come clean about the kitchen being covered in soil from the two of them potting new plants, turning your home and garden in what can only be described as a greenhouse and rather ask for forgiveness than permission. You weren’t mad of course, but did make them clean the mess they made.

You’re still unsure whether or not it was a good or bad idea introducing your child to the extended Clay family as you got some insight in the chaotic prank wars between the siblings and all together sibling rivalry among some of them. It’s all fun and games of course but some moments you were glad you weren’t the one pelted with mud pies by Calliope or pushed into the spring by Calliope herself. Instead you could just enjoy Clarabelle’s bug collection with your child while laughing at the other’s being covered in mud and soaked to the bone.

Yasha:

Poor Yasha doesn’t recall much of a family. In reality she never really felt like she had one until the circus, and after them the Nein. When she saw you and your child together, the unconditional love you had for each other, she felt like she finally realised what she had been missing, and something she perhaps would never have. She learned the value of such a relationship.

Yasha has no idea how to interact with children at any level and by default tends to treat them as either adults, or cute animals. No in between. It took her some time to get the hang of it but you couldn’t deny both you and your child rather enjoyed the unconventional relationship.

The wastes and hardships of Xhorhas may force a child to grow up quickly in the tribes but that doesn’t mean children outside of those regions have to learn how to wield a sword and what bugs you can and cannot eat or how to best skin an animal before eating it… It took some convincing why that was not a necessary skill to learn at the tender age of ten.

You compromised with Yasha on the fighting in the end, persuaded by the woman and your child to allow her to teach them some fighting basics because someone’ has to have your back when Yasha’s not there. You did manage to hold them off on purchasing a sword perhaps too large for your child despite the ‘they’ll grow into it’ reasoning and instead settled on training equipment instead.

Mollymauk:

Oh Mollymauk, nothing surprises this one. He felt rather sorry for you going through the struggles of raising a child alone. He may not remember his own family but he’s traveled far and wide enough to know the hardships. He knows poor Toya and he admires you for being able to do what so many can’t or won’t.

It goes unsaid that Molly is perhaps the worst of influences when it comes to people but you’ve seen him interact with Toya before and know well enough he’s a kind and caring soul who wants only the best for those who can’t just yet fend for themselves. It’s a good foundation that leads to a better person. He jokingly claims himself proof of that through the carnival and him ‘being an absolute asshole’.

Molly’s soft side really does come out whenever he’s around your child. He doesn’t deliberately censor himself but tries to contain certain words and avoid certain subjects that should never be discussed around your child knowing you’d appreciate it and if he does let something slip and your child ask questions he’d gently explain it as certain things should definitely not be described in gory detail to someone of their age.

This circus man is not afraid to put on a show in any circumstance and will happily do so to cheer you or your child up whenever you’re feeling a bit down or overworked. Whether he’s making a fool of himself, giving you bogus card readings, juggle his swords or tell the most ridiculous stories ever he’d do it without a second thought because it brings you and your child joy. You’re part of his family and he’d go to hell and back again for you.

[britishassistant]

I'm curious: how did the rest of the villains find out that Crowley is Yuu's bio dad? Did Azul/Leviathan let it slip during the next villain's meeting (I have a feeling some also use it on occasion as an excuse to complain about certain heroes and it's one of the few times they don't fight/argue with each other) since Crowley only seemed to make that "don't tell anyone" threat to the twins? How would they have reacted to this revelation and how does Crowley either deal with it or twist it into his favor?

“I want to tell the other six.”

Azul stops and stares at the reporter. They keep walking, hugging their arms close to their body.

“A-are you serious?” He sputters.

“Yes.” They turn and fix him with a level stare. “It’d be better for them to just hear it from me straight, rather than if they find out during a more high stress situation where people could get hurt.”

“Of course, because there’s no way the situation wouldn’t get out of hand once those guys hear about this.” Azul mutters sourly, walking so he’s alongside them. “It’ll go just as smoothly as one of our League picnics.”

He accepts the gentle nudge to the side that earns him as they continue their journey to the exit.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell any heroes, the civilians, or Great Seven forbid, my boss’s boss. I’m not stupid.” The reporter looks down at their shoes. “It’s just. Better for them to hear it from me than to hear it from him.”

“From hi—?” Oh, they have to be joking. “Yuu. You can’t be suggesting that you’re willing to expose a secret of this magnitude to the people who could view you as a rival to their ultimate ambitions so recklessly, just because you dislike Crowley-sama.”

The reporter’s expression twists. “It’s not just ‘dislike’. Besides, do you know what he’s probably doing to Jade and Floyd right now?”

He shoots them a suspicious glance. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“The stupid bird’ll be finding a way to twist this whole thing into a way for him to blackmail you, rather than the other way round.” Their steps become more akin to stomping, shoulders rounding as they hunch in on themself. “That’s what he always does. It’ll never be his fault, never his problem, he’s just soooo kind and sooo gracious, it’s always your fault for daring to try and make something of yourself outside of his plans for you, you’re the selfish one, you’re the ungrateful one, you’re the self-destructive one, exposing yourself to all those dangerous supervillains that he’s just trying to protect you from!”

Azul can only blink in befuddlement as Yuu exhales harshly at the end of their rant. The reporter must catch sight of his expression, because they sigh and begin again in a slightly calmer tone of voice.

“That’s one of the things the old bird tried to use to control me, you know. After he met me for the first time in twenty-two years.” Yuu scoffs, bitterly. “He claimed that you all were guaranteed to find out about me and kill me, or worse, to take my place as his successor. That is, unless I abandoned everything I loved and worked for to go ‘live’ under his protection and ‘defend my birthright’, as he put it.”

Azul’s mouth works silently for a moment.

He wants to deny it vehemently, to sputter at the sheer audacity of Crowley to think that Azul could do such a thing to Yuu—

Except, whispers a small part of his brain, would you have really been so kind, back when all you knew of Yuu was that they were a cute reporter who poked their nose into supervillain business? If you knew that cute, nosy reporter could be a threat to your ambitions back then, can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done your best to get them out of your way by any means necessary?

He doesn’t like the answer.

So Azul just swallows to try and find his voice again. “He...he may have a point, you know. With some of the others. Maybe not all, but. Some.”

“I know.” The reporter keeps rubbing their arms, like they’re cold. “But hey, at least it’ll beat the suspense of waiting to find out!”

Azul blinks, trying to digest that sentence and the false cheer that accompanied it as they near their destination.

“You’ve—you’ve been scared of that all this time, haven’t you?” He mutters, as they stop in front of the door to the outside. “Whenever you got kidnapped.”

The reporter lets out a suspiciously wet sounding laugh, dabbing at their eyes with the sleeve of their jacket. “It was worst with my first kidnapping by Royal Flush, back when all this started, because I had no idea what he wanted from me. At least when I got into snooping around on everyone else’s schemes later on, I knew you guys’d be more likely to kidnap me for that rather than anything else.”

Azul massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He thinks he can practically feel his blood pressure rising. “I thought you were supposed to be the stable one out of all of us.”

That actually gets him a real, honest laugh. “With how little sleep I get? Azul, please.”

They linger at the door for a while, until they hear a car pull up outside and honk it’s horn.

“You’re really going through with this?” He asks them, resigned.

The reporter swallows, hands trembling slightly, but nod, resolute. “Yes. It’s the best option for everyone here.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.” He grumbles. “Just. Promise me. Promise me you’ll tell me when and where you plan to do this.”

Yuu blinks. “Why wouldn’t I? I was planning on asking you, Jade and Floyd to come with me anyway.”

“I won’t accept you being stubborn over this, I’ll draw up a contract if I have—” Wait, hold on, what had they just said? “What–but–why–what??”

“Well, you haven’t exactly being trying to make a contract with me so that you can become the heir instead, or murder me for it on the way out.” Yuu glances up at him, almost...shyly? “I figured that meant I could trust you, at least.”

Oh Great Seven, please don’t let his heart explode from this. It’s pounding so fast in his chest it feels like it might.

“A t-terrible decision really.” He hears himself say, and wants to bang his head against the wall the moment the words are out of his mouth.

Yuu laughs again, almost gently. “Well, I am known for making those. I think I can live with this one.”

And on that bombshell, the reporter slips out of the lair’s door and into the taxi that will hopefully see them safely home.

Azul watches the car pull away, and then closes the door. He turns around and goes to find the first pair of minions he can, ordering them to tail the car and call him immediately if any of the other six supervillains show signs of trying to stage a kidnapping en route.

Azul then strides further into the lair, mind whirling with all the favors he can call in and strings that he can pull.

If he’s going to be ensuring that his naive little reporter is able to go through with this insane plan safely, then he needs to be prepared to be able to defend them against the six potential threats they’ll be up against.