#I don’t know how to express this properly without phrasing it wrong.

[insaneillusionist]

I sometimes feel like I’m only doing good things for Good Person™ Points, and have to remind myself that even if I am doing good h things to make myself feel like I’m a better person than I see myself as, I am still doing good things. My good action is not negated by me doing it to better my self-esteem, or for some other reason. You have still taken the time to do something nice when you could have just done nothing.

[xuterboo]

Kings of Hell and your illness. Their concern is for you. Part 2 ☕💊🛌

Part 1

Beelzebub:

By some lucky chance, he still ended up in his kingdom.

You met him at the threshold of the castle and immediately sneezed. Beelzebub suspected something was wrong. You had a blush on your cheeks and walked a little sluggishly. Without saying another word, he comes over and kisses you straight on the forehead

Yes, just as he thought. Heat. Grabbing you by the shoulder, with a cheerful smile, Belzebub drags you into the castle. But he leads you not to the bedroom, but to the kitchen. .

There he sits you down at the table, and starting to cook something simple but very tasty, the King of Gluttony says that there is no better medicine in the world than food. It gives strength to the body, especially the human body. It is so? Therefore, before you rest, you need to eat nutritiously and healthy!

The food was prepared quickly. Despite the strange Hellish dishes, or at least their strange appearance for you personally, the soup turned out to be deliciously delicious. Having eaten, you began to feel lighter, and Beelzebub dragged you to the bedroom.

Placed in a random room, Beelzebub will cuddle with you while you fall asleep and actually sleep. Inhaling your scent, holding your jelly-like body in his palms, Beelzebub wants there to be more moments like this

Part of the dialogue:

Bael: Damn... Why did you promise to come today, but now you don’t answer?? Have you put your phone on silent again? I hope he didn't forget about his promise...

«He angrily walks past the open door and suddenly stops, noticing a familiar bright spot out of the corner of his eye. Walking into the room, Bael's eyebrows rise. He sees Belzebub and MC sleeping peacefully on the bed. Sighing heavily, he smiles, closing the door»

Bael: Well... I'm glad he's here

Bonus: (I can't help but add this)

«Belzebub feeds you his own soup. Straight from the spoon, like a baby. MC expresses slight dissatisfaction because of this»

Beelzebub: Okay then. Take a spoon for mom, for dad...-

Beelzebub: A. Fuck

MC: Yeah, this is very fucking funny..

Lucifer:

It’s strange that you got sick, because in the Lost Paradise they provided you with proper preventive care and tempered you, among other things. But nothing can be done.

Seeing your condition, Licifer (who is probably well versed in medicine(?) seems like he should), I immediately understood the cause of my illness and sent you to rest. Buer and Marbas take care of your health. Lucifer silently watches this on the sidelines. He trusts his loved ones, so he doesn’t worry about you.

You would listen to his stories from the past, or terrible tales of hell that would hardly be read to human children. You listen to his gentle voice. He is so wonderful that he lulls you to sleep. Lucifer, although he does not know how to properly show his emotions, but he shows it well in caring. If he didn't care, he wouldn't do all this. I wouldn’t call you affectionately “Kid”, I wouldn’t stroke your head when you were about to fall asleep, smiling slightly. Looking at your closed eyes, Lucifer is glad that you are recovering quickly.

Part of the dialogue:

«Lucifer strokes MC's head, smiling slightly. This smile is noticeable, but makes you feel inspired. Buer, standing nearby, smiles, feeling happy for his king»

Lucifer: Well... You'll hear a better story

Suddenly the door opens and Gamigin bursts into the room, holding tangerines in his hands»

Gamigin: MC, are you sick??

Buer: Shhhh!!!

Gamigin: Oh, oh.. sorry..

Belphegor:

He didn't even know that you were sick until he found out from Gusion, who accidentally turned the phrase "I have to go to MC and ask how he/she is feeling". After that, Belphegor was silent for a minute, and then, half asleep, he asked, “What about MC?”

Upon learning that you are not feeling well, Belphegor will order you to be brought to his room immediately. It was unexpected. But as you sat on his bed, Belphegor sluggishly opened his eyes. Looking at you, he blinked a couple of times, and then called you over. Suddenly he pulls you into his arms. He sits half-sitting, and you lie on his friend. Your body is burning due to the temperature, which is why his body seems so cool.

You involuntarily reach out to him and soon you fall asleep in his arms. You and him will only be there for important matters. For you, these are medicines and food and water, but for Belphegor, important political matters. The remaining time you spend almost in one position. Long rest helped you recover.

Part of the dialogue (situation):

«MC lies in an embrace with Belphegor.Harumon sat comfortably somewhere next to them. He purred quietly, creating an even warmer atmosphere. They are both drooling over their 200th dream. Beleth cannot resist taking a photo of this beautiful scene. He sends the photo to the nobility. Someone was touched, but someone (Gusion) didn’t even answer because he was working»

That's all! I went to bed because after this ton of water my brain became like jelly.

It's my opinion. Thanks for reading!

[yuurei20]

I've noticed Epel keeps adding 'kana' to the end of his sentences. What does it mean?

Hello hello! Thank you so, so much for this question, I have always wanted to mention this.

“Kana” can be a multitude of things in English, such as “probably,” “I guess,” “I think,” “I wonder,” etc. A basic explanation would be, “a word used to express uncertainty,” but like most things when it comes to language, that is not the only thing it does.

A quick review of Epel: from his first day at NRC he has been under order from Vil to “speak more politely,” as he tends to use informal speech with his senpai.

As you point out, Epel often adds “kana” to what he is saying, and that is because one of the things that it can do is ‘soften’ something that you’re saying in order to make it sound less direct, and thus more polite.

Examples: Epel telling Kalim that his assumption is wrong, telling Vil that he disagrees with him, saying that his Phantom Bride look is weird, etc., these are all sentences that he is awkwardly gentling via “kana,” often after several ellipses or a comma, as though it is not a part of his normal speech pattern.

This gets into cultural differences: When Ace assumes that Epel is dedicated to a certain brand of apple juice, for example, an English-speaking Epel could probably respond, “That’s not actually the case!,” without sounding rude. But that could be interpreted as a little brusque in Japanese.

In order to soften the expression Epel adds “kana” at the end, which sounds more like, “That might not be the case,” “I’m not sure that is exactly what is going on,” etc., in English.

Even though he knows for 100% certainty that he is not actually dedicated to a certain brand of juice, he is still using “kana” in order to not sound too straightforward.

(screenshot from maggiesensei.com)

(This can and does cause issues when moving in between languages: a Japanese learner who only knows that “kana” means “I think” might not add it onto sentences where they are certain about something, and thus risk annoying their Japanese-speaking colleagues, for example. In contrast, an English learner may say “I think” too often, leading their English-speaking colleagues to wonder why they don’t seem to actually know anything. It’s all part of the joy of language and culture!)

While there are several words in Japanese that can be used to soften your phrasing, Epel seems to have latched onto “kana” in particular, possibly because it is an easy word to add on to the last part of what might otherwise be a rude sentence in an attempt to avoid a reprimand from Vil. 

Other times Epel will belatedly add “desu” onto his sentences, also in a bid to sound more polite than he is used to speaking. 

If you are a language learner I would not recommend using Epel as an example of when to use “kana,” as he will sometimes shoehorn it into places in an unnatural way (as a part of his character).

EN is doing its best to recreate Epel’s “kana” by including things like “kind of,” “not sure” and “maybe” in his dialogue, but as sounding uncertain doesn’t necessarily mean you sound polite in English, this may not be having the same effect. And I have no idea how they would go about recreating this habit of Epel’s in a way that can properly portray what is happening in English—it might just be one of those things that gets lost in translation :<

Bonus: The Japanese language has four different alphabets (kanji, katakana, hiragana, romaji), and katakana is the alphabet used for foreign loanwords. 

Whereas other characters who use honorifics have “-kun” and “-san” written in hiragana in their dialogue, Epel’s dialogue uses katakana. This is possibly meant to symbolize how using honorifics in these situations is foreign to him, and he is not used to it.

(When he does shift into using honorifics in hiragana, it is only when he is talking to people from his own village: people he is used to!)

[joemuggs]

ESCAPE THE CRINGE

I first wrote this piece for an art mag at the start of the year but they dicked me about over rewrites so much - and I mean really dicking about, like radio silence for three weeks then suddenly demanding changes for the next day - that for the first time in my life I actually pulled a piece. A couple of other outlets were up for it, but needed further alteration to fit house style... With so much going on I let it slide and let it slide, and now it's been so long I just feel like shoving it out there. It still feels relevant (maybe more so now that we're seeing an increasing public collapse of some of the most high profile demagogue scammers, albeit with new hydra heads quickly replacing them), and I'd rather have people see it and maybe feed back, rather than wrangle over it any further. So without further preamble, here's some thoughts about one of the defining reactions of our time and how to get away from it.

👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

We live in a time when groupthink and echo chambers are everywhere, where ingroup radicalisation, cult-like behaviours and submission to scammers and demagogues seem to be defining patterns of the era. Blame for these things is often laid at the feet of algorithms, of politicians, of capital - in many cases rightly so - but we all individually play the game too. We build the walls of our own cultural gated communities, with tweets and artworks and individual choices about where to go and what to say, and the more we do so the more those spaces that we force ourselves – and others – into become more or less gilded prisons. We all think we’re hip to something, and end up orbiting that something endlessly.

The first rule of hip club is you don’t talk about hip club. That is: if you’re serious about your aesthetic nowadays, you do your very best to not acknowledge that it even is an aesthetic – let alone identify its rules and delineations. Now, of course this doesn’t go for everyone: there are still anime cosplayers, emo kids and others who still gauchely adhere to the overt “style tribe” late 20th century ways of belonging. But these are exceptions that prove the rule. Far more often the things that make us “us”, that hold us together, are still based on taste - but these tastes that provide us with a sense of belonging are signalled covertly. They’re signalled not by discussing, or even necessarily knowing, what preferences make you belong among Your People, but rigidly enforcing the ingroup-outgroup divide with reactions against The Others’ tastes: through a set of real or figurative winces, grimaces and cringes. 

Oh yes, the cringe. That most visceral response, often deployed simply as a single word sentence by the Terminally Online, the argument ender to end all argument enders: just “cringe”. It’s noun, verb and adjective all rolled together into a gut level rejection, and it’s a dead giveaway that so, so many parts of The Discourse - as people solipsistically have it - is based way more on aesthetics than it is on any kind of coherent set of positions. That is, it’s less about showing revulsion at ideas, than about the fact that they’re expressed gauchely or clumsily or simply with the wrong slang. It’s a social cue, a nod to one’s fellows, to acknowledge shared good taste in memes, phrases and cadences, which one’s interlocutor has unforgivably failed to engage properly with. 

This kind of of us-and-them cringe-signalling operates in various ways across society, but perhaps the most fundamental dichotomy is basic vs hip, or normie vs hip. This in itself is framed in a variety of ways, but a super simplified version might run like this: influencer culture, sincere slogans, Will Ferrell and The Office memes, Goop wellness, "Fiat 500 Twitter" on one side - and shitposting, pursuit of the latest zero-caps punctuational microvariant, everything intellectualised but ironised, the moods formerly known as “based” and "dank" on the other. The former sees the latter as smug, pretentious, nonsensical, messy while in the other direction the hip cast the basics as conservative, simplistic, unimaginative, conformist. Each cringes at the other, each considers the other fundamentally in bad taste.

And these dichotomies are held in place firmly by the material interests of vested powers. So to keep with our sample duality, on the basic side, there are the affirmatory or aspirational solution-havers, the Matt Haigs and Johann Haris, Rupi Kaurs and Molly Maes, while on the hip side there’s the Somethingawful-to-Vice-to-Broadsheet ironymonger pipeline and the Politics Podcast Industrial Complex embodied in people called things like “PissPigGrandad”. Each relies on hate and fear of the other to provide a steady stream of attention and income to those who shore up their own self-image, who normalise an way of being, who provide just enough answers to make people feel like they’re on the right track, but not so many that they won’t keep coming back for more. Yet each is, of course, built on a lie. 

The basic think they are commonsensical and unpretentious, but actually adhere to byzantine aesthetic and political codes of belonging. The hip think they are switched on, fast moving and progressive but in fact their gatekeeping is deeply conservative: the solipsism of believing an echo chamber is “The Discourse”, no matter how ironically you try to couch that, is all about normalising enormously limited race, age, nationality and class boundaries around what is acceptable. Both are co-dependent false divisions of ideas and people made to shore up power structures and the interests of the privileged, and both are built on aesthetics above all else. Each is, in its own way, an insistence of good taste.

Once you see this, you see it everywhere. There are so many versions of this mutually exclusionary duality. Sometimes they’ll manifest as ostensible generational, regional or professional divides, sometimes as scene or faction schisms (and note well, political factions have more in common with musical, fashion or social scenes than anyone within them would ever care to admit). Each time, if you look, you’ll find that they are defined more by aesthetics than ethics: by those assemblages of catchphrases, by certain quirks of timing and emphasis. Whether it’s Dawkins and Harris quoting facts-and-reason guys defining themselves against what they think of as a feminised, emotion-driven mushiness in the barbaric masses, or underground music fans against the flash and spectacle of EDM, or vintage specs wearing postgrad ketamine-leftist cliques against “shitlib centrists”, or crypto-bros against anyone who doesn’t have a wallet, all too often the sense of self is generated by what one is NOT. 

And each time if you dig into what is happening in these oppositions, you’ll find someone benefitting in real, material terms: spokespeople, figureheads, demagogues, people whose theories or slogans are rallying points for believers and who rely on those believers for speaking engagements, podcast and newsletter subscriptions, NFT sales, academic tenure, political appointments, newspaper columns. There is a whole egosystem of commentariat and metacommentariat whose job appears to make bogeymen of one another, yet who one all too often finds in the upper echelons are on perfectly friendly terms when they run into one another in green rooms of media recordings, backstage at literary festivals or in the offices of the agents that they share. This last location not picked idly, n.b.: one of the UK’s loudest hip-left commentators of the past decade shares a literary agent with a leading hip-right provocateur and an old-school hard-right rabble rouser: they are very literally all in it together.

All of this, it really bears repeating, is built on lies, and further, is built on consciously or unconsciously deliberate obscuring of the truth, in order to support these power structures. If ever you see an argument that’s built around one of these abstracted dualities - pop vs underground, modernist vs traditional, respectable vs transgressive, health vs pleasure, decadence vs morality, rationalism vs “the blob”, take your pick - you can be sure that not only is there someone making cultural or actual capital out of it, but that they are muddying waters to make it more difficult to make out the connections, genealogies and human realities underlying what is being discussed. An appeal to take a side in one of these, ultimately aesthetic, judgements – an appeal to show good taste – is an appeal to feel the cringe instead of analysing what one is cringing at. It’s an appeal against scholarship.

Which is why we must, with extreme prejudice, abolish the concept of good taste. “In principle,” said the DJ and dance music producer Chrissy in 2020, “I think the idea of good taste is classist and racist! Usually whatever's considered good taste is what the most powerful or most educated or wealthiest people feel comfortable yelling about, and the ones out of them that can yell loudest and most eloquently about it, as a society we call that good taste.” And he is entirely right. No matter how you define “good taste”, you are defining it as a power relation, an exclusionary tool, a way to deride. 

Which is not to say that taste and discernment don’t and shouldn’t exist – but they exist in the sense that scholarship exists. Not ivory tower, status-accrued-by-citations scholarship, but scholarship as in demonstration of knowledge accumulated and the practice of accumulating it. The kind of scholarship that’s as likely – or perhaps more likely – to be exhibited by autodidacts as celebrity professors. You can’t judge scholarship according to winces, grimaces and cringes, you have to take it on according to what it is actually saying about its subjects and objects: and so with taste. Someone’s taste should impress precisely to the degree that they demonstrate that they know and care about the objects of their affection, not for its adherence to a social code imposed by vested interests. 

Maybe there are reasons to hope. The early years of this century were formed by information glut, by seemingly all of cultural history being available all at once. Many thought this would lead to cultural paralysis, a dissipation into undifferentiated “conent”, and a death of innovation – and certainly it can be seen to have driven a retreat into reactive and reactionary positions. When bold statement of preference and belonging is made difficult by the baffling array of choice, covertly coded taste bubbles are an inevitable outcome. But two things abode. 

Firstly, those genuine old-school style tribes, from cosplayers to grime lovers, who grew up together over years, put in the time together, and truly and positively identified with what they do, and the real spatio-temporal existence of what they do, in defiance of the grimaces of others. Second, the rise in value of curation. It’s a word often derided because of its ubiquity in marketing speech, and mocked because “everyone’s a curator” (or “everyone’s a DJ”) nowadays. But curation at its best is precisely the kind of pride in scholarship and individual ability to map connections across the information ocean, that can short circuit the demands of good taste. 

It’s available to all, it can be expressed easily – as punks did with paper fanzines and grime lovers with phone-shot video – and it is by its nature collaborative, sharing, and dependent on positive choices. There ARE glimmers of hope that Generation Z are more able to think in a curatorial way than their predecessors, to cut and paste the always-on data glut of past culture into something more actively expressed than reactively defined – something that can engender a sense of belonging without the need for those gut level micro-rejections of The Other to define itself. And if that is the case, then maybe, just maybe, they can demonstrate new ways to escape the cringe.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

just a thoufht, u know how u sometimes see Jamil misspelt as Jalim??? Imagine the Octatrio just constantly doing mispelling/(mis?)calling his name on purpose jsut to annoy himlol (And bet it burns too, for it to sound so close to Kalim...What? Can't even b his own person? Is his image so tied with Kalim's that Kalim's superceeds his??) Hmm niw that I think about it, this has good angst potential:D

Personally, I don’t believe Octavinelle would purposefully call Jamil the wrong name 💦 (especially after the events of chapter 4). Floyd already has a sea creature-based nicknaming system for his peers, whereas Jade and Azul are more polite with their phrasing (both of them refer to their classmates with the honorific “-san”, roughly meaning “dear” or “honorable”). There’s a certain professional demeanor they maintain, and it feels... I don’t know, too juvenile even for Floyd, the most fickle of the trio, to do something as low as purposefully screwing up a classmate’s identity (especially when they later discover the very reason for Jamil’s scheming and eventual Overblot). I think it would be more likely that they would annoy Jamil in other ways. For example, I can definitely see Jade reciting OB Jamil’s lines back to him or using more subtle tactics (because only a select group of people understand the context for it). Floyd can get on Jamil’s nerves just by fucking off and not agreeing to listen to him, or generally misbehaving.

It’s specifically difficult for me to think of Azul as calling Jamil by the wrong name. Azul prides himself on his public “image”, which plays heavily into how he dresses and presents himself to others. It would damage his reputation of professionalism if Jamil (or other people) started circulating rumors that “Azul calls his classmates/clients by the wrong name”, so it’s safer for him and his business if he avoids if altogether. Moreover, I think Azul has genuine respect and admiration for Jamil, even if he is slimy about how he expresses it (it reminds of of those generic evil villain speeches where the Big Bad tries to convince the Good Guy to join him so they can rule the world together). All the NRC boys are pretty emotionally constipated but to me, the ending of chapter 4 demonstrates Azul attempting to “reach out” to Jamil. I’m not saying Azul has no ulterior motives in doing this, but he seems to feel a sort of kinship with Jamil (their strengths, their backgrounds) and probably wants him as an ally instead of as an enemy (seeing as what his UM is). It’s in Azul’s best interests to stay on Jamil’s good side—but if he were to annoy Jamil, I believe his methods would be similar to Jade’s.

In conclusion, while the Octatrio can be cruel, I also think they would have enough tact to address others properly (or, in Floyd’s case, in his own way).

On that note, I do think that people mixing Jamil’s name up with Kalim’s would irritate him. (Ironically, I’m pretty sure the early international TWST fandom made that mistake a LOT... but to be fair, people were also calling Kalim “Kamil” just as often.) Jamil’s whole conflict in chapter 4 is to “be free”, and he claims that can’t happen “as long as Kalim exists”, because Kalim represents the very institution he despises: a society that holds him down and tells him what he can and can’t do, just to save face to others. If he can’t act on his own, can’t he at least have his own name? His own identity? Can’t he have this one thing that’s just for him, and him alone? Without Kalim seeping in and ruining it for him? I can see why it might make for a interesting character study/angst, but I would also caution that it could fall down the slippery slope of “foreign names get misspoken or mistaken” 💦

Fun fact, the official TWST localization actually made a mistake on Kalim’s name in Jamil’s School Uniform vignette (though it has been corrected in a recent patch):

[wrenhyperfixates]

Milkshakes

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Overwhelmed when Loki saves you, you respond to his kindness with fear. Determined to apologize, you seek Loki out to thank him with a couple of milkshakes and some fries. Warnings: a tad angsty but much fluff A/N: This is actually one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. Hope you all enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart​ @marvelouslovely​

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

Of course it had to be during your lunch break that a supervillain attacked the city. Of course today you decided to go out to eat instead of packing something. And, of course you had to be walking by the building right as it crumbled. You started praying to any god that there may be to save you from being crushed. Though, you hadn’t actually expected one to save you.

In the moments before you would have been flattened, Loki put an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. Raising his free hand, a glimmering green force field appeared around you. The falling matter bounced off of it and landed around you, the shield offering strong protection. Of course you were thankful to be rescued, but did have to be Loki? You knew he was supposedly reformed, but so many news outlets still ran stories about how he was dangerous. A ticking time bomb. You’d never quite formed an opinion on him, and it was causing great conflict in you now. On the one hand, he looked very intimidating from this close, what with his impressive stature and horned helmet and all. But on the other, he was saving you from the actual super villain destroying the city. Perhaps if there wasn’t so much going on, you could think more clearly. Alas, your thoughts were a messy, confused jumble, leaving you fearful of the super-powered god in front of you.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his deep, smooth accent as the shield shimmered away into nothing. The god brought his arm to shield your eyes from the small pieces of debris still falling, the other one still around your waist in a protective manner. “Are you injured at all?

“I, um, uh, I- I,” you stammered, backing up. “Mhm. All good. Uhhh, thanks.”

You were certain you must be the most awkward person in history, but instead of making fun of you, Loki just looked sad. Even with the hurt behind his eyes, his arms shot out to catch you when you stumbled over the wreckage. He guided you away from the obstacles to a place where you could walk unhindered. He moved back from you as soon as he’d finished escorting you.

“You are welcome,” he finally responded. “I am sorry for frightening you. You should get somewhere safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left to rejoin the battle. You started retreating from the scene, steering as clear of any large structures as you could, cursing yourself the whole time. Loki had saved you, and you’d been afraid of him. What kind of nonsense was that? And you were certain he got that kind of reaction all the time, based on the way he’d looked at you and realized your bumbling actions were a result of fear. Fear of him after he’d so carefully and gently saved you.

You felt stupid and petty as you joined a throng of people being guided away from the scene. After nearly two years of working to protect the city, Loki should have gotten more praise and love than he did. You realized it now, only moments too late. Someone should tell him he was appreciated, a hero. And if no one else was going to do it, you resolved to do it yourself.

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

The meeting was dreadfully boring, but someone had to go. Seeing as all the other Avengers were busy, that someone was Loki. Besides, Stark had told him it would be good for his image to head up the restoration of the city this time round. The committee and resources were all a part of Stark Industries, of course, so Loki felt there should be some employee to take care of it instead of him. But whatever, he’d been roped into it now, and he figured that there was some merit to what Tony has said about his reputation.

Luckily, with a week having passed since the battle, great headway had been made with the repairs, and the meeting was much shorter than expected. Itching to get outside, Loki headed to the main doors.

“You don’t understand,” Loki heard someone say to the receptionist as he approached the front desk. “He saved me the other day. I have to thank him. Please?”

Loki just rolled his eyes as he pushed through the turnstile. He couldn’t even begin to count how many fans had tried this tactic to meet their favorite Avengers. Granted, no one had ever tried to see him, but he was coming to terms with it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder which of his colleagues you were trying to get through to see. Perhaps Steve, or maybe even Thor. Loki was so lost in thought it barely even registered when the voice switched from pleading with the receptionist to calling after him.  

He turned and stopped, recognizing the person jogging after him as you, who he remembered from the battle. “May I help you?” he asked in the most pleasant tone he could manage.

“Yeah. Uh, hi. I don’t know if you remember, but you saved me the other day,” you explained sheepishly. “You know, during the attack.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“Oh! Good. I just wanted to say thank you for that. For saving me, I mean. And the city.”

“I see,” the god replied, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “Well then, you are welcome. Really, I was just doing my job, though.”

“Well, I still appreciate it.” There was a lapse in the conversation, as neither of you were really sure what to say next. “Can we go somewhere? Like for coffee or something. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Oddly enough, that made Loki distrust the situation even more. Ok, maybe you were actually a super nice person who had a guilty conscience for making him feel bad, and maybe that prompted you to come thank him properly. But that you wanted to buy him something, presumably to show your newfound appreciation? Absolutely preposterous. The only people who ever did something remotely as kind as that were his fellow Avengers, and not even all of them or particularly often. Any of the other people who openly supported him didn’t show appreciation, per se. It was more that they felt he’d done enough to redeem himself at this point, which wasn’t exactly the most thrilling phrasing either. But here you were, awkwardly shuffling your feet and asking to buy him coffee. Loki supposed he shouldn’t pass such an opportunity up. And yet, he probably was going to.

“No thank you,” he finally replied, shaking himself from the shocked, catatonic state he’d fallen into. “I do not much like coffee.”

As he walked away, he thought that would be the end of it. That perhaps you’d only been talking to him in the hopes he’d invite you to see the other Avengers, too. That maybe you’d go back to trying to wheedle your way inside at the front desk. Much to his surprise, you came hurrying after him.

“Wait,” you called. “Ok, so scratch the coffee. How about ice cream or tea or a milkshake or something? Anything really, you name it.”

Now that you were outside, he observed you again while he thought, as if hoping the sunlight would reveal your true intentions. He couldn’t find anything malicious in your expression, just some sort of anxiety. Loki must have taken too long in coming to a decision, because you started rambling.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you into it or anything, but I wanted to do something nice to say thank you and-” you cut off and bit your lip. “Is this stupid? It sounds stupid. It’s probably stupid. I’ll go now. Again, I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

“One moment,” he said before you could make your retreat. “You said anything I want, correct?” You eagerly nodded as Loki got an idea. “Alright then. I would like a five course meal at the nicest restaurant in London, please and thank you.”

“I, um. I know I said anything but, uh...” You noticed his serious expression had turned into a sly grin. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. My apologies, but I simply could not resist,” he chuckled.

You began to laugh, too. Not in a way that made him think it was out of courtesy or pity, but an honest to goodness laugh. Briefly, he thought it one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, before quickly shaking the idea from his mind. It was ridiculous; he hardly even knew you. But you seemed pretty adamant on showing your gratitude. Plus, you’d apologized to him, which was more than he could say for most of the people in his life.

“You know, I would usually say tea, but a milkshake actually sounds quite lovely right now,” he told you once you’d calmed down. “That is, if the offer is still open.”

“Of course it is!” you happily told him, the smile on your face growing. Not to mention you seemed much more at ease. “I actually know a great diner that’s just a short walk from here, if that works for you.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

It took approximately ten minutes to get to the restaurant. After properly introducing yourselves, you kept up a light dialogue. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly; just hesitant, as if both of you were afraid of saying the wrong things and shattering the blissful moment. Loki still couldn’t bring himself to fully trust you. Such a feeling just wasn’t in his nature, especially not when it came to someone he just met and had a considerably rocky start with. Even so, he found himself enjoying your company.

Arriving at the diner, Loki held the door open for you as you walked in. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for a seat, the classic red stools at the bar free at this time of the afternoon. Loki swiveled the seat back and forth ever so slightly, and found himself chuckling when he caught you doing the same thing. You offered him a shy smile as a waitress handed the both of you a menu.

The God of Mischief had only ever had the pleasure of drinking a milkshake once before, a vanilla one when the team had convinced him to try it on one of their outings. He’d thoroughly enjoyed it and planned on playing it safe by ordering the same thing now. When you asked what he was getting, though, you were having none of that. After nearly five minutes of rousing debate, you’d finally talked him up to chocolate. Part of him was having so much fun with the discussion and how animated you became about the topic that he almost didn’t want to concede. But the waitress came back to take your orders, and he didn’t want to make her leave and come back again.

“Oh, and some French fries too please,” you added after ordering your favorite milkshake.

Loki shot you a perplexed look. “French fries?” he asked after the waitress moved away.

“Yeah. Please tell me you’ve heard of them before.”

“I have. I have even eaten them a few times before, believe it or not,” he answered as you turned to face him, leaning on the counter. “But are you certain they go with a milkshake?”

Your jaw dropped open. “Of course they do. Listen, Loki, you haven’t lived until you’ve dipped French fries in a milkshake. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You continued to help him expand his knowledge of Midgardian cuisine as you waited for your order to come. Once it arrived, you dipped a fry in your shake, just as you had said, trying to convince him just how delicious it truly was. The trickster skeptically picked one up and mimicked your actions, plunging it into the frothy liquid. The second it hit his tongue, his face lit up in pure delight.

“See, I told you,” you laughed.

“Indeed you did,” he said back, the corners of his eyes crinkling from how wide his smile was.

An hour and another order of fries later, the two of you finished your snack. Loki was in a better mood than he’d been all month. Honestly, he was a little sad when the bill came.

“Are you certain you do not want me to pay?” he checked as you fished out a twenty from your wallet to cover the low-cost meal. “Or we could split it, at least.”

“Loki, it’s fine,” you giggled. “This is me thanking you, remember? And, honestly, it’s me apologizing, too. I was just startled the other day and there was a lot going on. I hadn’t ever really thought about what I’d do if I met an Avenger, least of all if it happened while they were saving my life. I was overwhelmed; I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about yourself or anything.” Without really thinking about it, your hand moved to rest on top of his. It was a surprise to Loki, but a welcome one. “Because—and I can say this with absolute certainty—you’re amazing, Loki. You do so much for the city. I hope you know how appreciated you are, at least by me.”

His other large hand came to cover yours. “Thank you, darling.” He didn’t mean to say the pet name, but it just slipped out. “I cannot express how much that means to me.”

Somewhere in his heart, he wanted to tell you everything, make you privy to all his inner turmoil. But that was buried underneath years of pain and rejection, too heavy to move for someone he didn’t know all too well, no matter how connected he felt to you in this moment. So he let the urge pass over him, hoping his thanks would be sufficient enough in expressing how he felt.

“You’re welcome, Loki,” you told him, squeezing his hand. Then you stood up. “So, I guess I’ll be letting you get on with your day then. This was really nice, though. Thanks for agreeing to it.”

“You’re welcome and thank you,” he replied. “It really was.”

After waving goodbye to each other, you exited and Loki stayed where he was, picking at the last few nubs of fries left in the basket. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t leave, too. Just that something was missing.

“Ah, young love,” the elderly waitress who had been serving you all day said to Loki as she came to collect the empty dishes. “Magical, isn’t it?”

“Love?” Loki choked out. “I am afraid you are quite mistaken. It was not even a date. I hardly even know them. I will probably never even see them again.”

“And you’re just gonna let them walk out?” she tsked. “It’s a right shame, sonny. Let me tell you, you don’t just let something like that walk out on ya.”

He looked at the door for a second in melancholic contemplation before bolting out after you. He shouted his thanks to the waitress as he pushed open the glass door, exiting out into the harsh sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, they scanned for your form before it walked out of his life forever. Spotting you, he jogged in your direction and called your name. Funny, he thought, how just earlier that day the roles had been reversed.

“Loki?” you asked, stopped on the sidewalk as he caught up to you. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“Actually, the problem is what did not happen.” He kicked a rock with his shoe, as suddenly the ground became very interesting to him. His insides were a nervous mess. Clearing his throat, he gathered his courage to continue. “See, I do not have any way of contacting you again. And it had been my sincere hope that you would want to do this again, let me take you out somewhere.”

“That sounds amazing,” you agreed, jotting down your number on an old receipt you’d found in your wallet. Smirking, you parroted back his words from earlier. “How about you take me for a five course meal in London?”

“Oh, so you have turned my own jokes against me. How very clever of you,” he laughed. “What if we just went to see a movie, instead?”

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Just text me a time and place, and I’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to it. As soon as I buy the tickets, I shall let you know.”

“Sounds awesome! It’s a date.”

As you parted ways, for real this time, it registered in Loki’s mind what you’d said. He hadn’t particularly been thinking about his phrasing or in what way he was asking you to hang out. But apparently you’d taken it as an invitation for a date. As Loki arrived back at the Tower and flopped onto his bed, already dreaming of your laugh, he found he was quite happy that you had.

[helenazbmrskai]

This Summer

Guess who’s back with another yoongi fic featuring my favourite trope so here’s another brother’s best friend au, I wanted to try a different setting for this one since I like summer camp aus a lot (and there’s not enough of it on this site I tell you) and I never did something similar to this also I’m sorry that there will be mistakes in here because I wrote this in three days but I’ll proofread it once I have the energy.

🏕️Title: ‹This Summer›

🏕️Pairing: ‹brother’s best friend and camp counsellor! yoongi x new camp counsellor! reader ft. brother and camp counsellor! hoseok›

🏕️Genre: ‹brother’s best friend, summer camp, camp counsellor, romance, fluff, angst, smut, idiots to lovers›

🏕️Summary: ‹This summer you’re going to stop liking min yoongi for good. The plan is flawless until it’s not (but you’re not the only one with plans.)›

🏕️Warnings: ‹smut, making out, oral (both parties) receiving, penetrative sex, condom sex, dirty talk, yoongi is jealous of jungkook having your boobs against his chest, y/n avoids yoongi like it’s her life mission for like 5k straight, a lot of angst but there will be fluff too so don’t worry, awkward tension, sexual tension, clueless hobi, everyone is stupid in this, jungkook likes meddling with y/n’s life a little bit too much, poor tae facing yoongi’s wrath without any reason lol›

🏕️Word count: ‹12.3k›

🏕️Masterlist l read radio sweethearts if you want another brother's best friend yoongi l enjoy!

Your brother is a ticking time bomb, no one knows when he’s going to take something into his head, he’s that annoying sibling that’s always full of energy and twists everyone around his pinky finger on family dinners. You love him with your whole heart, considering you ripped that mean girl’s hair out in elementary school when she called your baby brother (who is older than you but shh) ugly and made him cry.

Hoseok and you are polar opposites he’s cheery and positive always have a big smile on his face, ready to help all the old ladies with heavy shopping bags cross the street while you’re on the quiet side and often misunderstood.

It’s easy to see on holiday dinners and get-togethers that your relatives favour him over you because you’re less talkative and friendly, he has better achievements in life whilst you struggle with school but those you’re close with know the real you and awkward conversations about your nonexistent boyfriend because you’re so deeply in love with your brother’s best friend is not the best ice breaker your distant grandmas try to pull on you. Even so, when Yoongi decides to tag along to those said dinners accompanied by his parents and little sister, might just hell break loose.

The second man who basically acts like he lives in your house is your best friend slash knight in shining armour and partner in crime; simply named Jeon Jungkook for good measure who is your next-door neighbour. You have tons of unforgettable memories with him as he was the one you went to prom with, annoyed all the teachers on field trips with your loud rap battles and cried on each other's shoulders as you graduated high school together.

Your friendship with him came as a surprise to all your family members as they originally thought your brother and him will become close but instead, he spent most of his time with you while yoongi and hoseok with their other friends hang out separately. On rare occasions, your group would mix and go to see a popular movie or play games at the arcade on someone’s birthday.

Summer usually is the time when things are a little slow. No assignments to do or classes to attend, your brother leaves in early July for this summer camp that’s half a day far away from your home with his friends and the last two summers even Jungkook applied to be a camp counsellor as he likes to be surrounded by kids and nature just like your brother does so literally, everyone left for some time leaving you alone in your hometown with nothing to do but it was better this way because away from Hoseok meant that Yoongi will be far away too.

Your brother tries to persuade you every year to go with them but you always have to decline, sometimes your no is firmer than other times because Hoseok is excellent at using his puppy eyes on you.

However, this summer you had other plans. There’s no bell to ring once the last class is dismissed for the semester, tired from your finals you’re going to dedicate at least a week to catch up on your sleep and fix your eating habits but you have a big smile on your face as you climb into Jungkook’s run-down Ford slamming the car door behind your body since they don’t function properly sometimes. This car is his prized possession, got it for his 18th birthday after he successfully passed his test (at the forth try) and bragged about his driving license to you for over two weeks although you only dared to sit next to him after two months. Jungkook named his car Adonis and forbid you of disrespecting his little baby if you want to ever get a lift so you let him be.

Back to your important inner turmoil, you decided you will no longer simp over Min Yoongi your brother’s best friend and this summer you’ll get over him as a grown-up woman. Being in your second year at the local University that all the boys attend it’s surprisingly easy to avoid your brother and his friends and how everyone’s schedule seems to be so packed all the time during the semester, you don’t see them as much as you used to in high school.

”This was your last final, right?” Jungkook turns the ignition key ready to leave this hellhole of a place, holding your headrest with one hand as he turns to see the back of the car so he can back out of the parking lot without any accidents. You grab the smoothie from the cup holder before humming in agreement and take a sip whilst taking in your best friend’s features you haven’t seen for the past week.

”As soon as I get home I’m going to sleep till the next century.” Your dramatic response earns a chuckle and a jab to your left boob as he didn’t take his eyes off the road while delivering his hit. Jungkook wears his signature white tee with a pair of dark blue jeans no traces are left of the stress both of you went under, he was luckier than you as his finals ended a week ago.

”School sucks, we couldn’t even have fun together and I’m leaving next week. I’m going to miss you, you know. You really won’t come with us?” He tried to make you rethink your decision just like your brother but not even his bambi eyes can waver your summer plans, this time you fully intend to have one more Min Yoongiless summer, this silly crush you have on your brother’s best friend can’t continue.

”There’s always one place left for you at the camp Y/N. Hoseok would love to see you there too and we could spend so much time together.” The idea of spending a few weeks with Jungkook sounds nice but a voice in your head reminds you that Yoongi will be there too. He could be yelling at children and wear his trademark grumpy expression but you would still find something attractive about him. The worst part is that he’s never like that with you.

Yoongi is not as talkative as Jungkook or Hoseok, making him be more like you, at first you thought that your crush developed because he seemed to understand you in a different way your brother couldn’t. He cares for his friends, always making sure to show them by doing thoughtful gestures.

Hoseok tells his friends all the time that you and him are a package deal it’s either both of you or none of you, sometimes people have a problem with that but these five boys he hangs out with for years now are the good exception. You like them even though you don’t like all of Hoseok’s friends.

”I’m sorry Koo but I can’t, we talked about this before.” It’s not like you hate children because you don’t you’re not the best with them but they are ok, the heatwave is what you despise in summer camps. You love being in an air-conditioned place without bug bites all-around your ankles and not even the campfire with yummy marshmallows could persuade you to like outdoor activities.

Summer camps are just not your thing.

”What do you mean you signed me up?” The black t-shirt slips through your fingertips, it has a band logo at the front you remember Hoseok liked back in high school, his suitcase is halfway filled with clothes when he decided to tell you he faked your signature to sign you up as the new summer camp counsellor.

You admit that you have a weird talent for making nice origamis that kids would probably love to learn and a good addition to the routine activities, he would have swayed you with compliments if it weren’t for the fact that he faked your signature and signed you up for something you definitely said no to but still decided to do it without your permission. You heard nice things about the camp itself since it got renovated two years ago and Hoseok’s friends are nice people, he said their co-workers are nice people and your best friend would be there too, don’t get the wrong impression there, you even heard that the camp leader Seokjin is nice and a fun person not strict at all unless it concerns the kid's safety because he will not allow that.

”Don’t be mad, please. Jungkook and I just thought that this could be a fun experience for you, things will get busy next year so it’s going to be the last summer together like this. Pretty please?”

You sighed defeatedly as you can’t possibly say no to that when he phrases it like that. Hoseok looks at you with his round big eyes full of hope. Your summer plan was flawless until…it’s not.

Jungkook came almost knocking down your front door when you called him to come over after you were finally done helping Hoseok finish packing for the trip, you scolded your best friend for not stopping your brother as soon as he learned his scheme about ruining your summer plans you felt furious but he picked up on his way over to your house your favourite coffee flavoured candies and it made you forgive him too easily as you were soon munching on the treat.

It’s a huge disadvantage on your part that he knows your preferences so well. Now you can understand why he always seems so frustrated with you when you make him his favourite dish to get him to forgive you, this is just too much power to have over someone and when he crushes you with his tight hug listing out the things the two of you can do at the camp all of your remaining anger vanishes.

You will think about Min Yoongi later.

That later, however, comes sooner than you anticipated. Sitting on the kitchen stool drinking your coffee while all Hoseok’s noisy friends get a fill of breakfast and a cup of coffee, you have the unfortunate fate of housing all the boys to dine before getting on the road and after a lost rock, paper, scissors thanks to your brother’s ridiculous bad luck you become the host.

The kitchen got filled with animated chit-chats as they place a toast or two on their plates over the noises you almost don’t hear Jungkook next to you asking for the jam but you pass him the jar silently. Yoongi and Jimin are the only ones missing from the group because Yoongi has to drive Jimin to his parent’s place to pick up his car that he got repaired recently so they were running a bit late.

Namjoon is a new addition to the group after Hoseok met him in Uni so you don’t know him that well but he’s nice as far as you’re concerned, you talked to him a few times and his interesting topics never fail to entertain you. Jin steals a toast from Namjoon’s plate so he doesn’t need to get up and fetch one for himself but Namjoon looks too tired to care as he munches on his remaining one toast that his friend can’t steal because it’s halfway in his mouth.

Seokjin’s parents run the bakery on the main road so everyone knows him, he got introduced to the friend group when you were still in high school and you and Jungkook were regulars at the shop. Jin always sneaked a pair of baguettes for the two of you exclusively after you were finished with school.

It’s nice to see all these familiar faces after the stressful semester you had, momentarily forgetting about your problems you feel thankful that Hoseok went out of his way to ruin your plans and sign you up for this train wreck of an adventure, it’s been a while since everyone was together like this.

The doorbell rang interrupting Jungkook and Seokjin’s argument about who’s going to get the last toast piece but Hoseok perked up at the sound yelling excitedly that Yoongi and Jimin are here. Your brother quickens his pace after rising from his seat to open the door for them and grins when they step through the threshold.

Greetings are exchanged between friends and the place becomes livelier as the last pieces decide to join the puzzle, Jimin sees you first and knocks into Jungkook’s shoulder while he tries to get to you to give you a warm hug.

It’s been a while since you last saw Yoongi face to face, you’re added to the boy's group chat so in some depth you knew how he’s doing. He has been over at your house a few times hanging out with Hoseok but you always stayed late inside the library on the days he visited using the weak excuse that you need to catch up on school work so you had no chance of crossing paths with him coincidently while you were searching for a glass of water in the kitchen it’s humiliating enough that he saw you exit your bathroom wearing only a towel when you were a teenager.

Your curves became more defined and your body matured a lot over the years and knowing that he saw you like that when you had no ass or boobs. It’s embarrassing. Hoseok liked you that way because it meant no man would thirst over you as he liked to call it. The memory of him telling the boys that you’re off-limits and made them swear at the ’bro code’ to stay away from you is crystal clear in your mind even if now you are in your twenties.

The memory only makes your situation difficult as Yoongi probably doesn’t feel the same way.

As soon as Jimin steps back and releases you from the hug he has Jungkook in a headlock the next second, wrestling with the younger playfully, Jungkook is probably the closest to Jimin after you.

”Hey, it’s nice to see you.”

Yoongi has a half-smile on his face as he approaches you hesitantly pulling you into a hug like Jimin did but his approach is more gentle and careful as he pats your back with featherlight touches. His scent envelops your senses tuning out everything else that’s not him, it feels like forever that you hugged him, normally the two of you greet each other but rarely hug like this.

”Yeah, you too.” You murmur the words into his shoulder but he must have heard you because the side of his lips turned slightly upwards after you separate.

There are two cars available for the eight of you and Seokjin yells that it’s a matter of a game of rock, paper, scissors and everyone agrees as this is the common way your group chose who is riding with who.

”Easy, the losers ride with Jimin and the winners with Yoongs.” Jungkook is the first one to initiate the rules and everyone agrees except Jimin who whines about why he takes the losers but no one pays attention as the bloody battle starts. The first contestants are Namjoon and Hoseok and your brother ends up loosing while yelling like a banshee and making up excuses that he wanted to show rock and not paper as Namjoon choose scissors as his weapon.

You come up next with Jungkook as your opponent and you let a wicked smile appear on your face because no one knows him better than you, you know his move before he even thinks it through and you show paper getting your well-deserved victory.

Just later you realise that winners ride with Yoongi that you reconsider your decision, you were so caught up in your rivalry that’s your friendship’s base foundation with Jungkook at this point that it slipped your mind entirely.

Taehyung and Jin are the last ones to compete and the battle ends with Taehyung winning the last space in Yoongi’s car leaving Seokjin to dramatically kneel like a wounded soldier making fake sobbing noises. Taehyung ends up changing seats with Jungkook last moment and finally, everything is set to get going.

Jungkook and Namjoon take over the backseat as they loaded their luggage at lightning speed so they can claim their spot first leaving you with the only option to have the passenger seat at the front.

Yoongi obviously got behind the steering wheel entrusted with the task of operating the car throughout this long drive to the summer camp sight. Taehyung, Jin and Hoseok got into Jimin’s car like it was decided by the game.

The camp is bigger than you expected and the renovations got the place a little modern touch to it while still maintaining a close feel to nature with all the wooden houses and trees around but your favourite part is the lake at the far end of the campsite.

You share a room with a girl counsellor that spends her second year here, still, relatively new like yourself so it’s easy to befriend her. The campers will arrive the next day early in the morning Areum informs you as you two walk to the dining area to have the first meeting before everything starts.

By the end of the day, everyone knows you’re Hoseok’s little sister and new people approach you every now and then to confirm the facts and know a little bit more about you since everyone seems to like your noisy brother here (not that it surprises you), it looks like the counsellors are excited to start a new summer here and the atmosphere easily pulls you in, you watch Jimin and Jungkook have a water fight just to catch in the corner of your eye the figure of your brother pushing an unsuspecting Seokjin into the lake when he stands too close to the edge.

The day goes by like a flash as you hang out with Areum, she shows you her favourite places that consists of the greenhouse and the other side of the lake where there are built benches and tables for outdoor picnics.

Jungkook pouts during dinner fake crying that you replaced him and you have to forcefully spoon feed him to stop him from embarrassing you in front of all these unfamiliar people that gathered to have some quiet dinner. So everything goes smoothly, you have such a great time that it scares you.

It’s getting pretty late when all counsellors gather around the campfire to roast marshmallows and catch up with each other’s lives, you’re still new so you use this time to get to know Areum a little bit more since you and her are going to be responsible for entertaining the kids inside the art room alongside with Taehyung who teaches the kids how to paint.

You tell her about your silly hobby that landed you this job and she gets really excited to see your origami creations, you show the same enthusiasm when she reveals her major is classical statuary.

Even though Yoongi was always nearby it got easy to ignore his existence when so many new things surrounded you. It didn’t mean he fully left your thoughts throughout the day but made you feel that sense of false security that you could get over him. That all those years of pinning for your brother’s best friend could just vanish if you told your heart to stop skipping beats when he calls your name. Boose soon gets introduced to the mix and by the time midnight rolls around everyone is pleasantly buzzed and when Jungkook enters the state that he hangs off of you like a koala nuzzling his cheek into the crook of your neck you decided to call it a night.

You wake up with your head thumping inside your skull slightly feeling hangover; your roommate is in a similar state as you two approach the dining room getting small slices of bread to make a light sandwich.

You’re mid-bite into your food when you see Yoongi enter, walking alongside with your brother he catches your gaze sooner than you were able to look away and after they get their fills on their trays your loud brother flops down next to you with the loudest greeting that he could possibly muster up alerting everyone in the ten-metre radius.

Yoongi and you groan at the same time telling him to shut up like it’s a scripted response and your eyes meet for the barest of seconds before you focus on your half-eaten sandwich.

It’s hard not to look at him. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s very good at dealing with children, your activity where kids can learn how to fold origami is always after his cookie baking lesson and he smells like rough cookie dough and chocolate ship when he leads the kids into the art room where you would have all the coloured papers ready at each desk and folded a sample beforehand so they can use it as a reference if the instructions don’t look clear enough in the printed page.

The idea for this lesson formed last night, you were up all night as you researched on the internet how to fold hearts. It kept you up till the sun rose as you were trying out every folding technique that would look pretty but easier to do for the kids, you even accidentally cut your finger with the scissor while you were working using only the faint light from the lamp on the bedside table.

Yoongi greets you like he usually would wearing a little smile at the corners as he lets the kids inside first holding the door open for them, he always leaves silently after he delivered the campers to the art room but this time the door slides closed behind his form as he got dragged into the room by a kid named Minsung holding onto Yoongi’s hand he stood awkwardly while everyone else had a decided seat to take.

”Can Yoongi join us today Y/N?” Minsung asks holding Yoongi’s hand as he leads him further into the art room and every kid looks expectantly at you waiting for you to agree and seeing their faces you nod with a smile pulling out the chair next to you beckoning the embarrassed man to sit beside you.

He didn’t think you would say yes if he’s being honest. After you finished high school and he and Hoseok went to University and got busy with life he started to see you less and less, at first he didn’t think much of it but after some time it looked like that you’re actively avoiding him.

He has no idea why (that’s what eats him from the inside out on sleepless nights) he doesn’t remember saying or doing something that would make you upset and even now when you keep bumping into each other you seem skittish around him and he doesn’t like that, hence he even talked to Hoseok about this and your own brother couldn’t give him an answer why you started avoiding him.

”Do you know how to fold origami?” You ask him slipping papers in front of him as soon as he seats himself beside you, your heart beats inside your chest violently when you get enveloped in his scent yet again reminding you of the hug you shared that you’re afraid he’s going to hear it.

”I barely know how to fold my clothes.” The nervous joke lightens the mood as the kids laugh loudly the poor attempt at making you be more comfortable with him earns a little snort that makes a blush creep up your face rapidly in embarrassment but Yoongi thinks you sound adorable. You think you sounded like a troll.

”It’s fine I’ll help you.” Your little smile is still there even though your eyes are no longer on Yoongi as you focus on the kids, you tell them first what they will make and then go into detail how they can fold it while using the instructions and clearing some of the confusing images for them to understand it better. Lastly, you encourage them to not be afraid to ask if they have questions and you’ll gladly help them. It falls silent after as everyone gets absorbed in their work and you start making extra origamis for the children as usual until someone needs help.

Yoongi looks intent on finding out using the illustrations how to proceed and even though your instructions were pretty clear and well detailed he couldn’t figure out how to do it, he wastes two papers before he even got to the third step.

You see him struggling and he clearly gets worked up over it considering the number of creases appearing on his forehead once you get back to your desk after helping a kid figure out the instructions you move your chair closer getting his attention with the movement, your knees touch in the process but neither of you makes any moves to instal more distance between your bodies.

”Can I show you?” You reach for the scrambled paper but stop midway to look up and ask for permission.

Yoongi nods his head sliding the mess closer to you, observing as you unfold the paper and restart making more accurate lines and you immediately see what’s wrong with his shape. His measurements are off, even when he folded the paper in half that seemed uneven because he tried to fold it in one go and the paper sometimes moves around if you’re not careful enough.

After you fixed it and slid the paper to be in front of him you tell him your advice in a soft-spoken way. Heart still hammering inside your chest due to the closeness you share. ”Don’t rush through the steps, take your time while you fold it.” Your fingers touch briefly when you pass him the paper and you resume your working so it would take away from the embarrassment of how loud your heart beats because of him.

He looks so good today wearing a black oversized t-shirt with small prints in the front and even when his hair is damp with sweat his smile is able to melt your resolves any time you gaze up at those dark eyes.

Kids can be very attentive and they easily see how Y/N looks so smitten with Yoongi if those stolen sideway glances are anything to go by, every time he shows up you became a nervous ball of a mess it’s not rocket science to know you have a huge crush on the boy, the only mystery that campers can’t figure out is why you tiptoe around each other when Yoongi doesn’t seem indifferent either.

They often catch him looking at you as they run around the campsite during leisure activities led by Hoseok.

Minsung and Soohyung share a knowing smile as they watch them fold origami and it’s not overlooked by either of them when you focus back to do your work and Yoongi takes glances in your direction mesmerized by you, the task seems easy when he watches you do it.

A knock is followed by the appearance of your camp leader Seokjin leaning onto the doorframe interrupting your little bubble, looking at the kids with a fond expression before he addresses Yoongi and they leave together to discuss something, the activity is almost over as you learn glancing at the clock and Jungkook soon appears where Jin was a little while ago to get the kids.

Jungkook and your brother are the ones responsible for the outdoor activities and at the end of the day not only the kids are tired but their counsellors too by constantly running around to ensure everyone's safety.

Yoongi wanted to talk to you and help you clean up, have a real conversation in private, but things never turn out as he wants them to there seems to be always an obstacle standing between you two so he follows Jin to discuss a camp-related issue while he wishes he could spend a little more time with you.

If only you would tell him what he did wrong so he can fix it, this awkward state you two got stuck in makes him sad for some reason.

There was a time when you were greeting him with a big smile on your face and ask him about his day, he vividly remembers your chubbier cheeks and crooked teeth when you were younger but he doesn’t mind your feminine growth over the years, Yoongi always thought you will grow up to be a beautiful woman.

He remembers your prom dress, it was in a navy blue colour that complimented your fuller curves he only started to notice in your last year in high school, Jungkook posed beside you like you were Mr and Mrs Smith as your parents took pictures of you two and he found himself smiling fondly at you.

It was Hoseok’s birthday when the air shifted from platonic to something else in the short span of ten seconds, both of you were a little tipsy and you were sitting at a corner table together because neither of you wanted to hit the dance floor, the bar was packed and guys tried to hit on you numerous times just to be chased away by your brother’s antics.

You didn’t seem to mind that he prevented every guy from making a move on you and as you were all alone in a small booth chest to chest to hear each other over the loud music while you tried to tell him a story about Jungkook choking on fries at Mcdonalds when the waitress suddenly slipped her number scribbled onto a napkin trying not to ugly laugh yourself. His nose accidentally bumped into yours as he suppressed a laugh and if the others didn’t choose that exact moment to take a breather and have more drinks he thinks he would have probably kissed you right then and there.

The other time he felt something different while he was around you was when you and his friends took a trip to Busan to see the sea and you wore that one piece bikini, the bottom and top half were connected by a line of fabric but let your sides and hips be visible under the little clothing you had on.

Guys turned their heads when you passed them and he couldn’t even blame them like Hoseok because he looked at you a few times as well trying to seem as subtle as he possibly can since Hoseok otherwise would have killed him knowing that his best friend was ogling at his little sister.

”Don’t you dare!” Your yelling draws the attention of the kids and counsellors equally that’s how loud you are as your best friend approaches your form sitting under the umbrella trying to cool yourself down since today’s temperate is insanely (and unreasonably) hot. ”When we get home I’ll draw all your action figures a moustache using permanent markers. I’m not joking stop right there!”

Your horrific expression is validated since Jungkook has this shit-eating grin on his face when he’s about to do something you’ll most definitely not like, knowing him from your early stage of childhood when he was just a lanky anime fanatic and you were flat like a wooden board with huge pimples you’re an expert at distinguishing his different expressions and actions.

”You’re cute to think that will stop me.” Jungkook chuckles grabbing you by the waist as he drapes you over his shoulder effortlessly walking with you to the edge of the lake despite your efforts to break free from his grip, your friend jumps into the water with you still firmly clinging onto his body. The kids around you laugh at your friendly banter as you rise from the water like a lake monster and you duck Jungkook’s head underwater to make him pay for your ruined clothes and makeup.

Coming to help you, Jimin manoeuvres his boat next to you and stretches his hand out followed by a big grin to drag you out of the lake but it appears to be more difficult as you two almost flip over but you manage to unceremonially flop down next to him dragging your fingers through your hair to get the hairs out of your face.

”You really want war, Jeon. Just you wait but don’t blame me if I shave your hair off while you’re sleeping.” Coughing between your threatening words Jimin starts patting your back, rubbing your spine to help you feel better.

Jimin oars closer to the dock and you land your feet on the ground again without any more incidents occurring while Jungkook swims all the way, making comments about your appearance making the campers giggle alongside with him as your face gets warmer, once both of you are secure on land Jungkook hugs you close despite your distaste, your clothes cling to your body uncomfortably and droplets from his hair land on your cheek as he moulds your bodies together.

”Let me go, I’m not talking to you.” You try to push him away but instead of letting you go he scoops you up from the ground and spins you around, begging for your forgiveness but you don’t give in so easily.

Yoongi observes the scenes before him with a sour expression, he doesn’t even realise how he glares at Jungkook holding you that close to him while both of you are dripping of lake water, your boobs are entirely pushed against his chest as your best friend giggles midst of you struggling to break free.

Next to him Hoseok sits relaxed in his chair sipping his cold drink, shaking his head in faux amusement happy to see you have a good time here, your brother is normally very protective of you when it comes to guys but with Jungkook he knows that you guys are just best friends it’s hard to see you two otherwise when he witnessed your first period crying onto Jungkook’s shoulder that you’re going to bleed out and your poor friend almost dragged you to the hospital because he thought you were being real but soon learned that you overdramatise things when it’s that time of the month.

He often finds you in a weird position while you watch tv with Jungkook’s head on your tummy because the pressure and warmth of his head make the pain more bearable cuddling under blankets because you get needy when you’re on your period, your brother knows all of this because when your best friend is unavailable he has to fill the space and lay his head on your stomach until the feeling goes away.

He had his doubts in the early stage of your budding friendship when you first started to hang out with each other because things can get weird easily between friends if they are not the same gender but Jungkook proved to Hoseok multiple times that he supports you and would walk through fire for you. Nothing happened between you two in romantic aspects, there was no shift, even though someone who doesn’t see you daily interacting with him would assume something is going on.

”I’m going to change.” You announce to no one in particular, the way your shirt clings to your curves as you’re surrounded by male counsellors you don’t know adds extra pressure and their eyes on you make you uncomfortably fidget in place, your make up is probably smudged on your face giving you a panda effect.

”Wear this your bra is showing.” Jungkook gives you his wet shirt but the black material conceals your body to look decent enough and you thank him he could easily sense your distress and he feels a little bad that he pulled that trick on you. He had to coax you into wearing that bikini at the beach last year buttering you up with compliments so the two of you could finally get going, he knows better than anyone that you’re shy and insecure about your body if someone you don’t know sees you, you don’t hate your body but it makes you feel anxious if some stranger looks at you like you’re his meal for the evening and he totally gets it.

He glares at every single one of them who looks at you inappropriately alongside your brother who shares the same sentiment as him. You deserve to be treated right, that’s why he was super angry once you told him about your first time, that guy just stuck it in without making you cum.

Hoseok doesn’t know, however, you only told Jungkook about your unpleasant experience when you were tipsy, you had to tell him at a house party while playing truth or dare, you had to share something he didn’t know and considering he’s your best friend not much was there to confess. You hoped that he was drunk enough to forget about it the next day but he surprised you with ice cream and you talked it out with him, he can be immature sometimes though when the situation needs him to be serious he’s there for you. He never once made fun of you for something you felt insecure or not confident about.

Areum takes in your dishevelled look as soon as you step through the entrance of your current accommodation, opting for a quick shower to wash the dirty lake water off your skin you tell her what happened vaguely before disappearing behind the bathroom door and she snickers silently seeing your grumpy face.

Jungkook marches to the seat next to Hoseok the playful glint is still there as he rakes his fingers through his hair shaking the droplets out of his locks like a dog and the way female colleagues eye him didn’t go unnoticed by either Yoongi or Hoseok for that matter. Your best friend is not as dense as you think he is because for a while now he connected the dots why you seem to avoid Yoongi at all cost.

It shocked him at first but now observing your interactions closely he calls himself a fool that he didn’t realise it sooner. Your best friend knows about the ’you can’t woo my baby sister’ rule because it’s applied to him as well, Hoseok cornered him one day after you left to bring up snacks for a movie night and told him awfully descriptive outcomes what will happen to him if he tries anything on you all the while he pushed him against your lavender walls, that day he learned that smiley Hoseok can be scary sometimes.

It’s been years and his overprotectiveness lessened because you dated guys here and there and Hoseok was always supportive of you and your soon-to-be boyfriends, but you didn’t go to second dates with any of them.

He found it strange at first but after he found out about your little crush on your brother’s best friend some things clicked and your behaviour wasn’t soo odd anymore, Jungkook didn’t read too much into it at first because he thought it’s going to be a fleeting flame but it’s been years that you harbour feelings for the older man.

Yoongi was a harder nut to crack because he’s better at masking his feelings than you but he can see how his eyes linger on you when he thinks no one’s looking, his slip-ups are subtle ones and it would go over his head if he wouldn’t be so tuned in searching for his reactions.

His gut feeling tells him Yoongi feels the same way you do (his face might not be as expressive but his eyes are sparkling every time he finds you in the crowd) although he can’t be one hundred percent sure, the benefit of the doubt that makes him keep question every move and look he throws your way his confusing actions indicates that even Yoongi doesn’t know how he truly feels about you so Jungkook didn’t bring up the subject because he’s not sure how to approach this without making this more complicated.

He doesn’t want to give you hope when he can’t guarantee his intuition is right so he choose to silently observe and let things unfold naturally but it gets harder with time to ignore how you two are dancing around each other like idiots. Well, at least before now you straight out refuse to be in the same room as him.

At this point, he’s convinced that neither of you is going to make a move to let the other know about your romantic feelings, he wanted to respect the fact that you didn’t want him to know about your feelings towards your brother’s best friend but enough is enough and he’s tired of seeing you avoid the matter for another year like this.

His plan so far doesn’t seem to work, he convinced Hoseok to sign you up for the camp against your will but things don’t go forward as you keep avoiding the problem so he needs to give both of you a little push from the sidelines to end this.

He doesn’t like the idea of you hurting if he’s being wrong about this but the rejection would be better than living in denial, not knowing if he reciprocates your feelings, he hates seeing you cry but he’ll be there to kick ass and support you. Jungkook makes up his mind and calls Hoseok’s name to grab his attention.

”What do you think about one of your friends dating Y/N?”

Hoseok’s brow raises in question and Yoongi’s body stiffens at the mention trying to seem unaffected but Jungkook detects the slight change in his demeanour. ”Why do you ask? You’re not in love with my sister, are you Jeon?” He can’t stop laughing as he hears Hoseok accusing him immediately, he gets comfortable in his seat before answering. Waiting a little before responding to get a dramatic effect, he spends too much time with you as he realises he picked up some of your theatrical approaches.

”God, no. She’s my best friend I know too much about her to think like that.” His laughing subdues into small chuckles, he saw you at your worst and best moments, seen you naked by accident. You’re beautiful and funny but he doesn’t see you as a woman. Yoongi’s eyebrow twitches at the mention of ’knowing too much’ but Jungkook’s next words are the final blow for him to grip the armrest.

”I heard Taehyung is gonna ask her out and I wanted to know what you think about it.” Hoseok schools his features quickly after that, he didn’t know Taehyung liked you like that but he has no right to control your life or tell you who you can consider as a potential love interest. You can like whoever you want, he tried to show you his support when you introduced some of your dates to him and he’s going to keep his promise even when it comes to his friends.

You were always close but after he began to tell you who you can or can’t see your relationship became distant until he realised his mistakes, you forgave him easily because you love your brother a lot and he loves you just as much so after a heartfelt conversation between the two of you he promised not to do that to you ever again.

You’re aware he did this to protect you because you’re his precious little sister and big brothers could get unreasonably overprotective so after you almost drifted apart and even though you two talked it out. The fact that because of a boy you argued with Hoseok you decided you’ll never act on your feelings for Yoongi for the sake of your relationship. Jungkook doesn’t know that’s the main reason you keep avoiding Yoongi but he couldn’t have known because you two never touched upon the subject.

”It’s her decision.” Hoseok shrugs finally and Jungkook nods with a smile eyeing Yoongi who seem to absorb the answer he didn’t think he would get.

You’re aware of your feelings so it’s time for Yoongi to reflect on his thoughts and figure out what he wants.

Jungkook thinks that his plan might just work if he keeps up the good work. You can thank him later.

Taehyung is an unsuspecting victim caught up in Jungkook’s spider web to get you guys together. He likes every kind of art-related stuff and Jungkook showed him some of the origamis you folded for him as he has a few of the smaller ones stuffed inside his wallet under your graduation photo and of course when Taehyung asked you to teach him you agreed with the biggest smile on your face.

You took it as a great opportunity to get to know him better because you’re the least close to him in the group, not because you don’t think he’s a nice guy but before this there were not many occasions to bond with him.

He has the talent for it you realise this soon and you two spend hours inside the art room together folding new pieces after you’re free, he even suggests as a beginner what’s easier to make so the kids can be encouraged rather than making them do hard ones and be disappointed by the end result.

He visits you often and brings you tea to chat about art at first but gradually you get to know more about each other’s personal lives all the while you make origamis together. You skip lunch sometimes when you get too caught up experimenting with new shapes and Jungkook notices the displeased expression on Yoongi’s face every time someone asks about you and Taehyung’s whereabouts just to hear you two are yet again holed up inside the art room laughing and chatting.

He got even grumpier than normal and lashes out without any reason, the others dismiss his behaviour as he probably had a bad day but his best friend knows something is up with him, it’s not like he lashes out on the children because he smiles at them like he used to but his quick mood changes are getting on everyone’s nerves lately. Hoseok knows that something bothers him but every time he asks about it he says it’s nothing.

Jungkook sits beside Hoseok as he goes on and on about he has no idea what’s gotten into Yoongi lately and he’s close to rolling his eyes at him, no wonder you two are siblings he thinks. Both of you are idiots.

Yoongi didn’t show up for breakfast and you’re nowhere to find as well, he knows you’re not with Taehyung because he sits at the table behind him with Jimin and Seokjin telling each other funny stories about the kids. He shows some of the origami pieces he folded and Jimin compliments him while Seokjin tries to stuck one inside his pocket so a friendly banter breaks out at their table.

”.. and he doesn’t even tell me what’s the problem. Hey, Jungkook are you listening to me at all?” Hoseok waves his hand in front of Jungkook’s face who munches on the garnish almost finished with eating while your brother’s plate is full of food because as soon as Jungkook joined him at the table, since he couldn’t find you in the crowd, started complaining about how difficult Yoongi is being as of late and it’s too early to deal with this bullshit.

”Yoongi is upset because Y/N hangs out with Taehyung too much. If you look at the signs you would have seen that he obviously likes your sister but because of that stupid rule you made neither of them is acting upon their feelings for each other.” The outburst momentarily shuts up Hoseok, his mouth hangs open like a fish out of water blinking rapidly and it’s noticeable how the wheels are turning inside his head as he processes the information.

”Yoongi likes my sister?!” The three surrounding tables turn after hearing Hoseok’s signature banshee yell and Jungkook audibly sighs at the shocked expression he’s sporting like he suddenly grew four heads and three legs. He just might because the food is weird sometimes.

You tell Areum you have to pick something up from the art room and you’ll join her a bit later to eat breakfast hiding your hands in your hoodie’s pocket as mornings tend to be on the colder side, she gives you a thumbs up as she walks towards the dining room and you wait until she gets out of sight to turn on your heel.

You visit the art room first but what you’re searching for is not there and you head back to your cabin to see if you brought it back by accident without you realising it.

You made that origami star Taehyung whined to you about. He wanted to make one but it just can’t seem to look like it should be as he showed you his attempts. It took you a few tries to succeed as well since folding the edges were quite tricky to figure out.

On your way to the dining room, you bump into someone and the star you made end up on the ground slipping out of your grip. Raising your head instantly to apologise to the person, you were not ready to face Min Yoongi out of all people, he picks up the origami and hands it back dusting it off before giving it to you.

”Thanks.”

”Uh, everything’s alright? You seem to be in a bad mood.” You’re hesitant to address the elephant in the room, you didn’t really witness his mood swings as others because you spent most of your time in the art room but seeing him now with dark circles under his eyes a grim expression on his handsome face, it speaks volumes of how true it is, and you would hate to get on his bad side because you ask a question everyone probably asked before you.

”I’m fine.” Yoongi tilts his head towards the sky and sighs, you wait for him to say something else but that’s all he does before he walks past you.

You grimace at the lack of response, sure, things were awkward nowadays but he never straight out ignored you like that, he didn’t even look at you while he answered and left just like that.

When you join Jungkook and your brother for breakfast they have a weird aura around them and you’re itching to interrupt their silent talk as they eye each other like you’re not sitting right next to both of them.

What is wrong with anyone today, huh?

”Okay we need to do something, things can’t continue like this.” Jungkook places his hands on each side of his hips as he captures everyone's attention when he climbs on top of one of the tables like he’s about to give a grand speech about something world-rocking kind of important matters.

”I agree. I can’t even say something to Yoongi that doesn’t end with him taking my head off.” Jimin and Taehyung agree immediately since they had to deal with his temper for the most part.

”And what do you suggest we do?” Hoseok puts his weight onto the broom as he speaks, after Jungkook told him that his best friend is in love with his sister everything made sense in a way.

Why he asked about you a lot like how’s school or how’ life going for you, made sure to get something for your birthday every year, he thought that he’s nice to you because you’re his little sister, after all, he told him to treat you right. He couldn’t be more wrong about it, however. They are supposed to be best friends and Hoseok didn’t even know he liked you like that.

”I think you should talk to her Hobi. She doesn’t act on her feelings because she thinks you wouldn’t like them together, maybe if you tell her it’s ok to date each other they will end our suffering. I don’t think I can manage this moody Yoongi for another day he looked like he’s about to murder me in my sleep.” Because of Jungkook’s scheme, Yoongi went extra hard on Taehyung and the poor soul didn’t have a clue why he’s suddenly replaced as Yoongi’s personal punching bag.

Hoseok makes sure to visit your cabin after they are done cleaning and it would be an understatement to say he feels a little nervous. It’s weird that he’s here to tell you to go after his best friend as it is.  

He already had a talk with Yoong in their cabin before he came here and his friend seemed terrified when Hoseok told him he knows that he’s in love with his sister.

All the colour drained from his face and he actually took pity on him that it feels him with so much dread that his best friend knows he likes a girl, even if it’s his sister he’s happy that he found someone he likes.

Hoseok tells him that nothing is going on between you and Taehyung so he should stop torturing him, Jungkook just tried to make him jealous by saying that, it felt nice for both of them to talk openly about everything.

Yoongi told him about the party when he almost kissed her or when they would stay up all night talking to each other about everything and nothing, he shares his genuine feelings and admits that for a while he didn’t know what he felt for her but he wants to be with her.

You had similar reactions like his friend, at first you tried to deny the fact but later when Hoseok reveals everything and speak about Jungkook’s plan, you gave up to lie and instead tell him you liked him for three years and you tried to move on but you couldn’t that’s why none of your previous relationships seemed to work out.

Your brother feels stupid for not seeing the signs, maybe Jungkook was right and he’s really an idiot.

It’s awkward knowing that he feels the same way about you you’re not gonna lie, it feels like a dream but at the same time, you’re afraid one day you’ll wake up and realise all of this was just a fragment of your imagination.

Hoseok’s support was a pleasant surprise and even though you want to strangle your best friend with your bare hands for meddling with your business and literally shouting out to the world you love Min Yoongi to the moon and back moments ago to have everyone witness your face flame up you decide against all expectations and you give him a bone-crushing hug because without him all of this wouldn’t have happened. All that matters is that he likes you back.

”How did you know?” You curiously ask and Jungkook feigns he’s thinking about the answer whilst pinching your cheek, that smirk he wears when he’s about to say something stupid makes you reconsider. You shouldn’t have asked.

”I mean I discovered it recently so you were quite good at hiding it because normally I always sniff out your secrets right off the bat but as soon as I focused on your reactions it was easy to tell.” He points at Yoongi standing a few feet away next to Hoseok and he suddenly burst out laughing.

”I saw you running into a fucking tree when you saw Yoongi wet because Hoseok threw him into the lake.” You clasp your hand over his runny mouth before he can embarrass you further, you were not ready to see Yoongi blush so cutely at the comment while Hoseok doubled over because he laughed so hard seeing your face after Jungkook said that.

You denied it in a high pitched squeal. ”That fucking tree wasn’t there that’s why!” Everyone seemed to find your excuse hilarious as they laughed continuously at your attempts of saving your last piece of dignity but even Yoongi chuckled couldn’t contain his biggest smile to take over his features as he thinks you look so cute when you’re embarrassed, and you like him back.

”Can we see a kiss at least if we had to put up with grumpy Yoongi for an entire week, I really started to fear for my life, you know?” Jimin chimed in, it was endearing to see Yoongi turn bashful in front of you.

”Now that it was brought up Jeon Jungkook I can’t believe you used me like that! I had no idea why you suggested that I try to learn making origamis from Y/N. Our friendship is over!” Taehyung points at your best friend accusingly and he only scratches the back of his neck.

”I did it for a good cause…wait Tae where are you going? Look I’m sorry…” Jungkook chases after the former boy trying to hug him from behind but Taehyung doesn’t reciprocate it and your friend starts whining at that telling him that he’s so sorry while Jimin and the others unoccupied at the moment resumes their staring at the both of you to move and kiss finally.

Even Namjoon and Seokjin who were silent until now joins in and chants alongside the others to ”kiss kiss kiss kissss”

You let out a shy chuckle taking the first steps in his direction and his eyes go wide in surprise when your shoe touch. Kissing his cheek instead you tiptoe to reach his height so you can easily circle your hands around his neck and pull him down to hug you, it reminds you of the hug you shared with him before the whole trip to the summer camp started but this time it felt different.

His embrace was warm and inviting as he held you by your waist his chest vibrated against you as he laughed when your friends demanded a real kiss.

Yoongi found himself sitting beside you inside the art room as you explained how the kids can make bunny-shaped origami out of the grey coloured papers in front of them and his hand immediately found yours under the table to intertwine your fingers together once you sat down next to him.

You try to suppress a smile as you watch over the kids ensuring that they don’t cut themselves with the scissors but your body betrays you as you subconsciously lean into his frame he smells like vanilla extract and chocolate. He showed the kids how to make muffins in today’s lesson, it turned out good because Yoongi measured the ingredients while the kids only mixed and did simple tasks such as portioning out the dough or decorating the top of the treats.

Someone had two or three muffins left on their table as they worked, focused on their folding technique occasionally they stole bites making you and Yoongi giggling under your noses when you would catch chipmunk cheeks.

Yoongi helped you clean up after the lesson throwing out leftover papers and sweeping the floor before you joined the others for lunch.

Things changed in the group’s dynamics after you started dating Yoongi but overall they were happy to see both of you happy.

Even though Jungkook likes to make jokes about how you two are basically joined at the hip for days and soon after starts to complain about how you spend less time with him now that you have a boyfriend, he’s clearly happy for you. It’s a new situation for everyone and Hoseok has a hard time picturing you with his best friend but seeing you so happy with him he supports your relationship wholeheartedly.

After you’re done with the activities for the day you and Yoongi retreat into his cabin as everyone else stays at the campfire. They see the two of you slip away hand in hand, howbeit no one dares to comment on it but you see Jungkook having an inner battle to stop himself from yelling out ’use protection’ luckily Taehyung stuffs his mouth with a handful of chio chips before that could happen.

Your boyfriend pulls you closer by tugging on your intertwined hands caging you between his arms and the door, kissing the corner of your mouth he moves downwards to kiss over your jawline and neck, smiles into the juncture of your neck when you chase after his lips as he pecks your cupid’s bow next, impatient to feel his lips against yours you pull at a fistful of his hair guiding his mouth to capture his lip between your teeth. Yoongi grunts into the kiss tasting your sweet mouth never cease his hunger for you, only leaves him wanting more and more.

”I can’t believe you’re mine.” He seals his words over your feverish skin with in between kisses, marking up your neck, nibbling and kissing every inch until your breath becomes laboured under his sweet attacks.

You weave your fingers into his hair whilst a soft mewl leaves your parted lips as his knee parts your legs to brush against your centre.

He presses his thighs further into your throbbing pussy swallowing the noises you make getting lost in your body heat. He wants to take his time with you licking every corner and dip until you shake and pant his name.

”Wait. What about my brother?” You jump a little when you feel his hand on your ribs travelling up until he cups your breast over the shirt you’re wearing. Kneading your flesh over the fabric your body relaxes into his touch it’s enough to leave you breathless seeing his expression so earnest to please you, pupils dilated as he looks at you under his hooded lids it’s hard to control his urges when you look good enough to eat.

”He stays over at Namjoon’s don’t worry about him.” Yoongi catches your earlobe with his mouth biting down on your shell playfully, the sensation makes you heave a gasp, the words barely registering in your brain.

”Off. I want this off.” Feeling especially bold today you sneak your hands under his shirt caressing his sides with your fingertips, pecking his collarbone that peaks through the collar of his clothing. A whine resonates within your throat when your boyfriend steps back to pull his shirt over his head revealing his stomach and shoulders for your hungry eyes to feast upon disliking the cold air that fills the space once his body is not there to keep you warm, you pull him close diving in to connect your lips in a heated kiss tongue licking into his mouth.

His hands wander under your clothes this time mapping out your smooth skin following the lines of your sides to find the opening on your bra, once he gets the clasp open he traces your spine with his index finger grabbing your ass with both hands as his wandering hands reach south. Your moan gets lost inside his busy mouth that explores your hot cavern at the same time his hands cup you over the fabric of your leggings. It doesn’t give your throbbing pussy justice when he decides to rub your clit and drag his fingers over the dampening material.

”Let’s move things to the bedroom shall we?” The innocent peck he places onto your cheek makes your heart flutter, excitement and love mix inside your veins sweetening your blood as your pulse quickens under his adoring gaze. You nod kissing him again before you let him guide you to his door, not separating from your sensually moving lips as he blindly closes it behind your entangled forms.

He removes your pants and shirt in one go, letting the garments form a pile on the floor promising your sweet release with each removed clothing until the only remaining barrier that keeps your naked glory from his piercing gaze is slipped down your shaved legs, he feels how soaked the material of your cotton underwear had become after so little foreplay and he finds himself insanely turned on by the discovery.

Yoongi eagerly encloses his mouth over your erect bud eliciting airy moans when he alternates between sucks and licks on your sensitive mound paying equal attention to both sides as he massages the neglected one with firm hands whilst he blows air to the saliva coated nipples and watch your expression morph into torturous pleasure but he’s not satisfied with your shy suppressed noises.

Your slick oozes out of your empty opening running down your thighs and stain the bedsheet your clit aches to be touched and your hole clenches around nothing as your lover keeps his head between your boobs kissing and licking your skin there until your nipples get too sensitive to his touch, red and swollen when he rolls it between his fingers. His leg parts your thighs keeping them wide open so you can’t get any stimulation until he decides to move lower.

Seeing how you shake under his body parted lips keep asking him to give you more, he doesn’t have the heart to deny you any longer as he starts to rub your thighs keeping your legs open for him to bury his face between your beautiful cunt swollen and needy for his touch he lets his tongue dip between your folds tasting you first before gently sucking on your clit.

He hears you call his name perfectly in tune with his tongue’s strokes as he intends to eat you up. Your essence covers his chin as he licks your hole clean lapping up everything your precious body can produce for him dipping inside the tip of his tongue your muscles tense up ready to get filled with something bigger and Yoongi’s cock twitches inside the confine of his underwear.

He doesn’t need to remove his undergarments to know his tip is red and slick with his precum desperate to fill your empty hole up but before that, he coats two of his fingers in your wetness and pushes them inside parting your walls gently to ease you into the feeling preparing you to take his cock.

Your hips buck into his hand as he curls his long fingers inside your velvety walls feeling your muscles constrict around his digits he moans with his head thrown back as he imagines his dick getting the same treatment later, your musky scent and visual laying beneath him taking what he gives you drives him crazy with need.

Perking up at the sound you open your eyes blinking to get the blurriness fade dreamy half-lidded eyes watch as his fingers fill you up and you almost close them again because of the pure ecstasy his expert hands give to your overwhelmed body.

You see the painful tent that formed inside his briefs before the numbing pleasure could consume you yet again and there’s a wet spot in the middle that lets you know he gets off on seeing you enjoy yourself. His hips unknowingly to him ruts against the sheets to get some kind of friction realising that he focused solely on your pleasure and put it aside to chase his, he’s so different from the partners you previously slept with and the sudden urge to please him overtakes your selfish side to just receive and receive.

You palm him over the wet spot following the outline of his hard dick to give him some well-deserved relief and he immediately grinds into your palm letting out breathy groans and low moans, you don’t mind at all when he gets lost in your touch instead and momentarily forgets about his goal to get you prepped nicely for his cock. The fingers he has inside you stills and your head clear out a little, you’re able to focus on his face learning what he likes as you study his reactions to your movements, you know his moans will probably become your favourite sounds.

You take advantage of his current state to switch positions, letting his fingers slip out of you as you get rid of his underwear grabbing his thighs to lower yourself while he sits down at the edge of the bed.

Taking his tip into your mouth to taste his precum you feel Yoongi’s nails digging into your scalp as you swallow around him trying to get him into your mouth as much as your poor jaw can handle. Holding the base of his cock to guide him back into your wet cavern you set a slow pace, stroking what you can’t fit.

”You look so good sucking my dick baby.” You learned that he tends to be on the quiet side even in the bedroom, his reactions however are good indicators of how you’re able to affect him with every swirl of your tongue. Letting him use the hand tangled in your hair to set the rhythm of your movements your vision blurs as tears swell in your eyes due to the quickened pace and force he starts to fuck your mouth but he pulls out before he could get too close to cumming.

”I need to have you know. Lie down on the bed with your legs spread wide for me.” You follow his instructions showing him your drenched swollen pussy as he climbs on the bed after you, admiring the way he ruined your cunt before he reaches for a condom retrieving the item from inside his drawer.

He touches himself in front of you watching you squirm under his gaze as you wait for him to roll the condom down his length, your body aches to finally be filled with something bigger.

”Yoongi. Fill me up.” You part your pussy lips for him revealing your hole clenching around nothing, beckoning him to fill you up Yoongi looks at the sinful image in front of him saving this memory of you for later when he’s alone with his hands but today he plans to have your cunt wrapped around his cock rather than his fingers.

Your drenched walls suck him in as he enters you, hips lowering in slow motion to bury his entire length inside, nice and steady, gripping his shoulders for support you moan into the sloppy kiss feeling so full.

You hear his guttural moan loud and clear just as his breath hits the shell of your ear and your walls squeeze around him, wet squelching sounds ring beside your mixed love language thriving off the sounds he grunts directly into your ear encouraging you to meet his movements in the middle.

It feels like you stand in front of the gates of heaven when Yoongi increases his pace thrusting in and out, not being able to stop as he feels his balls tighten with the need to cum he parts your legs even more as he watches his dick emerge from the pussy he owns now coated in your juices taking his hard length and moan out every time his tip curves to touch your sweet spot with each delivered stroke.

You cum first around his dick, he helps you ride out your pleasure only pulling out when you whine from oversensitivity and he rolls the condom off to finish as well, watching your spent pussy glistening with your cum he uses the sight in front of him to get off, he collects your slick to lubricate his shaft as he starts to jerk himself off faster.

Once your breathing evens out and you see the concentration on Yoongi’s face while he lucidly moves his hands up and down his throbbing cock with the desperate need to cum you touch his hips drawing soothing circles onto his sweaty skin taking him back into your mouth to help him reach his high.

He comes in your mouth with a soft cry throwing his head back as you keep sucking him licking his sensitive tip until he pulls your head off with a shaky hand stroking your cheeks with his thumb.

”So friends and family, let me introduce you to my boyfriend Yoongi. You might have already met him before.” You joke in front of your relatives of all ages and you see in the corner of your eyes how Hoseok rolls his eyes.

© helenazbmrskai lll Please do not copy, reblog and like instead!

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that's all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There's nothing deeper at work here. There's nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 11,592)

(first part) (second part) (third part)

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

Part Four

He blinks awake, and he isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

A ceiling, to be sure, but it’s not the ceiling that it should be. It’s paler, more uniform, and the light illuminates it more evenly. His eyes drift across it, catching on a few hairline cracks near the wall, and he wonders, vaguely, if this is something he needs to be concerned about. This isn’t his room. He ought to be in his room, if he was sleeping.

And then, he comes to full awareness, because he is suddenly very cognizant that there are other people nearby. Breathing, clothes rustling, quietly conversing, even, and panic bursts in his chest. He sits bolt upright, casting about him for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself, because he’s not going to let Dream’s men get the drop on him, not going to let him take down their revolution so easily—

He’s greeted by the sight of his friends, staring at him, visibly startled.

That’s right. The war is over. And he can relax, because none of them are likely to stab him in the back. Though that doesn’t mean he can let his guard down entirely, of course—not likely is not the same as impossible, after all, and he learned long ago that nothing is impossible, no loyalty guaranteed. And why are they here in the first place?

He scans the looks on their faces and simultaneously tries to figure out what they’re doing. They’ve got paperwork, it seems like. All of them. Is that his paperwork? Why are they doing his paperwork? And why are their expressions like that, varying between vaguely guilty to concerned to glad to—

His gaze lands on Niki. And just like that, he remembers.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, what has he done?

He can’t believe himself. Did he actually let himself have a full-on break down with her in the room? Did he actually say all of that to her? There’s no way he can take any of it back now, which means it’s out there. She knows. And with everybody else here, with Tommy and Tubbo and Fundy and even Jack Manifold sitting around on his office floor, he can assume that they know too. They know how much of a failure he is.

Maybe that’s why they’re all here, going through the work that’s meant to be his. They’ve realized that he’s incapable of doing it properly, so they’re going to appoint someone else to take care of it and gently ask him to step down. He has no doubt that they will be gentle. As kind as possible with the knife that hits his heart. He’ll fade into obscurity, a slow death, and dust will coat his bones, and in fifty years or so someone will visit him and find what remains.

That is the kind of thought that would have even Technoblade accusing him of melodrama. He doesn’t care enough to rein himself in at the moment.

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, peering at him over a paper that he’s holding very close to his face. To get a good look at the words, he assumes. “You feeling any better?”

“Um,” he says, and curses his tired brain. He needs a minute. Alone, preferably, so that he can get his mind up and running properly, without anyone seeing him before he can manage as much. But they’re not about to grant him that, are they? “Uh, I’m good.” He shifts, trying to release some of his tension in a non-obvious manner, and fabric falls from his shoulders. He glances down at it; it’s his coat, meaning someone divested him of it when he was asleep and covered him with it. He’s not sure how he feels about that. It’s a nice gesture, on one hand, but on the other, he doesn’t like that they could do that without waking him up.

Niki is sitting closest to him, though everyone is kind of close, actually, now that he’s noticing it. They’ve pushed his desk to the side, too, as well as his chairs, leaving the floor wide open, and yet, they’re all clumped near him, papers spread out between all of them. But Niki smiles at him. No one else does. He wishes he could smile back. His heart refuses to calm, even though he’s recognized the people in here for friends rather than foes. The problem is that anyone could be a foe, and he might not know until it was too late. Not that he really thinks that about any of them, but—he can’t not think it, either.

And he’s too vulnerable. The space is too crowded. They’re all looking at him, watching him, and even though he’s slept, he doesn’t feel rested. Doesn’t feel awake. He’s going to slip up, and they’re all going to be here for it, and he didn’t know what to do about it when it was just Niki so how is he supposed to do damage control when it’s literally everyone—

“That’s good,” Niki says, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I’m glad.” She pauses, and he should say something, but his head’s too jumbled, and all the words jam up against each other before he can think to voice any of them. “It’s been about four hours.”

Oh. That’s good. He hasn’t lost too much time, then. Not that he would have accomplished much with it, probably, but there’s a reason why he forces himself out of bed, at least, even when that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Right,” he says. “Good.” Fuck, the words just aren’t coming. He has to do better than this. “Can I ask why you’re all here?”

Silence falls, thick and oppressive. He feels like he’s breathing heavy fog, like it’s filling his lungs and then staying there. And they’re all still looking at him, too, at him and at each other, and they’re having some sort of silent conversation, and he hates it. He meets Fundy’s eyes for a second, and Fundy glances away, away and down, his ears almost flat against his head, and Wilbur—he’s not going to cry again. Not going to—but he wants to know why they’re here, and he wants to know whatever it is they’re not saying to him, and he doesn’t want his son to look at him with that expression on his face. Like he’s—he doesn’t even know, and when did he forget how to read Fundy? How long has it been since he really tried?

It’s Jack, of all people, who speaks up first.

“Niki said you could use some help,” he says with an easy shrug. “So we’re helping. And you seemed like you might need the rest.”

I don’t need help.

The sentence sticks in his throat. Because it’s a lie. It’s a lie, even though he’s tried so hard to make it into truth. It’s a lie, and perhaps he’s just tired of telling lies.

Though he doesn’t much like the alternative, either. Is there no way out of this?

“We don’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Tubbo tacks on. His tone is casual, but there is something knowing in it. Something slightly sharp. Tubbo is so very perceptive, even if he doesn’t always let that on, and normally, it’s a trait that he very much admires. Normally. When it’s not directed at him. “And besides, some of this is definitely stuff that I ought to be working on anyway. Since I’m in your cabinet and all. I’m not so busy with the space program that I can’t.”

Space—oh. Right. Did he approve that? He must have.

“Yeah, this is way too much for one guy,” Jack agrees. “No wonder you’ve been stressed out, man. But hey, you’ve got us. We’re paperwork champions, us.” He waves a paper cheerfully, grinning, and that’s a bit much for him at this second. There’s no malice in any of it, in anything that Jack is saying, but it’s still—too much, and he doesn’t quite know why, but his skin has started that uncomfortable buzzing again, the kind that it does when he’s feeling overwhelmed and doesn’t have an outlet.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” he tries, phrasing it as carefully as he can, “but that’s really not any of your responsibility.”

“Wil,” Niki says, and her voice cuts through the white noise in his head. He stiffens, and suddenly finds that eye contact is also too much. “We want to help. That’s all. And it’ll make us feel better too, if you let us.”

“We made you soup, too,” Fundy mutters suddenly, ears still pinned back. “Or, well, Niki did. Tommy messed it up the first time.”

“Oi, shut the fuck up,” Tommy says. He’s hunched over, curled in on himself, and eye contact is a thing that he seems to be avoiding as well, which is concerning. Tommy doesn’t tend to be avoidant when he’s angry.

In a way, though, it’s almost relieving to see clear signs that someone, at least, is upset with him.

“I did,” Niki agrees, “but Tommy tried his best. Actually, Tommy, it should be ready now, if you want to go and get it?”

Tommy lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the sight makes Wilbur feels a bit like he’s been shot. Because he did that, surely? That’s his fault? It has to be.

“Fine,” Tommy bites out, and then he rises, and he’s out the door before Wilbur can think of what to say to him at all.

“He actually did try his best,” Tubbo says. “When Niki said we ought to make you some soup, he was all over it. He’s just not any good at cooking things. He gets distracted, and then things are burning or boiling over and it’s a whole mess.”

He knows all of this. He traveled with Tommy for a very long time. He was in charge of meals for multiple reasons, despite the fact he doesn’t have much of an affinity for food himself. What he makes is often edible, though, which was always more than he could say for Tommy’s attempts, Tommy who is too impatient and too prone to jumping on ideas and following where they lead, discarding the old ones when they no longer interest him. Not the best mindset to have when it comes to cooking.

And then, the implications catch up to him. Soup. He’s going to have to eat.

That’s a thing he should do, he knows. He just doesn’t know if he can. Especially not with everyone here, everyone looking at him, and his discomfort at that fact has not left him, no matter how silly a thing it is to get worked up over. He ought to be fine with the attention, ought to thrive on it. He used to. He used to, once, not even that long ago. A matter of months. He could drop a deft turn of phrase and have anyone eating out of his hand, and he liked it that way. He could charm strangers and court friends. He was in control.

That control has left him. Along with his dignity, apparently.

“You know, that’s not all that surprising,” Jack says. “Tommy doesn’t really seem like the type of person who knows how to cook things.”

“Well, he can, if he really sets himself to it,” Tubbo says. “Just not if there’s anything else on his mind.”

The implication being that there was. The implication being that it was Wilbur.

His cheeks are on fire. He’s powerless to fight back the flush.

Is this what it’s going to be, now? Are they going to keep discussing him, dancing around the topic while he’s still in the room? He wonders what they talked about while he was asleep. Whether Niki spilled everything, shared all the finest details of his break down, or whether she left them to guess. He doesn’t know which would be worse, but either way, nothing will be the same. At best, they will pity him, will lose their respect for his abilities, lose their faith in his leadership, and they will feel sorry for him. Will feel dismay at how far he’s fallen. Perhaps they won’t even say as much to his face. Perhaps it will all be in sideways glances and hushed silences when he enters a room and too-gentle voices when they speak to him, and he will lose them just as surely as if they hated him.

Perhaps it will be better if they hate him. Perhaps he would prefer that, no matter how it would burn him. Because at least it would burn him quickly, and the flames would not be disguised as an open palm.

“Wil?” Niki’s voice is soft, but it brings him back to the present effectively enough. “Really, are you feeling any better?”

“I’m feeling fine,” he says, almost on instinct, even though he knows very well that he’s not going to be able to slide that past her. Not now. Not after their—

But should he be trying to? After what she said to him?

But he can’t believe her. He can’t. No matter how much some part of him wants to, no matter how much there is something in his brain and in his chest and in his bones that wants nothing more than to break down again, to let them all see the truth of him. Wants to let them take care of him, if they would.

But they shouldn’t have to. Even if they would, they shouldn’t have to.

And he doesn’t want them to pity him.

“Are you?” Niki asks, holding his gaze. He can feel the flush deepening.

“No shame in not,” Jack pipes up, still infuriatingly casual. “If you’re feeling sort of shit, you can tell us that, you know?”

“I’d say it’s encouraged, actually,” Tubbo adds on.

“I’m not feeling sort of shit,” he says, and—fuck. He has to look down. He can’t stand Niki staring at him like that. He’s lying, and she knows, and he knows she knows, but he just—earlier was a fluke. He can’t—he can’t repeat it. Can’t let himself—

So why the fuck is it so tempting to just give in? Is it that he knows he’s already doomed?

“Okay,” Jack says slowly, and even he sounds a bit doubtful, “but you know, hypothetically, if you weren’t? That would hypothetically be fine, and we’d hypothetically be there for you. If you wanted to hypothetically talk to us. Get some things off your chest, as it were. Because we’re your friends.”

He opens his mouth. And closes it again.

And then, the door swings open. Tommy’s standing there, a large bowl in his hands.

“Soup,” he announces, curt and short. He’s angry. And still angry when he looks at Wilbur, for the first time since—all of this. His blue eyes are stormy, and if Wilbur had just a little less presence of mind, he might find himself shrinking back. Which would be ridiculous. He’s not afraid of Tommy.

Just of his judgment.

He blinks, and the soup is being thrust into his hands, along with a spoon. The bowl is hot, but it’s easy to handle, and he takes it before any of it can slosh over the sides. It’s mostly broth, it looks like, with a few chunks of meat. It smells nice. Fairly appetizing.

His stomach growls.

“Thanks, Tommy,” he murmurs. “And Niki, thank you.” He stirs it a couple times, trying to work up the nerve to bring the spoon to his mouth. It shouldn’t be that hard, but—he’s back to the people thing, again. Eyes on him. And it’s Fundy’s, maybe, that are most unnerving, because Fundy’s barely said anything to him at all. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Can’t read him whatsoever, and that in itself is upsetting.

But perhaps it’s just as well that he waits a moment, because then, Tommy speaks up.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” he demands, and once again, the room falls very silent. No one moves.

His mind blanks, unravels, almost, at the accusatory note in Tommy’s voice.

“Tommy—” Niki ventures, but Tommy shakes his head.

“No,” he snaps. “I want him to say. He’s been in here, fucking, fucking starving himself apparently, because he’s been so fucking stressed, and he hasn’t said anything about it. In fact, he’s been fucking lying about it, and I want some fucking—some fucking answers, alright? Why didn’t he tell any of us what was going on?”

No words form. He doesn’t have an answer. Not when it’s Tommy asking him these things.

His chest feels hot.

No. No, not now, not again, you’re not doing this.

“Tommy,” Niki says, “I think it’s a little more complicated than that—”

“Fuck complicated,” Tommy says. “He could’ve been dying and we wouldn’t have known.”

Tommy’s voice breaks.

And it is probably a bad thing, that Wilbur’s first thought is, I think that I was.

He has enough good sense to not say that aloud, at least.

“I was hardly about to burden you with my problems,” he says, barely above a whisper. He can’t get his volume to increase any more than that. Not in the face of Tommy’s anger. Which is odd, because usually he’s quite good at combating Tommy’s stubbornness. “Especially when I ought to be able to handle them myself.”

“Well, fuck you too, then,” Tommy says, and—it is an effort not to flinch at that, to stop himself from spiraling, to prevent tears from springing to his eyes again. He can’t be that sensitive. He can’t. But then, Tommy continues, and he thinks that all his efforts might be for naught anyway. “No, really, fuck you, man. You’re not fucking—burdening us, what the shit are you on about? Are you just stupid?”

“Not that I’d phrase it that way,” Tubbo joins in, “but Tommy’s got a point, boss man. Why’d you think you couldn’t come to us with this stuff? You have to know we’re happy to help you, right?”

It’s that same question again. He can’t go through it. He can’t explain the self-loathing, the mask he wears, the front he puts up. He can’t go through it, because he doesn’t want to see the dawning realizations on their faces. He doesn’t want them to understand him, not like that, because he understands himself. He understands himself, and he hates himself for it, and he doesn’t want them to hate him as well.

But Niki doesn’t hate him. Niki heard everything that came out of his mouth, and she doesn’t hate him.

But that’s not—

He feels so fucking lost. And he hates that, too.

“I think,” Niki says suddenly, “that Wilbur’s been dealing with some things lately. And that maybe he didn’t want anybody to know about it because he’s supposed to be the leader, so that means he’s supposed to be strong all the time, and maybe that means he’s not supposed to ask for help. And that maybe he thinks we’d think less of him if he did need help.”

He stares at her.

That’s the crux of a lot of it. And she’s just laid it out. It’s in the open, now, and he didn’t have to say anything at all. He’s not sure whether to feel grateful or upset about it.

She stares back. “You don’t have to say anything,” she says. “I know it’s difficult for you. But am I right, Wil?”

It is difficult for him. That’s part of the whole problem. If it is a problem. He didn’t think that is was, thought that it was a strength, in fact, the only thing keeping him above water, the fraying stitches that maintain the facade that he so desperately needs to keep up. But if Niki is to be believed, he should have said something a long time ago. Because his leadership capabilities and his formation of this country aren’t why his friends stick with him. Apparently.

He still doesn’t know if he can believe that.

But perhaps he doesn’t have to believe it yet. Perhaps he needs to take a chance.

Slowly, he nods, and he keeps looking at her, not at anyone else, because he doesn’t want to see anyone else’s reactions, but he does see the relief in her eyes at the motion, at the admission. At the capitulation—because that’s what this is, isn’t it? It’s him giving in, accepting that there is nowhere else to hide.

“Oh,” Tommy says, and he thinks that someone else makes a noise, but he can’t tell who. “Well, that’s just some bullshit, then, innit? Everyone needs help sometimes, don’t they? Except for me, because I’m so poggers, but everyone can’t be me, you know, and there’s no shame in that. And maybe, you know, just maybe I ask for help sometimes too, just to make it fair to everyone else. But you know, asking for help, it doesn’t make you any less, um, good, and if you need help you should ask for it, I think. That’s my opinion.”

Oh fuck. He’s not going to cry. That shouldn’t even be hitting him like it is, because Tommy’s his kid brother and he’s supposed to be looking after him, not the other way around, but—

Fuck. He’s tearing up. He doesn’t want them to see him crying. But his mind’s a mess.

“I know it’s hard,” Niki says, and she scoots a little closer. “But we can start with little things, okay? And we’re here for you.” Her eyes take on a certain amount of hardness, a glint that’s just a bit like steel. “And we’re going to continue being here for you.” She reaches out, then, puts a hand on his arm, and the only reason he doesn’t flinch away and spill soup all over himself is because she choreographs the motion. “How about you eat your soup?”

He finds his voice at last.

“Okay,” he says, small and broken. They can hear it, he’s sure. But they don’t leave.

He eats the soup. It’s good.

He can only get about half of it down before he feels too full to continue, but it’s something like a start.

----

They’re true to their word, all of them.

He’s not alone nearly so often these days. It’s almost frustrating, because they’re hovering. He’s well aware of that fact. Even when he wants to isolate himself, he finds that he can’t do it, that it’s not fifteen minutes before someone comes barging in, either to take him out somewhere or to stay in with him, to work on policies or just to share stories or show him a new build or a thousand other things. His office sees more traffic in the next few weeks than it has in the past few months.

But what they don’t do, he’s starting to realize, is pity him.

He doesn’t understand it at first. But they never comment on the fact that he can’t do what he ought to be able to do, and they never hint that they find him incapable, and they don’t subtly try to say that he’s unfit for the job, even though all of these things are true and wrapped up in each other. They’re just—there. For him. Supporting him.

It’s a little bewildering. He tries not to express as much, because whenever he lets something like that slip, they look angry, if they’re Tommy, and sad if they’re anyone else. Which he doesn’t want. But it truly is as if they care about him as a person and not just what he can do for them, which is a mindset he’s never been able to hold when it comes to himself, and frankly, he’s not sure whether he can trust it at all, because he’s still not good at that. Still not good at trust. He’s not sure whether he ever will be again.

But they stay with him, and they help him, and from everything he can tell, it’s not because they pity him. It’s because they care.

Terrifying. And there have to be limits to that, surely? To even the most genuine compassion?

But he hasn’t found them yet.

The first time he thinks that perhaps there are none at all comes on what he’s taken to calling one of his grey mornings, where all the world appears lifeless, colorless, and there doesn’t seem to be a point to getting out of bed, and even if he wanted to, his limbs drag heavily, as if weighted down by anchors, and his mind refuses to emerge from the persistent fog that takes it.

Usually, on these mornings, he manages to be up and about by midday at the latest, if only because his anxiety about the tasks he needs to accomplish eventually overrides the haze, and no one is ever the wiser for it.

Today, Tommy comes barging into his private quarters at about ten in the morning.

“Wilbur!” Tommy says, loud as anything, drawing out his name in the way that he does when he wants something. He wants to press his pillow over his ears so he doesn’t have to listen, because it’s grating, the sudden noise. But he doesn’t have the energy for it, so he just lies there, in bed, covers pulled over him, watching Tommy through slit eyes as he steps into the room. “Wilbur, you’ve got to come and tell Tubbo—why’s your room so shit?”

He’s fairly certain that’s a change in subject, and not what he’s supposed to come tell Tubbo.

“No, really,” Tommy says. “There’s like, nothing in here. What the hell?”

He needs to respond to that, so he sighs.

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet,” he mutters, and even just saying that much takes far too much effort. “Just—go do something, I’ll be up in a bit.”

And he will be. He always is. But Tommy doesn’t leave, stands there frowning at him, and it’s enough to make him feel self-conscious. Not as much as it would have a few weeks ago, perhaps, but still, he doesn’t like that Tommy’s seeing him like this, all slumped over and still in bed like a sad, messy sack of potatoes.

“Rough morning then, eh?” Tommy says, and—really, there’s no point in denying it.

“I’ll be over it in a bit,” he repeats, though it’s a chore, though he’s dreading the moment he steps out of bed, because the thing about days like these is that the haze doesn’t actually leave him. He just eventually uses his neuroticism to force himself to work through it, which makes for a gut-churning combination of nerves and apathy, both rolling through him at once. It’s unpleasant, and his brain never seems to work properly. Everything that’s supposed to be important dissolves, slips from his grasp, and he can’t even manage to care properly about it, and then he gets anxious about the fact that he can’t care properly about it, and then it turns into a cycle, all of his negative energy feeding itself. And he’s powerless to make it stop.

“Okay, but if I leave, you’re just going to be in here, all sad and shit,” Tommy says. “So how about I stay here, and I tell you about the crimes that Tubbo has committed against me, and then when you’re feeling a bit better, because everyone feels better after talking to me—when you’re feeling a bit better you can get up and we can go out together, yeah?”

He’s not sure how he feels about that. But he can hardly stop Tommy at the moment, since it seems he’s already made up his mind, and Tommy’s already looking around for a chair; the only one in the room is the one at his desk, so Tommy pulls that over to the bed, making a horrid, obnoxious scraping noise against the floor. And then, he seats himself, settling down like he’s not inclined to go anywhere anytime soon. And he talks.

The thing is, it sort of works.

The way Tommy’s speaking, it’s like he doesn’t have any kind of expectations. Wilbur doesn’t need to answer, just to listen. So he does, and he lets himself drift a little bit, and it’s difficult to believe that Tommy’s not judging him for it, or for any of this, but Tommy’s not the sort of kid who hides what he’s feeling, and he can’t detect any frustration or derision in the way he’s talking. It’s like he’s content enough to just talk, to be there, even though Wilbur’s hardly making it fun for him, is hardly being an engaging conversation partner. It’s like he just wants Wilbur to feel better, without any ulterior motive at all, so he’s here doing what he thinks will accomplish that.

And Wilbur does start to feel better.

Not all the way. Not by a long shot. But eventually, he finds himself able to reply, and the words come a bit easier and thinking feels a bit less like wading through mud, and it starts to be an actual conversation rather than just Tommy jabbering at him. And after that, he manages to swing himself out of bed and get dressed, and Tommy pushes breakfast on him that he manages to eat most of, and just like that, he’s up and about his day. Not at a hundred percent, not firing on all cylinders, but more than usual, on a grey day like today.

And it’s because of Tommy. Because he was here. Because he came, and he stayed, and he thinks that perhaps, what Tubbo did or did not do was never the point of this at all.

When he asks Tommy about it, a little circumspectly, Tommy stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“What do you mean, why?” he asks. “Why wouldn’t I? You were feeling shitty, weren’t you? So I wanted to make you feel alright again.”

It’s stated so simply. As if that really is all there is to it.

And perhaps that’s the truth.

“You make things way too complicated,” Tommy tacks on, matter-of-factly. “I dunno why you do that. You ought to stop it, I reckon.”

That wrings a laugh from him, and if it’s a bit wet, Tommy doesn’t comment on it.

“Maybe I should,” he says, and Tommy nods, satisfied.

“Of course you should,” he says. “I am always so incredibly correct. You should listen to me all the time.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he returns, and it feels, just a little bit, like the way things used to be.

----

The white hair still bothers him. His reflection as a whole still bothers him, but the white hair most of all. It’s broad and obvious and an irritating reminder of what everyone keeps insisting isn’t weakness, but rather a sign that he’s pushed himself beyond the point of what’s healthy. Which matters. Evidently.

He still doesn’t like looking at it. It makes him feel—lesser, in a way, though he’s no longer sure that makes any sense at all.

So he still does his best to hide it, even though there’s not much point anymore, even though everyone’s seen it and everyone knows exactly what it means. He tries to hide it, and he avoids looking in the mirror when he can, and he pretends he doesn’t see the way people frown at him, sometimes, whenever he refuses to do something like take off his coat or hat in one of the more casual settings they’ve taken to luring him out to.

And then, Fundy shows up at his door with a bucket and a pair of fishing rods.

“Do you want to go fishing with me,” he blurts out, all in one breath, and Wilbur blinks, because he hadn’t expected this at all. He’s come to expect something, most days, has come to expect someone arriving either to interrupt the monotony of his work or to help him with it, but Fundy doesn’t make appearances often. And never by himself. Frankly, Wilbur had come to the conclusion long ago that he’d messed up somewhere along the line, done something that forced his son to desire a separation from him. That his little champion has resolved that he’d rather not have much to do with his father.

“Fishing?” he asks.

He’d promised, a long time ago, that he’d teach his son how to fish one day. That day never arrived. He’d thought that Fundy didn’t want to anymore.

“Yeah.” Fundy shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. “Um, it was just an idea. But I thought that maybe? You’d want to? If you, um, if you have some time for it. It’s okay if you don’t.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say no. But he’s done that so many times, has denied his son again and again. Not just his son, but everyone, and now they’re all determined to make him see, apparently, that focusing on his work in the way he has been is not only unhealthy, but not necessary. He still doesn’t know that he believes that.

“Alright,” he says softly, and stands, and his heart breaks a little at the surprise that comes across Fundy’s face.

“Really?” he asks. “You want to?”

“I do,” he says. And he does, even if a bout of nerves rises up in him at the prospect. He does his best to quash them.

So they do. They go down to the docks. They get situated, and Wilbur shows his son how to put the bait on a hook, and how to cast his line out, and how to be patient, and they fish, and it’s a bit awkward. A bit stilted. There’s too many unspoken words between them, and one big subject that neither of them knows how to breach, especially not in this circumstance, and part of Wilbur doubts that they ever will.

But they’re both here. And he doesn’t want this to be their future. And he’s decided to try not to isolate himself like he was, so if something’s going to change, it really is up to him, so he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you,” he says, and stares out at the way their bobbers float next to each other in the gentle surf.

“It’s okay,” Fundy says. “Or, well, I mean. I kind of thought that you were disappointed in me or something, so that kind of didn’t feel okay, but I’m glad you’re not.”

He jerks at the confession, which sounds pained, as though he doesn’t really want to be saying it.

“Why would I ever be disappointed in you?” he asks.

“Well, it’s—” Fundy says. “I dunno, you just never let me do anything, and then you kind of stopped spending time with me at all, so I sort of figured that maybe you thought I couldn’t do anything.”

His mouth is dry. His line is slack, which is just as well; if a fish came along now, he might let it tug his rod right from his fingers.

“I’m not disappointed in you,” he says. “I never—I never could be, Fundy, I promise. I—I thought you were disappointed in me, to be entirely honest.”

Fundy’s head snaps toward him, his eyes wide.

It is a struggle to continue. Confessions like this are not his forte, even now. But he’s trying to be more open. Trying not to lock himself away. Trying to reach out for the hands that have been offered to him, trying to believe that they will help him stand, will not abandon him to his own shoddy balance as soon as it becomes apparent that he’s made up of more trouble than worth.

And Fundy deserves this.

“I’m sorry that I made you feel that way,” he says, and that is difficult, too. Saying sorry outright like that. But he needs to. “Truly. I just figured—I mean, I know I’m not exactly the best parent. And especially lately, it’s been—”

He trails off, not sure where he’s going with this. If it were a few weeks ago, he’d be apologizing for his weakness as well, for his inability to remain strong under the pressure, but everyone around him keeps insisting that that’s not the right way to look at it, and he’s growing more and more open to letting himself be convinced.

“You’re—” Fundy starts, and then falters. His tail drags back and forth, and then stills. “Oh. Um. Okay, I probably should’ve—um.” His ears flick, and he glances away. “I’m sorry too, then. For avoiding you lately. I know, um, that’s what I’ve been doing. I didn’t realize that it—it wasn’t because I thought that you were, that you were disappointing or anything, I just didn’t—I didn’t really know how to react. Because I sort of always thought you were invincible, and now all of a sudden you’re not.”

Something in him wilts.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“No! Um, no, that’s not what I—you don’t have to be invincible, it’s just that I sort of needed to, to adjust to that. Because of course, no one’s invincible, right? But you’re just—you’re my dad, so I guess I always just thought that nothing could hurt you. So I wasn’t—I wasn’t really sure what I should do. Or how I should help. Or if you even wanted me to help. But I didn’t mean to—I mean, maybe I was a little upset with you but not like—it wasn’t like, for a—I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess I was upset because I was worried.” Fundy looks back at him. “‘Cause, you know. I love you and everything.”

Oh.

He’s not quite sure what to do with all of that, but the last sentence gets caught in his chest and sticks there, warmth unfurling.

All’s not lost. His son still loves him.

“I love you too,” he says, slightly hoarse. “Always.”

He can believe this. Sitting here, listening to the lap of the waves, he can believe this, can believe that his son loves him, that no matter his mistakes, his son still cares, that his son won’t leave him. Maybe he’ll forget later, but he can be reminded. And in turn, he hopes that Fundy believes him. Because there are so many words unspoken between them, but now, there are a few less.

They keep fishing. Far longer than he thought he’d allow himself, but he finds it easier than it has been, to push his duties from his mind. And at some point, he rolls up his sleeves, and then loses the coat entirely, and the hat lands on top of it, and he’s letting his hair free, and other than a few glances, Fundy doesn’t mention it at all.

And when he catches a glimpse of himself in the water, too-thin face and too-dark eyebags and a white streak of hair that’s almost skunk-like in its prominence, he doesn’t care much for it, but he doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t feel the need to hide away, or to put on the layers again, to cover up behind the mask of professionalism.

For a moment, he can just be a man fishing with his son, and all the rest is less important.

----

“There is,” Jack Manifold says, and swallows, “a man.”

Not what he expected Jack to say when he burst in like that, but alright.

“What man?” he asks. He puts down the paper he’d been reading, and decides it goes into the ‘to-delegate-to-Tubbo’ pile. That’s a new system he’s been using. Delegation. He’s not quite comfortable with it yet, but it makes everyone else happier, so he’s doing his best to actually give it a try.

“A man,” Jack says, very helpfully. “He’s at the gates. We told him to wait to come in, and he’s doing that, but um. Wow. He’s got some vibes. Dunno how to describe them, except to be honest, he’s a bit intimidating. And he wants to see you.”

That can’t possibly bode well.

“Alright,” he says, standing and grabbing his coat. Freshly washed. He’s getting better about that. He’s had a bit more energy, lately. “Show me.”

Jack takes him down to the front entrance. He keeps pace with him, matching him stride for stride, but it’s not until they’re almost there that Jack tacks on, almost an afterthought, “Oh, yeah, plus he had wings. That’s not really a usual thing.” And his heart leaps straight into his throat.

“He what,” he says, but by then it’s too late, because there’s the entrance to his nation, and standing there, talking amicably with Tubbo, is Phil.

He looks unchanged from the last time he saw him. Even though that was—well. Not actually years ago. He’s seen him in the meantime for a couple of tournaments and the like, but he’s thinking of the day he left home. The day he decided that the world was too vast, too big to leave unexplored and unconquered, the day he decided to go in pursuit of that nebulous more that he always seemed to want, but could never put a name to. The day he slung his guitar across his back and a coat over his shoulders and gave his father one last hug goodbye and promised to write, and only looked back once to the house, to where Phil stood on the porch, smiling and waving him off, proud of him.

He looks unchanged. Same robes, same sandals. Same dumb bucket hat. Same wings arching behind him, feathers black as the void that granted them to him.

“Oh,” Jack says. “Does Tubbo know him?”

He swallows.

Why is Phil here?

“Yeah, they’ve met,” he says. “He’s—not anyone you need to be worried about.”

Probably. Almost definitely. Especially if Technoblade’s not with him, since he’s heard Technoblade has a bit of a mind toward anarchy these days, so he’s not sure how well that next meeting is going to go. But there’s no sign of his father’s best friend, only his father, whose head swivels toward him on his approach, and it’s too late to turn back now. Not that he would. This isn’t something he can run away from.

“Wilbur!” Tubbo says, as soon as he’s close enough. “You didn’t say Phil was coming.”

“I wasn’t aware Phil was coming,” he says, and tries for a smile. Phil meets his eyes, and he returns it, but there is something else there. Something more complicated than a simple reunion ought to warrant. “Phil didn’t write ahead. Though that’s not to say he isn’t welcome, but I probably would’ve done a bit of tidying up first.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Phil says. “I don’t mean to drop by unannounced. But any letter I sent probably wouldn’t have gotten here much before I did.”

That is—concerning. What’s so pressing that he couldn’t have waited?

“We should probably let you guys catch up, huh?” Tubbo says, and then nudges Jack. “C’mon, we’ve got to go do a thing.”

“We do?”

“Yep.” And then, Tubbo’s got Jack by the arm, and both of them are walking away, Jack considerably more confused than Tubbo, and then they’re gone. And he’s left with Phil.

Should this feel as awkward as it does? There’s no reason for this tension. Not that he knows of.

“Hi,” he says. “Been a while.”

“Hi, mate,” Phil says, voice soft, expression soft. Is there a reason for the softness, more than just seeing each other again for the first time in—a while?

“Well, welcome to L’Manberg,” he says. “I mean it, you were welcome anytime. I’d love to show you what I’ve made here. What we’ve made here.” He pauses. He can’t not ask. Letting something like that slip by him isn’t in his nature. “Though, is there anything I should know about? Don’t take this the wrong way, because I am glad to see you, but I really wasn’t expecting you.” He finishes with a laugh, short and perhaps a bit nervous, and the corners of Phil’s eyes crinkle. His expression isn’t happy, though, not really.

“I got your letter,” Phil says, still soft, and Wilbur goes to ask for clarification, because he hasn’t sent a letter asking him to come. Except the next words make him freeze. “Both of them, actually.”

Phil dips a hand into a pocket in his robes, and it comes out holding two sheets of paper. Both written in his handwriting. One neat, clean. The other with lines and sentences scratched out, and then the rest of it rushed, an outpouring of emotion, something that he never, ever intended to send. And he wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t have made such a stupid mistake, would he have? Except he was so tired, and Tubbo came in and interrupted him, and couldn’t it be plausible that he’d just—scooped up both drafts, when he only meant to send the one? That he tucked both into the envelope, sent both flying off, sent them both into Phil’s hands, one a clear contradiction of the sweet lies of the other?

He’s gone numb.

“Oh,” he says weakly.

What did he write? He can’t even remember now. It was a flight of passion, a bit of self indulgence that he hoped would relieve some of the stress. It didn’t, of course. And he didn’t consider the idea that there would be consequences for it, that it would ever see the light of day. He never intended it to.

Something about being a disappointment. About failing everyone. About being hated. Something about the Final Control Room, too, which was something he never wanted Phil to learn about.

“Um,” he says.

“I figured you didn’t mean to send it,” Phil says. “But I—I could hardly not come, after reading that.”

He sounds a little bit lost. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do in this situation either. That makes two of them.

He can’t explain this away. Even if he’s been a bit better lately, even if he’s gotten a bit better at leaning on others, at asking for help, and even if he no longer quite believes that his friends will abandon him as soon as he proves to be of little use—because if they were going to do that, they would have already, surely—even with all of that, he’s still not well. In a better state of mind than he was when he penned that, but still not well. And now Phil knows, and he’s here, and he’s going to know all the rest, and whenever he thinks he’s mastered himself, has himself under control, the universe comes and spits in his face, doesn’t it?

Niki was one thing. And then all the rest of his friends, his little brother, even, that was another, but he’s been getting accustomed to it. Has been trying to trust, even though it’s so very difficult.

But Phil. He never wanted Phil to know. Not any of it.

“Right,” he says. “Um. I was—not in a very good headspace when I wrote that. I’ll admit it. But it’s not—I mean, I am okay. You don’t need to worry.”

The words taste stale before they even leave his mouth. Phil won’t believe them; he doesn’t believe them himself. No one has believed them for quite some time, and perhaps it’s better that they don’t. Hadn’t he said that he was tired of lying?

But this is Phil.

“Wilbur,” Phil says, and he almost cringes, “would it be okay if I hugged you?”

And—that is not what he was expecting.

He’s nodding before he can really consider it. A few scant weeks ago, he would have denied the request, citing something about professionalism and maintaining appearances and no longer being a child. And that urge is still there, still present to some degree. But it is overwhelmed by the realization that it has been a long time since he was hugged by his father, and whenever Phil hugs him, he always feels safe and warm and protected, and he wants that, and if everyone around him is to be believed, it’s alright for him to want that.

So Phil steps forward, and he steps forward to meet him, and he’s not sure when he got to being so much taller than Phil, but even despite that, it feels just like he remembers, arms and wings folding around him and tugging him close. He sags against him almost instantly, and Phil holds him up with little effort.

And suddenly, there’s tears in his eyes. He’s starting to make this a habit.

“I’ve been really worried,” Phil murmurs. “Wil—why didn’t you tell me? Any of this?”

“I didn’t,” he starts, and almost chokes on his own breath, “I didn’t want—”

Ah. There go the tears. He’s less ashamed of them than he would have been, not long ago, though he still doesn’t like that this is happening. Still doesn’t like that Phil’s privy to this, now, too.

Phil hushes him, rubbing circles into his back. They must be a sight, L’Manberg’s president crying into the shoulder of the Angel of Death.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he finally chokes out. “I’m sorry I lied. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Oh, Wilbur,” Phil says, his voice something like grief and something like sorrow, “you could never disappoint me.”

“I could,” he insists. “I’m very disappointing.”

“You’re not,” Phil says. “You’re not. And even if you could be, I would never, ever be disappointed in you for how you feel, or for needing help.”

Ah. Well.

That seems rather in line with the sentiments that everyone else has been expressing, of late. And there’s something in his brain that won’t let him be persuaded, not entirely, as much as he’s been trying to work past it. There’s something in his brain that insists that he is a disappointment, that he should be better at handling himself, that anyone saying otherwise is lying, trying to placate him, because if he cannot accomplish anything worthy of attention or praise then he is not worthy himself.

But Phil is not lying to him. Phil is hugging him, and in his voice, there is nothing but sincerity. And pain, perhaps. Pain born of fear, of worry. For him.

He doesn’t have a response. Not a verbal one. But he holds Phil tighter, and Phil does the same, and for a while, they just stand there, and true safety is not a thing that exists, but if it did, he imagines it would feel a little like this.

----

He uncovers the mirror.

It’s a whim, not something thought out. He barely thinks about it at all before he’s doing it, whipping the sheet off and peering at himself.

The man staring back is a stranger, in more ways than one, and yet, he is utterly familiar. There are the bags, still deep and dark. There is the thinness of his wrist, the prominence of his cheekbones, the blood shot through his eyes. And there is the hair, creeping out from under the hat. Curly, a bit longer than he usually keeps it, and streaked with white in multiple places, the most obvious of which is a broad chunk right in front.

He breathes. In and out.

He still hates it. He doubts he’ll stop any time soon. It marks him as different, as other. Gives people something to stare at whenever it’s out in the open, though his friends have stopped doing it as much. He thinks they’ve realized that it well and truly bothers him.

But at the same time—

The bags are still dark, but less so. His frame is still lean, lanky, a bit underfed, but it’s no longer so bad, no longer as bad as it was. He’s not sure he understood how bad it was, at the time, but he’s eating more regularly now, and it’s obviously made a difference. His uniform is neat, and he feels no compulsion to straighten it up further, to get rid of all the creases, to stand with a soldier’s perfect posture. There is something to be said about professionalism, of course, but the need to be perfect all the time has faded. Not disappeared, but lessened.

And the white is still present, still a sign of what happened to him. Of the conditions he placed himself under. He doesn’t like it.

But he’s not ashamed. At least, not as much as he was.

He runs his hand through his hair. Puts his hat on his head, and lets his curls hang freely underneath it, doesn’t try to shove them up under the covering.

He doesn’t love it. He’s not there yet. He doesn’t know how to love himself. Doesn’t know how to convince himself that he deserves to.

But it doesn’t look bad.

He breathes. In and out.

“Alright,” he says, and the man in the mirror mouths the words in time with him. “You’re alright.”

It’s not quite the truth, but for the first time in a long time, it’s not quite a lie, either.

----

His feet carry him to Niki’s once again.

There’s no one else there but her. Her and the warmth of the ovens, the crackle of furnaces, the bits of flour always floating on the air. He slides into his usual seat, propping his head up on his hands and just watching her for a minute, not saying anything. The prominent scent is that of baking bread, but she’s setting ingredients out for cookies. He recognizes them, recognizes the combination of flour and eggs and sugar, and chocolate chips set off to the side. She’s washing her hands, and then, she turns, and she sees him.

She smiles.

He smiles back.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” she answers. She turns back to the sink and washes her hands, and then goes back to her ingredients. It’s familiar. He’s watched this so many times. She mixes the dry ingredients, and then starts adding the wet, stirring until it all solidifies into dough, adding in the chocolate chips. She’s making them the way he knows most of the kids like them best, almost more chocolate than cookie, barely holding themselves together when they’re fresh out of the oven.

He pillows his head on his arms. Lets his hat slide to the side. He’s aware of it, but he doesn’t pick it back up.

It’s so warm in here.

It’s not long before she has mounds of dough on baking sheets. Her movements are practiced, steady and sure. To his eyes, it’s almost like magic, the way it all comes together.

He’s tempted to ask for a bit of the dough. But if he does that, she’ll smack him on the head with her spoon and warn him about the dangers of eating raw eggs, an exasperated smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. And he’ll sigh and go along with it, no matter how tempting the morsel might be. Unless he sees an opportunity to sneak some, but she catches him more often than not.

So he doesn’t ask. Just watches. It’s warm, and he feels tired, but it’s not a bad kind of tired. Not a bone-deep weariness. Not the kind that makes him want to sleep and never wake up again—and that, that is something he has not quite confronted yet, that sentiment, that desire. He ought to. He has more clarity now, and he knows himself, and he knows he ought to. But not now.

He’s tired, but it’s the sort of tired that pushes him toward a nap, comfortable and safe, and that startles him for a moment, the fact that he feels safe here, with no qualifications placed on the idea at all.

He’s not in a talking sort of mood. So it surprises him when, after she’s finished putting the pans in the oven, Niki turns to him and asks, “Do you want to help with the next batch?”

He blinks.

“I thought I’d make some sugar cookies next,” she says, and then holds out her hand. “Come and help me.”

He stands, slowly, and ventures around behind the counter to where she’s standing. He takes her hand after only a moment’s hesitation, and is rewarded with another smile, one that he can’t help but return, if haltingly.

“You do know what a mess I am in the kitchen, right?” he checks.

“You are a disaster,” she agrees. “But you’ve been in here enough that you know what to do, don’t you? You can at least follow my directions.”

“I suppose,” he says, and Niki takes that as all the affirmation she needs, because in the next second, she’s stepping away from him and into a back room, and then returns in the next instant with an apron. Plain white, and definitely far too short for him, and she shoves it at him with an expression that tells him she clearly knows that it will make him look at least slightly ridiculous.

He sighs and puts it on. It barely reaches his mid-thigh.

“It suits you,” Niki says, with a determined nod. “Now, come here.”

She walks back over to the counter, clearing off all the bowls and measuring cups that she’d used for the chocolate chip cookies and pulling out new ones. She seems to have an endless supply. And then she looks at him, expectantly, so he comes over, hovering by her as she goes to get the actual ingredients. All familiar. All things he’s seen her use before, countless times. Perhaps this won’t go so badly; he could probably even get the measurements right himself, if he tried.

Niki sets a big bag of flour on the counter with a thump.

“Measure that out for me?” she says. “We’ve multiplying everything by four.”

Alright. He—thinks he knows what that means. So he takes a few measuring cups, scoots them closer to him, and begins pouring the flour, giving Niki sideways glances so as to pick up on whether he’s doing it right or not. She doesn’t stop him, but his distraction means that the flour starts kicking up in the air in earnest, and he coughs, waving a hand in front of his face. When it clears, she’s looking at him in amusement, and he shrugs, holding out one of the cups toward her.

It goes on like that. She directs him, and he does what she tells him to do, and if he gets it wrong, she corrects him, and if he gets it right, she thanks him. They stay quiet, for the most part, little conversation passing between them, but it’s not an uncomfortable lack. There’s no tension in the air, no pressure to perform. He feels as though his words have run dry again, melted away from him in the close warmth of the bakery, but for once, he doesn’t mind. He feels, for the most part, at ease.

What a novel concept.

It’s not too long before they’ve got dough, and plenty of it. Niki moves them to another counter, spreading flour out across a couple of thin boards before sliding one in front of him, and scooping some dough on top of it. She holds the rolling pin out in front of him a moment later, and he takes it. It’s fairly self-explanatory, what he’s meant to do now.

He rolls out the dough. Beside him, Niki does the same.

“We’d freeze it first, if we wanted it to hold its shape better,” she murmurs. “But I think we’ll keep these simple.”

He hums. The motion is repetitive, almost soothing, though it takes a moment to figure out how much pressure he should be applying. It takes some, but not too much. And yet, it’s simple, leaving his mind free to drift, and for the first time in a while, those drifting thoughts don’t land anywhere too dark.

“Here, that’s thin enough,” Niki says, putting a hand on his arm, and he stops. “You don’t want it to be too thin, and you don’t want to have to roll it out again. It’s never good to overwork the dough.”

“Right,” he says, and watches as she fishes around for some cookie cutters. True to her word, they’re simple, just various sizes of circles. She pushes some toward him, and he takes one, pressing it into his dough and coming up with a perfect circle. He then pauses, watching her to see how she gets hers out of the cutter; she pushes it gently with one finger, so he does the same, and it lands on one of the cookie sheets with a light thwap.

He finds a rhythm after that. And there’s something nice in the simplicity of the design. Just circles.

But after a few minutes, Niki breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she says. “It was—scary. The way you were.”

He has to chew on that for a moment. It’s still a bit odd to be thinking of it that way. He spent so long being so determined that he was doing the right thing—and not only the right thing, but the only thing, the only option available to him. Keep his head high, his face pleasant, and only let out his despair when there was no one else around to see or hear. So it’s still foreign, just slightly, to wrap his head around the fact that other people cared that he was doing that. And not because it affected his ability to fulfill his duty, but because they cared for him. Care. Present tense.

Because they’re still here. Are still with him, despite how sure he was that admitting his weakness would drive them away. That, if nothing else, is the most convincing evidence of all as to the veracity of their words.

“I think I understand that now,” he says, and cuts out another cookie. “I’m glad too.”

He’s sleeping more often. Eating more frequently. And the storm of his mind, while not gone, has calmed. It’s easier to hold his ground against the wind that batters him, and easier to recognize it for wind at all.

It’s easier to reach out for a hand to help ground him.

“I think,” he starts, almost on impulse, and then stops. How much of this is fair to say? The importance of sharing his emotions has been impressed upon him, but he doesn’t want to give anyone else a burden. Doesn’t want to—but that’s not thinking about it the right way, is it? He glances at Niki, checks to see if she is willing to listen, and she nods at him, encouragingly. That’s all he needs. She wants to hear him, wants him to speak. The only person holding him back is himself, himself and the lingering fears that anything he says will be used against him, that everyone around him is circling, waiting for a fall, that the moment he opens up they’ll pounce, tear him to shreds and then leave what remains for the crows.

But that’s not the case.

They’ve proven it to him. And more than that, they were willing to prove it, even when it was, perhaps, not fair of him to demand that of them.

“I think I got used to it,” he says, slowly, feeling out the words as he says them. “Hating myself. So used to it that I didn’t realize that I was a bit fucked up.”

“I don’t know if fucked up is quite the right word,” Niki says, matching his soft tone. “Do you still? Hate yourself?” Her voice breaks just a little bit on the last word, but when he turns his head to meet her gaze full-on, she looks back steadily.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and this honesty burns. “I really—I really don’t.”

Is he supposed to know? That’s probably a thing he’s supposed to know. A chill runs up and down his spine, but then, Niki lays her hand on his arm again.

“I think that’s progress,” she says, “isn’t it?”

“But I should know,” he says. “And—I’m aware of the fact that healthy people don’t hate themselves, Niki.”

“Well, I don’t want you to hate yourself,” she says, and her voice is a strange mix of upset and calm. “I don’t think you should hate yourself. And it’s upsetting, that you can’t see how much of a wonderful person you are, just because you’re you. Upsetting for you, I mean. Not because of you. This isn’t your fault. It’s—” Her nose scrunches. “Tommy describes people as wrong’uns. I think your brain is a bit of a wrong’un.”

He blinks. “My brain’s a wrong’un?”

She nods. “Yeah, because it’s wrong, and it—it makes you feel bad about yourself.” With the hand not on his arm, she makes a sharp gesture. “And that’s not—that’s not the whole thing, it’s more complicated than that, I think. But do you know what I’m saying? It’s your brain’s fault, but it’s not you. Am I making any sense at all?”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” he says, “but I think I understand what you mean.”

“I don’t think I quite have the words for it,” she says. “It’s just that—you’re worth so much more than you tell yourself that you are.”

He looks down at his dough. He’s pretty much cut out as many circles as he can, which means pushing the remainder together and rolling it out again. He does so, and then it’s back to making circles. Steady, rhythmic.

“I’m still having a hard time with that,” he says. “But it’s. Easier, I think. To try and accept it, than it was before.”

“And we’re with you,” Niki says. “We’re not leaving you. We’re all here with you.”

They are. Niki with her unflinching kindness, Tommy with his brashness and devotion, Tubbo with his matter-of-fact loyalty, Fundy with his awkward, honest support, Jack Manifold with his determined friendship. And lately, Phil, too, who has fit in with the rest of L’Manberg easily, smiles and laughter and a gleam in his eyes, and always a word of support when he needs one, and even when he thinks he doesn’t, always a safe haven to return to, always shelter under his wings.

They’re here. They’re with him.

They’re going to stay.

“I’m very glad,” he says, words halting, “that you all didn’t just up and decide that you’d had enough of me.”

“Wilbur,” Niki says, “we would never.”

He looks back at her. She’s smiling at him again, open and honest, concerned, but glad.

And he believes her.

“Let’s get these in the oven, shall we?” she says, and they do. They go pan by pan, one of them on each side, sliding them in to be baked. And then, they are left with no more dough and a mess of ingredients, and he’s too slow to move when a light enters Niki’s eyes, too slow to dodge when her flour-covered fingertips swipe across his cheek.

He can only retaliate from there, of course. It’s only fair. And he pays no mind to the state of his uniform as they start flicking baking ingredients at each other, pays no mind to the way his hair dangles in front of his face, pays no mind to the fact that he’s going to look a mess when he finally leaves. He’s got flour all over his clothes and sugar on his face, but Niki looks the exact same way, and when they finally have enough, when they slump against the counter side by side, a breathless laugh escapes him, and Niki looks delighted by it, so really, isn’t it all worth it?

“You look ridiculous,” he manages, and she smacks him on the shoulder.

“You look worse,” she says. “You look like you decided to wear the bakery instead of cook in it.”

“Oh?” he says. “And who started it?”

“And who decided to go along with it?” she returns, but she’s laughing, too.

And here he is, the president of L’Manberg, covered in baking ingredients, avoiding his duties so he can have a food fight with his best friend. No guilt accompanies the thought, and for the first time, he toys with the idea that perhaps, he does not need to be president forever. Maybe one day, he’ll work up the ability to set down the burden, to hand it to someone else, to let the possibilities open up before him, unconstrained by doubt and self-hatred and the cage he built for himself. Maybe his guitar will stop collecting dust.

Not yet. But maybe one day.

For now, this is enough.

So he stands in the bakery, warm as any hug, with white in his hair and the scent of cookies baking, and allows himself to feel, for the first time in a long time, that he is allowed this, and that life is worth living after all.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Book of Soulmates

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Premise: Everyone is given a barcode that’s tattooed onto their wrists. Their soulmate has a matching barcode. It is common for most public areas to have a barcode scanner for those entering. The scanner will alert you if your soulmate has also entered the area.

“I can’t believe they only have one scanner,” my friend laments as she shifts from one foot to the other. “This is going to take forever.”

Looking at the line ahead of us, I can’t help but agree with her. If I had known that there would only be one scanner at the entrance of the concert, I would have found some way to sneak in. Now it’s much too late for that.

BTS doesn’t mess around when it comes to security.

“Do you think they make the boys scan in?” I wonder aloud, watching as an official looking person appears with what I hope is another barcode scanner in tow. 

“I don’t know...do you think they even want them to find their soulmate right now? That would probably put a damper on their career, don’t you think?” She gets up on her tippy toes, mimicking the vast majority of the crowd as they wait to see if it is indeed another scanner. 

When the man at the front begins to divide people into two separate lines to utilize both scanners, a round of cheers erupt in the crowd. 

“Finally!”

“I was scared they were going to start the concert without us.”

“How would they even start the concert? All the fans would be outside waiting to get scanned.”

“Yeah, there’d only be like six people in the venue.”

“Oh to be those six people.”

I chuckle at the conversations I overhear, rolling my eyes. “Oooh, look! We’re moving!”

My friend and I leap forward, suddenly feeling like the line is moving much quicker now. “You’ve got your ticket, right?”

I nod. “Right here.”

To add to our joy, a third scanner is set up. Soon the lines are flowing as they should be, people hardly glancing at the scanner as they slide their wrist below it, eager to get inside. 

I hop on my toes as my friend goes ahead, getting the ok from the staff member with hawk-like eyes. They wave me forward, and I grin at my friend as I swipe my wrist under. 

“Thank y-” I chirp, but a hand on my arm stops me mid sentence. 

“Wait here, please.”

I blink at them, my heart stopping. “What?”

“Your barcode jammed the system,” the staff member explains, unplugging the scanner and a round of groans going through the crowd. “Come with me, I’ll get your barcode properly scanned and lead you to your seat.”

“Can my friend come with me?” I ask in a small voice. The staff member gives me a long look, a flicker of stress behind their eyes. 

“I’ll lead you to your seat as soon as I finish, please tell your friend to go ahead without you.”

It’s the look of stress that stops me from pressing the matter, and I wave at my friend who gives me a wave back, looking confused. I shrug, following the staff member. 

What I assumed would be a quick walk to find another scanner turns out to be a jaunt through the entire stadium, weaving in and out of hallways that are bustling with staff members and makeup artists.

The worker that stole me away is currently speaking quietly into a walkie-talkie, using strange phrases and words that make no sense to me. My heart pounds as I wonder if I’m somehow in trouble, and I begin to wrack my brain for what I did wrong. 

“Wait right here, please.” The staff member doesn’t even wait to see if I’ll obey before heading off into a closed room.

Leaning against the wall and keeping my eyes down as I feel the stares of all the other workers, I pray that this will be over quickly. I’m sure my friend is worried about me and the concert is supposed to be starting soon.

I swear, if I miss even one song I’m going to lose my mind. 

The minutes tick by, the halls growing more and more frantic. I’ve started keeping count of all the times people pass me, and I’m nearly to 75 when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.

I turn, expecting to see the same worker as before but gasp as I see Sejin instead.

“Sorry to startle you,” he says. “Would you mind coming inside for a moment?”

Unable to say a word, I simply nod and follow him to the room where the worker disappeared. As I enter, I find that I’m unable to continue moving. Frozen in the doorway, I stare at Sejin as though he’s my only hope.

“I...I don’t think I should be in here.”

“On the contrary,” laughs Taehyung from where he’s lounging on the couch. “This is exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

All seven members of BTS are looking at me from where they’re sitting in various positions around the room. It looks like they were in a last minute run-through of the concert, they’re completely decked out and ready to perform. 

So why...?

“Come in, please,” Sejin says, shooting Taehyung a sharp look. “This won’t take long.”

It’s like swimming through concrete trying to walk inside the room, but when I remember that they have a concert to put on in like fifteen minutes I pick up the pace. Sejin closes the door behind me, offering me a seat just outside the circle. 

“Am I in trouble?” I ask, sitting down and keeping my eyes on Sejin. I feel like I might pass out if I look anywhere else. 

Sejin gives me a soft smile, understanding my worry. “No, absolutely not. Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything? Water...snacks?”

I frown. “...no. No, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

Everyone chuckles at my question, making my cheeks burn. I look down at my shoes, praying that I’ll wake up from this strange dream soon. 

“Jiminie, you said that you wanted to explain.” Namjoon is quick to get everyone back on track, a hush falling over the room. 

Jimin, who’s sitting three people down from me, sits on the edge of the couch. I peek up at him, another blush taking over my features. 

His cheeks are rosy as well as he purses his lips, looking completely unsure of himself. “Right.” He looks around the room as though searching for a prop or something before his eyes land on my exposed wrist. 

His fingers are shaking as he struggles to unbutton his cuffs, j-hope helping him when he can’t quite get it. 

“I have this barcode...” he mumbles, rolling his sleeve up until it’s hugging his elbow. Twisting, he extends his wrist out, showing me his barcode. “Look familiar?”

I blink, staring at his barcode for a long moment. Most barcodes look similar, some only varying in thickness or number by a small amount. But as I see Jimin’s barcode, deep down I know.

I’ve been looking at the same barcode on my own wrist my entire life. 

My mouth grows dry the longer I look at his barcode, refusing to look him in the eyes. “Is it...?”

A quick glance at his face shows me that Jimin has wide, hopeful eyes. It’s enough to make me sit up straighter, that look going through me like a bolt of lightning. 

“Yes.”

My mouth is ajar as I go back and forth from his barcode to my own, not quite believing my eyes. “Are you sure? They could just look really similar...the staff said I jammed the system,” I offer a little helplessly. “So we shouldn’t just jump to conclusions here.”

The boys share an impressed look, Jimin scratching the back of his neck before getting up off the couch. “Where’s that scanner?” He asks, Sejin appearing with a scanner in hand.

“You’ve got five minutes,” Sejin says. “Everyone else go gather up.”

I watch in horror as the other members get up and begin to file out of the room, bidding me farewell.

“We’ll see you later,” Namjoon says. “Jimin, five minutes.”

“I know.”

Jungkook gives me a sheepish wave. “It was nice meeting you. Enjoy the concert.”

Right. There’s still a concert.

When the room is empty of everyone except for the two of us, Jimin clutches the scanner in hand and walks over to me. 

“I...” He pauses, looking like he’s the one that just got thrown into a room with his idol. “May I?”

He gestures to my hand, and it takes me a moment to understand what he wants. For some reason my brain keep short-circuiting every time I look at him and his soft gaze.

“Oh, yeah,” I mumble, holding out my hand and flipping it so he can scan the barcode.

“Look,” he says, sitting beside me and showing me the screen. Scanning my barcode, I gasp as I see what it says.

Match: Park Jimin (red alert)

The words blink up at me, daring me to believe them. Jimin sits quietly beside me, waiting for me to say something.

Watching the blinking screen, a giggle escapes me. Jimin freezes, unsure of what to do. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, sounding a little offended. I shake my head, pointing at the screen. 

“This. I mean, what?” I look at Jimin, grinning. “I literally thought I was in major trouble because earlier I said that I should have just found a way to sneak in without having to wait to get scanned. I seriously thought that I was going to get fined or something!”

Jimin’s concerned expression morphs into a smiling one, and he joins in on the laughter.

“Well, surprise!” He waves the scanner in the air. 

I can’t stop shaking my head, still in disbelief. Sighing, I look at the clock on the wall.

“Don’t you have a concert or something?”

At that exact moment someone knocks on the door, and Jimin jumps up. Extending his hand to me, I stand as well, marveling at the feel of his hand in mine. 

“I’ll see you after?”

I grin. “I’ll think about it.”

masterlist

@dreamcatcherjiah​

[tobiosmilktea]

 umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[021] — like a storm!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: swear my writing hasn’t been that good recently and i blame it on my lack of freetime 😔 anyway here’s 4.5k words of trashy word dump that i wrote in 2 hours ;)) also peep the tlc reference

in theory, this picnic blanket was much too small for the likes of fitting a webtoon author, an editor, and a beefy volleyball player all at once, and yet, it still managed to fit two more to come join—tightly bunched up in the park at night as the crisp air temperature slowly drops. having a picnic at the cusp of autumn and winter was a definite mistake, but then again, perhaps they were used to it by now.

it wasn’t like the cold was bothering bokuto at this point anyway as his blood simmered with a boiling hot ichor. he had a death grip on his phone as satomi left him on read. all the volleyball player could do was roll his eyes and scoff as he taps your shoulder. akaashi, who sat on the other side of you was in the midst of speaking to you, yet was interrupted by the bright white light from the screen shone across your faces.

your eyes scanned the texts, feeling your lungs desperately yearning for air. her words suffocated you, crushing your airways as you struggled to breathe. perhaps you have forgotten how to at that very moment. they say it takes about three minutes for someone to suffocate from the lack of oxygen and if akaashi didn’t shake you, that probably would have been you. the fact that seeing that damn photo made your heart shatter more times than you could count over a course of the past few days. you couldn’t catch a fucking break, could you?

you had to look away. if you had stared at satomi in iwaizumi’s bed any longer, you would’ve screamed your head off.

“god, these cookies are so fucking good. i would literally marry these if i could,” kaori moaned into another bite of a matcha shortbread cookie. she practically threw herself over yuko’s lap as she reached in her little baggie for more. “these cookies are a godsend, (y/n), where did you get them?”

“this bakery right next to onigiri miya, apparently they make good lemon macarons as well.” you mutter. the semblance of seeing those texts was still evident upon your expression.

yuko doesn’t fail to notice the way the timbre of your voice had changed within a sudden moment. she gives you a look, “what’s wrong?” her words, careful and genuine filled you with something somber as bokuto handed his phone to her.

kaori grunts slightly as she lifts herself off of yuko, yet her body was still leaned over to skim the texts along with her.

it was a nervous habit of yours to fiddle with your fingers, picking and scratching at your chipped nail polish until it was all gone. you don’t remember when this became a habit, but you always did this whilst you waited for something you dreaded to hear the answer to. as if the nerves within you pooled into a wave, crashing back and forth like a tide until you either get dragged along with it or somehow manage to survive.

their expressions contorted into a nasty mixture of disgust and absolute horror. even kaori who has seen the despicable sweet-tongued manipulations of nicotine-stained fingers of incels had to shake her head and push the phone away.

“i never liked that girl from the start,” yuko scoffs. she hands the phone back to bokuto, watching him switch it off and dropping it onto the cushioned picnic blanket in annoyance.

“god, the amount of anger coursing through my body right now...” muttered bokuto, “i can’t believe she would do this.”

“at least she didn’t do anything to iwaizumi,” akaashi tried to reason. things were already so messed up, it was the least he could do.

kaori shakes her head, clearing her throat from the dryness of the shortbread cookie. “doesn’t matter,” her words were venomous and cutthroat, “she’s still a terrible person considering she got him drunk and made him tell her shit that wasn’t any of her business. what a fucking snake.”

you pursed your lips slightly, wanting to close your eyes and make this all disappear the moment you wake up. the chill of the night air had finally struck you. it was that sudden urge to run away as fast as possible, to escape the words you wholeheartedly wanted to leave behind continued to follow you like haunting poltergeists. and as if the tingling phrases of whispered memoirs of your mistakes weren’t enough, your own decisions whether it was right or wrong lingered back to both iwaizumi and bokuto. it’s heavy baggage you so dearly wanted to get rid of, but the solutions seemed so skewed and out of place for you to comprehend properly that even the chill in the air started to burn.

bokuto glanced at you with worry coated the emotions in his eyes. his hand reached for yours, lacing his fingers through your own as his palm—though rough and calloused—was warm against the biting cold of your hand. it comforted you more than you had expected with the way it was hidden from the others, almost melting when bokuto started to rub his thumb in little circles on the back of your hand and over your knuckles.

your hands were so soft, he had forgotten how much he liked holding them. he could memorize each and every detail just by admiring the way your hand looked so tiny next to his, yet they fit together like a glove.

you swore your heart was ready to jump out of your throat then. you weren’t sure if bokuto could even feel the way you squeezed his hand slightly as a silent answer.

“we should do something about it,” you say after a few beats of silence had passed, but it only comes out in a hushed mutter.

bokuto squeezed back, “like what?”

“i don’t really know,” you shrug while you shook your head, “just something that’ll make her learn a lesson or two.”

kaori gasps, “we should sue her!”

you and the others gave her a look.

“like seriously, sexual assault allegations are terrible especially since she’s a famous sports team’s physical therapist!”

“there probably isn’t enough evidence for that to work, kaori, considering they only made out.” yuko says matter-of-factly, “besides, suing someone is expensive and we don’t have that kind of budget right now.”

kaori braids over arms over each other in disappointment, “that’s lame.”

“yuko’s right.” you sighed, “i don’t want things to get out of hand and end up going public either. iwaizumi is already mad at the fact that i used him for a webtoon and surely being part of a lawsuit would only make it worse.”

it had come to a point that you had noticed how far everything has come. you wanted to laugh at how fast everything went downhill within a matter of months. the skeleton of your mistakes was just waiting for its last bits to fall and crush you.

there had to be a way to just make this—whatever this entire thing is to just end already.

akaashi opened his mouth to speak after keeping his thoughts to himself this entire time, “what if we just... get her fired?” he finished the last of his words in a blazing hesitance as if we would absolutely hate the idea. granted, it wasn’t much to work off of just by a simple proposal, but it had potential.

“we could, but how exactly are we going to do that?” bokuto asks curiously.

“didn’t you say that tomas recently got injured?” akaashi starts, earning a nod from bokuto to have him continue, “well if we want to be discrete as possible we could do it the old-fashioned way.”

yuko furrowed her brows as she asked, “which is?”

“if she keeps missing work or arriving late, she could potentially lose her job.”

kaori bursts out laughing, heaving a heavy snort as she mused at akaashi, “seriously? is that really our best option?”

akaashi rolled his eyes as she teases, “since you wanted to go the legal route, technically, it is.”

the girl’s laughter came to a slow cease, cocking her head in interest as she waited for one of them to elaborate.

“no yeah, there’s still a chance for this to actually work.” bokuto starts without a second thought. hell, he even forgot he was still holding your hand. “professional sports teams require their medical team to be at every game whether it’s real or just practice since the players are always at risk of getting injured. satomi’s known to be good at being there every day on time, so if yoji and their boss sees that she’s consistently missing work now for... let’s say—iwaizumi—and tomas isn’t getting treated asap, they’re allowed to replace her. and if you’re replaced, there’s basically no going back even if it is just temporary. and if that happens...” he pauses as he holds back a smirk, “she’s going to be fined legally with negligence—worst-case scenario, she’ll probably be fined for nonfeasance too.”

“whoa there, those are some big words, sir.” says kaori, “someone catch me up here?”

akaashi lets out a sigh, “nonfeasance means failure to do what’s expected.”

the sound of awe left kaori as she nods in understanding.

“is this really necessary? it seems like a lot of work just to get back at her.” yuko has always been a rational person, just like akaashi, but the only difference between them was that she liked to do things the fastest and most easy way.

“if we play our cards right, i think we could do it.” says bokuto.

“then i think we need all the help we can get if we really want this to work out.” akaashi said, craning his neck towards you to ask, “should i tell semi and suga about it?”

it’s not even a question for you to answer considering how obvious the answer was. of course, you had to tell them. they basically knew everything already, and if anything they’re the only ones who could make this plan actually work.

“i can also tell my team about it to help.” bokuto adds in, but you cut him a look, “only atsumu, sakusa, hinata, and tomas of course. i promise i’ll only tell them what they need to know. what do you think?”

“as long as satomi gets what she deserves.”

you hated the way your thoughts were an endless motion of suffering. it had been keeping you awake all night as you tossed and turned. you couldn’t rest now as if a giant cinder block of forbidden serendipities would clash-boom-bang back onto you as it was being held by a teetering string of floss. it was bound to snap at any second. you yearned for even just a few minutes of rest as maybe these suffocating feelings would disappear once you woke up in the early morning.

it was still dark out—three a.m... maybe, but all you knew was that it was late and your flurrying thoughts were giving you so much residual energy that you needed to extrude. it wasn’t a form of adrenaline or a sugar rush, no, it was something else. your body was well beyond fatigued, but rather your mind was running like a brain on drugs.

there were so many things rushing through your head that it morphed into a jungle of tangled vines of plenty. it was a storming blizzard that couldn’t be calmed down as you finally pushed yourself off your bed, forcing your sheets off of you and sitting on the side of the matress. guilt was eating you alive, gnawing at your hollow chest as your semblance withered while the minutes passed. you just wanted for everything to just stop. please just stop.

maybe this is why you never told any of them. the stress, the consequences— you knew damn well that shit would hit the fan if you did, and yet it’s inevitable. the truth would have come out sooner or later.

ugh, why are you like this? you thought to yourself, dragging your fingers through your hair as you sighed out.

the answers were obvious, but it was the tingling of your lips that sent waves of heat to your cheeks as you recalled the kiss... the kiss! holy shit, the kiss. it hit you then when it played back in your head from a few hours ago when bokuto dropped you off at your door. something melted in bokuto’s eyes the moment you looked back at him, heat emanating from every inch of his skin as you tracked the tension in his body. he leaned over with his face just a few centimeters shy from yours and you swore he could probably hear your heart punching against your ribcage. bokuto could feel the warmth of your breath fanning against his chin and for a moment the world and all the problems in it seemed to disappear for a brief moment. before you knew it he kissed you gently as if it was his last. it certainly would be for a while, anyway.

“dammit,” you cursed in a harsh whisper, leaning over to switch on your bedside lamp in a swift flick.

you slapped your cheeks to force the thought out of your head as you made your way to your desk. you turned your desk lamp on with it’s bright yellow hue flickering slightly over your messy work area. it was scattered with paperwork and miscellaneous notes that it was surely beyond your mood to even fix-up.

usually, you tend to be pretty clean and organized with your desk space, and yet with recent events, you’ve been letting the work pile up instead. you’ve always liked the saying, this is something future (y/n) can deal with, but for once you hated yourself for it. besides, look where it got you.

a sigh escaped your lips when you plopped yourself upon your chair. your delicate fingers traced along the edges of the neatly bonded sheets of love cemetery’s storyboard. you started it earlier today with the help of the rest of the ddd team after the director of the project gave you the freedom to do so as usually, he would be in charge of making the storyboard and such. despite being rather chaotic on a daily basis, you were glad to be surrounded by people who always put a smile on your face while still getting work done. those were the best types of people to work with—friends that cared about you.

you guys managed to get the first fifteen pages done and you needed twenty completed panels in less than twenty-four hours. you were used to this type of pressure, especially while you were working on your webtoon. you were surprised how many times you sprained your hand from constantly working that the aching pain between your joints and your wrists were second nature at this point. surely, you would have carpal tunnel by now if akaashi wasn’t there to always nag you to take breaks.

with a few wrist stretches and cracks of your knuckles, you flipped to the next scene—the day you and bokuto met. your heart tugged slightly as you envisioned the scene you drew in your webtoon, slowly converting it into a movie scene in your head.

oh, how things have changed.

your hand ached for mercy by the time seven a.m. struck. the sun had already peeked through the horizon, sending rays of sunlight through the blinds of your bedroom window as a greeting for the new morning. you had been sketching out the storyboard for five nonstop hours (give or take a few minutes in between trying not to let the different events in the story get to you).

you’ve always had a strange habit of ignoring the pain in your wrist, but now it was certainly unbearable. the lead pencil that was hot to the touch from the heat from your hand dropped onto your desk in a clatter. your eyes flicked down to your palm as you could feel the fatigue darkening your eyebags. your hands were practically alabaster from the constant pressure that it took a good moment for the circulation to run back into your hand.

you left your bedroom and made your way to your kitchenette. it was like your body was moving on its own, grabbing a mug, turning on your kettle, and tossing teaspoons of sugar in your cup for your morning tea as if you were on autopilot.

silence had surrounded you for far too long, you needed some form of sound to keep you sane from staying up all night and leaving you alone with your thoughts to just take over. sounds from the television hummed through the quaint air of your apartment in the lowest possible volume, just beneath the whistling of the tea kettle atop your stove.

you poured out the boiling hot water as your eyes followed the way the tea steeped through the liquid like a spreading storm.

the doorbell rang then, causing your head to swirl towards your door with slight confusion filling your expression. who would even come by so early in the morning?

the floorboards of your apartment creaked at your light steps as you trod towards the door, almost flinching at the cold surface of the handle as you unlocked it. you pulled the door open. there was that infamous morning chill in the autumn air that bit at your bare arms and legs. the heat from your apartment escaped at the motion as your breath hitched within your throat.

he looked out of breath and filled with fearful tension as his broad shoulders relaxed a bit at your sight. his usual soft brown locks that are always styled was tangled and woven into each other like a basket weave. hell, he looked as if he rushed immediately here the moment he woke up, all disheveled and almost desperate. poor guy didn’t even think to put on a coat before coming.

what the hell is he doing here?

“iwa—?” you attempted to say out loud in a harsh whisper that could barely leave your body in the first place. and yet, your voice disappeared into his chest as he pulls you into him, warmth engulfing you like burning ember.

you swallowed the lump forming in your throat as you froze. call it shock or just plain confusion but you couldn’t bring yourself to move your arms from the way iwaizumi’s embrace trapped them to your sides. just the plain sensation of the heat rising from his skin was enough to simmer down your awe as you finally managed to wrap your arms around him.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters into your shoulder.

you captured your bottom lip between your teeth. “i’m sorry too,” you say in the same matter, yet your voice almost sounded hoarse from the dryness in your throat. “i should’ve told you the truth.”

“and i shouldn’t have said those things that i said to you...”

a response would usually follow right after, but you couldn’t piece together the correct words and all of the nuanced phrases in your head to say into the air. your thoughts were too far cluttered and chaotic to even say anything more other than, “it’s okay.”

iwaizumi could only pull you in closer, hold you tighter, and leave his arms around you as if he feared that you would disappear out of his reach if he were to let go even in the slightest. he made the mistake of letting you go that one night many years ago and he has learned his lesson since them. he’s not going to take any more chances.

you two have been in each other’s arms for a while now, but you couldn’t find the strength in you to let go. you haven’t felt iwaizumi’s hugs in so long that perhaps you wanted to savor it a bit longer as well. like a little treat—a reward of a few minutes of peace after a thunderstorm of misunderstanding where all that’s left is the aroma of lingering petrichor of bittersweet nothings. you would like to call this a small victory, but something was off.

“iwa,” you say once you finally pulled yourself into your senses, “what’s wrong?”

“i did something bad, (y/n). i fucked up.”

you pull away from him slightly, just enough to be able to look at him in the eye but still be in the comfort of his arms. “what happened?”

“i was so fucking stupid, i shouldn’t have agreed to go with satomi.” oh, you thought as the words left his mouth. you pursed your lips together, forcing yourself to lock your gaze onto him as he spoke. “i ended up getting drunk and telling her everything that happened by accident.”

it’s okay, i already know. i already know, i already know. the words rang inside your head as you fought to say the words, but nothing was coming out. you did nothing wrong, it’s okay, it’s okay. there was so much hurt and betrayal lacing iwaizumi’s copper eyes that you feared anything you say (regardless if it was in his favor) would obliterate everything that just happened into dust. seriously, how bad would it sound telling a person that you were already aware of what they did? iwaizumi already had so many trust issues that you were treading on thin ice right now.

it really all came down to the question: do what’s right or do what’s easy?

right or easy, right or easy?

for years you have been choosing the easy route to undermine your problems. you always thought to yourself, if you had ignored the problem long enough, eventually it’ll all go away. it might have worked for the tiniest of things, but you should’ve known it would never work when you were fucking up other people’s lives from your own selfishness.

you didn’t want to be selfish anymore.

“we ended up sleeping together.”

you scrunched your brows in confusion, “what?”

did satomi lie then? did they actually sleep together?

“i-i don’t even remember how it all happened!” iwaizumi exclaimed in such urgency. he certainly didn’t want to make the gap between you two any bigger, “all i remember was that we kissed but before i knew it, i woke up to her in my bed but she was fully clothed.”

you sigh with a huff, trying to piece together the disarrayed parts together as you recalled bokuto’s words from last night, satomi doesn’t lie when it comes to sleeping around. the sentence wandering your thoughts as the boy before you continue to ramble. so maybe satomi didn’t lie after all, “listen, iwa—”

“you gotta believe me, (y/n), i didn’t mean to do it. when i said that i still love you the last time we texted i meant it—”

“haji, i said listen!” you huffed as you grabbed his arm. the sudden name change was enough to shut him up and possibly cause a surging red tint to his ears. you found it adorable, but you had to cut him some slack since you hadn’t called him that since high school. “last night i was with akaashi and bokuto.”

iwaizumi was already making a face before you could even start. “why were you with them?”

“just hear me out okay?” you pleaded.

he saw the aggression in your eyes and immediately shut up, nodding for you to continue.

“while i was with them, satomi texted us about everything that happened. she said that you guys only made out and didn’t do anything beyond that.” you explain, watching the slight relief softening his expression, “she ended up just sleeping over instead that’s why she was in your bed.”

you didn’t expect him to say anything when you finished your thought. it was a lot to sudden comprehend as you two just stood there waiting, swallowed up in your own thoughts.

“don’t blame yourself, okay?” you attempted to break the silence, “what satomi did was wrong.”

iwaizumi’s wandering gaze flickered back to you, fist curling up into a tight ball until his knuckles turned marble white. but as quickly as he felt the aching of his nail digging into his palm did he let go and let his shoulders drop. he sighs while he ran his hand through his tangled hair. he didn’t know what to say and the silence was punishing.

you parted your lips slightly as the words tickled your tongue. “this, um, might be too much to ask and you don’t have to say yes, but we need your help with something.”

“who’s we?”

“bokuto, akaashi, kaori, and the rest of my team.” you answer truthfully, “we’re trying to get satomi to face the consequences.”

iwaizumi nods, not hesitating for a second. “alright, i’ll do it.”

well that was easier than you thought.

you held back an amused laugh, hiding your smile behind your hand as you pull away from him. you made your way back to your kitchen as you had forgotten about your cup of tea from earlier.

“but...” iwaizumi trailed behind you as you sipped from your mug. “i was the one who made a move on her first.”

“oh,” you say. you definitely didn’t know about that small detail that sent ivy-like jealousy through your veins, “i mean... you were drunk so it makes sense.” you tried to justify without making your envy too obvious.

you turned away from him, fearing that he could see right through you.

“i kissed her thinking it was you,” he states.

your eyes widen then, slapping your cheeks that heated by the second. there was a grip around your swiftly beating heart, aching within your ribcage as you attempted to calm the roaring serendipities that threatened to bloom prematurely.

a composed sigh leaves you as you pull yourself together, turning back around to face iwaizumi with a meek smile. “cool,” you mused awkwardly as your brain search rapidly for a way to change the subject. iwaizumi moved closer to you, sending you into a mild panic, “have you had breakfast yet?” you asked out of the blue.

but before you could even fathom what he was doing, he cups your face between his hands and pulls you in.

your heart flutters and stops when iwaizumi pressed his lips against yours, soft and delicate as if you were the most fragile thing within his grasp. and you were. his touch against your jaw was light as it trailed down your neck. he could feel the raging ichor that soared through your veins like a wildfire while your hand that was splayed against his broad chest could feel the thumping of his heart against your own palm.

you pull away from him as he says, “no, i haven’t.” but it wasn’t to let him answer, rather, it was the thought that iwaizumi came second place again.

fun facts! —

yes. y/n did kiss both bokuto and iwaizumi within a span of a couple hours 💀 queen shit fr

after iwaizumi left, y/n immediately facetimed kaori and akaashi and told them what happened

it was definitely awkward between bokuto and iwaizumi when they saw each other, but it was harder to avoid satomi

(also by saying “iwaizumi came second place” means who was able to kiss y/n first not who won her feelings over)

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogril @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

[cheri-translates]

One-shot: Making lunch for everyone in STF (except Mr Gavin)!

Original title: 给全特遣署（除了白起先生）做的午饭！

Original author: 喵小柒吃很少 (miao xiao qi chi hen shao)

“Sis-in-law, I wish to report that Captain Gavin has been eating cup noodles!”

Tang Chao’s text message causes your originally pleasant mood to grow gloomy in an instant.

He isn’t eating properly again!

While repeating the phrase “Gavin, you’re doomed” in your heart, you set down the laptop tablet in your hand, then head into the kitchen.

When lunchtime arrives, you carry a few lunchboxes to STF - these are some dishes that you’ve spent quite a lot of time learning. They’re all Gavin’s favourites, and you even conscientiously added chili.

However... things aren’t that simple.

Amid the greetings of “hello Sis-in-law” from STF members you’re familiar with, Gavin notices your presence, and his heart rate speeds up involuntarily. Carrying the lunchboxes, you walk straight to the canteen. While everyone clusters around you to holler and cheer, you open the lunchboxes one by one, displaying them on the table properly.

“Wow, Sis-in-law is so incredible!”

“Our Captain Gavin is so blessed... I’m so envious...”

“It smells so good!”

Without doubt, the last phrase was from Tang Chao.

“Your girl is here. Aren’t you going over?” Eli nudges Gavin, looking as though he’s about to watch a movie.

“...cough. She... will call for me.” After all, Gavin has to suppress his joy in the presence of so many STF members.

“How do they look? Not bad, right?” You brim with confidence, looking at Tang Chao.

“Of course! Our Captain Gavin is truly...”

You cut him off abruptly before he can finish expressing his envy.

“Who said they’re for Gavin?”

???

Your words render everyone on the scene to be utterly bewildered. Miss Producer spent the effort to make so many dishes and travelled such a long distance to bring them here. If she didn’t make them for Gavin, who else could they be meant for?

The flames of gossip burn in everyone’s hearts, but nobody dares to risk their lives in probing further.

Gavin is standing at the side, and his expression is... not good. Unsurprisingly, he’s the one who wants to know the answer most.

However, you don’t even spare him a glance, gesturing to the STF members around you. “Sit down and eat! Everyone gets a share~ I made enough for lunch!”

In response to your warm invitation, nobody puts much thought into it. After an afternoon of gruelling training, everyone was already starving. With such fragrant dishes offered to them, who could resist? Everyone lifts up their chopsticks and starts digging in.

“So delicious!”

“Sis-in-law, you’re a goddess!”

“This is ten thousand times better than the food from STF’s canteen!”

...

Watching this scene unfold, jealousy simmers in Gavin’s heart. To be honest, he had already felt jealous ever since you walked in without looking at him, not to mention the moment you said you weren’t here to bring him lunch.

But he has no idea who his jealousy should be targeted at.

After a short contemplation, and under the “I’m just going to watch the show” gaze that Eli has, Gavin heads towards the table where everyone else is, and picks up a pair of chopsticks...

Even before Gavin’s chopsticks can touch the lunchbox, another pair of chopsticks stop him from the side with a ‘thud’.

Your lips are pursed as you glare at him.

“Cough... you said it yourself - everyone gets a share.”

Gavin looks maligned.

“With the exception of Commander Gavin, who doesn’t eat proper meals.” You push Gavin’s chopsticks away fiercely, then walk towards the door while fuming, preparing to leave.

Gavin couldn’t care less about the food. He rushes to chase after you, leaving behind a group of STF members who are frozen to the spot. And also Tang Chao, who continues to eat, completely unbothered.

“D-don’t be mad. I know that I was in the wrong.”

Gavin says this with slight guilt, grabbing your wrist.

“Why were you in the wrong?”

“Over the past two days, I haven’t been eating proper meals... and made you worry.”

“Since you knew, why did you still...” you look at Gavin, and you find yourself unable to stay angry.

“I was wrong...” Gavin looks at you carefully. “I’m hungry... could you give me a serving of lunch too?”

So... to give or not to give?

-

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

喵小柒吃很少: Hello~ Firstly, I’m really touched that you like them, I feel very honoured~ You can translate the works! If more people who like MLQC can read them, I’m very happy too 💝 Thank you!

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Would you please give me headcanons about how shigadabi caught feeling for each other? Loosely sticking to canon if you can🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

That "loosely sticking to canon" is a little tricky for me. Why? Because in the canon I see them as two guys that find comfort in knowing that someone understands them and they are free to do as they please because the other won't stop them.

This is gonna be a long one and I apologize for it, but I love them so much. I can't help it.

Still, here are my headcanons 😈:

In the beginning, Dabi is never around and when he is, he's being mean and annoying in the background. Shigaraki doesn't tolerate him, but he respects him. Since they met, Shigaraki knew that boy wouldn't stop to achive what he wanted, just like himself.

There was a moment between them, the seed of something. Before the summer camp attack, Shigaraki called Dabi apart so he could set the nomu to respond to his voice and his voice only. You can imagine Shigaraki walking up to him, telling him to follow and Dabi being a piece of trash about it.

Shigaraki them tells him why he's needed out loud and turns around, already walking. The rest of the League complains or comments in the background but Dabi leaves them without a word. He's too busy thinking Tomura must be really stupid to trust him when he barely knows him. Or well he could— He could be smart enough to see through him?

With the years, Dabi has learned to be careful of those guys. He doesn't trust people, no exceptions. He prefers to think Tomura is an idiot.

Being honest, that was the minute Dabi decided he would try to read Tomura. He was he new boss, Dabi was only only being careful. Nothing more.

Let's keep the imaging.

Tomura sits and he unceremoniously calls the nomu, gives him some commands and tells Dabi to use his voice to give him the same commands. They do it a couple of times until Shigaraki is satisfied and Dabi is free to go.

For someone else watching, it was cold and professional. For them, it was kinda weird. There was a little tension than neither of them was acknowledging and there was a quietness, a silence Tomura was used to. It was weird because it felt like they were alone, because they were used to being alone, but somehow they were being alone together— with the freaking nomu. It felt like visiting the vet. Dabi didn't like it.

Time goes by. Things happen.

They have a silent agreement that marks Dabi as one of Shigaraki's commander. He's a special one tho, because apparently he can do whatever the he he wants. He says he's gonna recruit? Tomura approves it with a simple nod and that's it.

Since we have only seen Twice's apartment, I'm assuming here that the rest of the League lived in the bar with Kurogiri and Tomura. Which makes sense because they wouldn't have anywhere else to go.

The only times Shigaraki and Dabi are together is when Dabi occasionally return to their base for whatever reasons. It is loud and crowded so they don't get the chance to interact that much. What they can do is observe the other.

None of them is ashamed of doing it. They stare and stare back. The League plays it off because that's probably two idiots trying to assert dominance or some shit.

It's stupid and they only find out about useless things. What they like to drink, how they walk or react to certain things, what throws them off, what makes them happy... Things you'd know about your classmate.

Their interactions change after what happened in Kamino and the night Magne died.

Dabi was taken by surprise when he saw Tomura walking in. He was calm, collected, even more honest than usual. When he took the hand off his face, the whole room held their breath.

His features were delicate, even beneath all the scars and dry skin. He's eyes were gentle, which was scarier than his maniac look. They held blood and the promise of danger, but not to them. Dabi brushed it off later.

Dabi keeps being his sarcastic self. Shigaraki doesn't react that much. Their barriers are tight closed as ever. Except when...

Well, those nights. The ones they don't talk about. The ones when Dabi is drunk and Tomura is way too sleep deprived and they find themselves insulting the other in hushes. They're normally out of the League's hearing range, alone in some abandoned part of their actual base.

Catching feelings for the other is a good expression. It's like they're catching a cold or something viral by accident. You just have to be in the wrong place at the right time to get yourself infected.

Their minds are blurry and their hearts are feeling raw the first time they interact like that. It's like Dabi is nothing but a young man trying to find his way back home from some bar because he was done with his working week. Or maybe Tomura is a tired student who's been dealing with a lot of stress and it's feeling bare and naked with his hair floating around with the wind.

They look at each other like they always do. Like trying to solve a mystery. Like trying to put together a puzzle. Like trying to decipher a code you shouldn't be worried about, but it distracts you from the world so why not.

Tomura is the one who notices Dabi is bleeding. He points it out. Dabi shrugs and then Tomura just shakes his head and starts walking, Dabi following him, recognizing that face from being a silent command.

For the rest of the night, Dabi teaches Shigaraki how to fix his staples and Shigaraki does so, taking the hand away from his face for better care.

They wonder about the other. How can Tomura know so much about fighting when it looked like he always lived alone? Why was Dabi drinking something stronger than usual? Where his scars always there? Had he patched someone else before? Was Dabi used to other people patching him?

They go to sleep. When they wake up, the only think in their heads is this can't happen again. They got distracted. Distraction means getting softer. That's a no no for them.

Except it happens again. And again. Until it starts happening when they're sober and they know they're screwed. They shouldn't be feeling safe enough with each other to don't feel the need to say something. They shouldn't be on the non-verbal stage. They shouldn't be taking turns what the other sleep to keep guard. Shigaraki shouldn't know where Dabi is most of the time, in case he wants to go and visit him in secret. The League doesn't know where they go most of the time, anyway.

If you're looking for a phrase to prove they have caught feelings for the other, you have no luck. They don't trust words, because most words are lies. But they can't lie when they look into each other's eyes

And against all odds, it changes nothing. No one suspects a thing, no one can sees them. Of course, what is there to see? Nothing at all. Just a king and his commander. Or maybe, just two guys sharing what's not there.

Because there's nothing there. If Dabi craves Tomura's fingers on his back, it's only because he's hurt again. If Tomura longs for waking up to the sound of Dabi's smoking by the window, it's because that means he doesn't have to sleep for a least a while now.

Dabi looks at Tomura across the room and thinks It's like catching a cold. It's gonna go away. A cold won't distract him from his revenge. When the time comes, he won't think about Tomura. And he's right. It's just a cold. Tomura is happy is just a cold too.

Ah, there's a problem, one we know but they forgot. It is too easy to catch a cold. They come back with the season, when we're vulnerable and cold. And if you catch enough colds and you don't cure them properly, it can become something worst. More permanent. More deadly.

For what they want, I hope they're being careful. Sure, they're fine right now, healthy, they talk and laugh and plan and murder. Do they sleep well at night? When they're hearts are freezing and they are too drunk or too sleep deprived, do they still go to each other? When their brains won't stop working, would the miss those nights? Would they wonder? Would they wish? We see only the surface, but beyond their walls...

Are they badly sick? Oh. Are they... Maybe.... No, of course not, but... When no one sees them, when no one talks, when they don't have to be something else, when they can just exists... When the remember their voices echoing in that room, that time, first time alone, just a nomu and their stares...

And sometimes, they'd look into each other's eyes just to make sure they still know how to do it. And they go crazy, becuase they must be doing somethinf wrong.

It is not an I won't see you die under my watch, so don't die until I'm back and it is not an I'll be taking care of myself too, so don't complain and it is not an prove it, come back safe and sound, come back to me.

That's not what they say. That's not what it means.

And still.

Red eyes.

Blue eyes.

And silence.

[hillbillyoracle]

Some Thoughts on Why White Pagans Need to Heal Their Relationships with Christianity

Note: I've been trying to write a piece like this for months and the only way I know how to write this is to be very vulnerable and personal. So just please keep that in mind as you read this. It isn't very refined and it's something I'm still very much in process with, to borrow a phrase from my charismatic Christian upbringing. It's more a diary entry than a finished piece and none of these thoughts are original or eloquent. My hope it's helpful to see someone thinking through these things though.

If you're white and you don't want to further colonization and imperialism in your spirituality, then going back to Christianity in some form is pretty necessary; to do the work of decolonizing it's doctrines and to prevent taking from traditions that aren't ours.

This is just the conclusion I've arrived at after a lot shadow working in and around both my ancestors and my religious trauma. My ancestors aren't all white Europeans. But given that I'm white and I don't have any way to carry on the traditions of those that weren't, I feel like the best way to honor those non-white ancestors is to go back to the spiritual traditions I do have access to and doing the work of reshaping them into something less harmful.

I have read and intellectually understood that culture forms the foundation of spirituality and that when you remove something from it's originating culture, that concept or tool no longer works properly, if at all. In working with my non-white ancestors, I really got it on a practical and emotional level. There was this sense that they'd love for me to know their traditions but that it required an understanding that just isn't possible for me given my upbringing and disconnection - "you don't know the words and there's no way to find a person who can teach you" as one ancestor put it. It was an important reminder that "this isn't for white people" isn't merely a categorical assertion but a cultural and practical one.

They've generally asked I stick to practices I have a cultural grounding in when honoring them, even though it is not theirs - the cultural and linguistic element is that important to them. They would rather an authentic expression of gratitude and care through a ritual that isn't theirs rather than an imitation of one that is or being left out of my practice all together. Which makes sense to me in a relational way I hadn't fully grasped before.

In working with my white ancestors, I've come to more viscerally understand that the present understanding of Christianity is wildly different than other historical understandings. One thing that surprised me was that some of my more recent ancestors have expressed more discomfort around my queerness and transness than many of my older ancestors but both root their understanding in the Bible. I enjoyed one ancestor who, when I explained that I'm partnered with a woman, to mean that I would have a life of service - "no men to distract you from God" - which I mean is not wrong on several levels. It really highlighted for me that Christian doctrine is far more flexible than I'd initially thought. It challenged ideas I'd picked up through traumatic religious experiences. So much of what I'd assumed was Christianity itself seems to be more Christianity right now.

The historical angle is really important me. One of the things that drove my interest in Paganism was trying to understand what came before Christianity, to connect with whatever had been cut off in that process. The more I've come to learn about imperialism within Europe - how various empires conquered and destroyed localized traditions indigenous to parts of Europe - it clicked for me that my white ancestors did to others what had been done to them. It is intergenerational trauma in a nutshell.

It's also striking to me that so many people term the traditions pagans pull from as "dead" religions or at the very least "not living". For years I took that to mean they were "safe" to take from, that I wouldn't hurt anyone by doing so. But I hadn't really understood the weight of what "dead" meant - that there was no one left alive who could teach me, that I can't live in a context where all of the beliefs, tools, and traditions make intuitive sense. And if it was important to my ancestors who had had a connection to their traditions, then what was I missing by reanimating these traditions without that link?

I don't have a full visceral understanding of what I'm missing to be honest. I have a feeling that'll develop as my practice evolves. But that question alone has marked a pretty important change in how I understand myself spiritually.

The living and cultural element to my practice is more important to me now. For me, just given the family, community, and area I was raised in, that means Christianity is the living tradition I have access to and I've been revisiting it. I was reading an interview the other day with someone who is both a Catholic theologian and a practicing Buddhist. I liked the way he put it when he referred to Catholicism as "one of his sources of wisdom". That better captures my relationship with Christianity that's been unfolding over the last few months.

Making sure that intergenerational spiritual trauma stops as much as possible with me is really important. I had mistakenly thought that meant abandoning Christianity all together, that it was the problem. Which in hindsight, is fucking wild - I hugely fucked up there. There's nothing stopping me from just enacting the harm I learned in the context of Christianity in a different context, a Pagan context. It doesn't get to the root of the issue. At the end of the day, I just want to be sure I do not use my religion, any religion, to further the harms of structural inequality and colonial oppression. That's the goal.

In reading around about this, I've come to feel pretty strongly that one of the best ways to work toward that is to strive toward animism. Animism has been a great antidote to the spiritual entitlement that colonial religions cultivate (including white paganism). Animism also builds a relational spirituality rather than a goal/individual centered one. White paganism isn't inherently animistic since white culture teaches values that undermine quality relationships - individualism, competitiveness, and seeking domination of some fashion in order to feel safe. An animistic lens requires you unlearn those values and cultivate new ones - mutuality, respect, and accountability.

So all this is to say that given my current understanding, I think trying to build a practice out of New Age concepts while trying to avoid appropriation sounds impossible and hellish. I also think it doesn't deal with the work that needs done. I'm choosing to take an animist lens to the living traditions I do have to see if that's a better space for both my spirituality and my evolving understand of decolonizing to grow in.

People will rightly question my use of the term "shadow work" given this perspective. Shadow work is a problematic term for a lot of different reasons that are beyond the scope of this piece.  Where I'm at with it right now is that most western religious traditions seem to have some understanding of what we might call shadow work which points to it being important and useful. However they all used different terms given their contexts so I'm still unsure of what term might be the most appropriate given where I'm at. So for right now, you might see me use it less in the title or body of work I write from here on out, but I still might use it as a tag to make it findable. There's a good shot this doesn't go far enough and I'm not sold on this approach. Just know it's something I'm trying to figure out.

So that's where I'm at right now. I think white pagans really need to be more serious about animism at minimum and hopefully also looking at the role living religious traditions play in their current practice as well. I think white pagans' unhealed reactivity around Christianity too often serves as a justification for spiritual appropriation and furthering colonial harm. Changes are definitely needed. What that looks like in practice for individuals will likely vary a ton. I'd love to hear from other folks doing work in this vein. What's worked for you so far? What hasn't? Where are you in the process?

[pandoraborn]

im so sorry for the vagueness of this, but please. any kind of ghostbur+sbi angst. please.

Characters: Ghostbur, c!Tommy, c!Techno, c!Phil Word count: 1497 words Content: canon divergence, techno’s execution, post exile, Tommy is sick, Techno is injured, gore, blood, whump, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of death, SBI, sleepybois inc,

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

He sees the anvil drop.

He sees Techno crumble, falling to his knees before springing back up. Ghostbur can only stare, as if hypnotized by the gory scene before him, because Techno is very much a skeleton, slowly being stitched back together by some unseen force. Logically, he knows it’s the totem of undying working its magic, but emotionally, Ghostbur knows he’s never going to purge this memory from his brain.

He holds Friend closer to himself as he watches Techno jump away and disappear in the following madness. If he had a heart, it’d be pounding rapidly. If he had lungs, he’d be wheezing and gasping in fear. The ability to cry is also nonexistent, leaving the ghost unable to do anything but stare at the empty cage. Ghostbur stares for a long time.

When he looks up at Phil, trying to find some explanation for what happened, he finds that Phil’s house is empty. Phil must’ve snuck out in the chaos, when Tubbo and the rest of the ‘butcher army’ hadn’t been watching.

Now he’s alone. There’s no one else around, no distant voices to help him come back to reality. Reality is watching a long time friend turn into a skeleton and magically stitch himself back together, before running for his life. Reality is his father being put under house arrest simply for protecting Techno.

Reality is Friend bumping into him, startling him out of his swirling thoughts. Ghostbur puts a smile on his face, taking the lead and tugging Friend inside Phil’s house. The sheep will be safe here for the moment, while Ghostbur thinks of someone to turn to. He needs comfort from someone who can actually speak to him.

Tommy comes to mind.

Part of Ghostbur wonders if he should even talk to Tommy, because he hadn’t seem Tommy since before his party. Would Tommy be angry with him for not showing up? Maybe it’s a risk worth taking, because it’s Tommy, and they love each other. A dim memory surfaces; he remembers Phil mentioning the other day that he’d been in contact with Tommy, and Tommy’s now safe from any sort of harm. Ghostbur wonders if that means Tommy’s at the cabin, so he heads in that direction.

It doesn’t take long for Ghostbur to reach the cabin. He hopes the others are already here and in one piece, but Ghostbur can’t get the image of the execution out of his head. If he had the ability to feel sick, he’d probably be vomiting in the snow.

Techno’s clearly home, because Ghostbur can see the trail of blood leading toward the cabin. Carl, his horse, is also just outside, unharmed.

Before Ghostbur can enter, he hears raised voices. He pauses at the door, leaning closer to hear more clearly, but nothing he’s hearing sounds great.

“Techno, hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere! You’ll also wake Tommy.”

“I’m sorry, I had to rip my arm out of an entire bar, right after being executed! I’m not exactly going to remember my manners for the stupid kid beneath us. He can always sleep later!”

“If you don’t shut up and hold still, I will splash you with a weakness pot and smack you over the head so I can heal you properly. Your bones need to set and you need stitches.”

Ghostbur’s heard enough. He barges in, trying to plaster a smile on his face, but it feels off when he sees the wound on Techno’s arm. It’s not just a deep gash, but a giant hole where muscle and skin should be. There are tears in the pig’s eyes, there’s an expression of anger in Phil’s eyes that render him almost inhuman. If Ghostbur were to actually let himself think about it, he’d admit he was terrified of them both right now.

“Ghostbur,” Phil says curtly. “Go downstairs and check on Tommy.”

“Your arm-”

“I’ll explain it to you later Ghostbur,” Techno grumbles. “Do what Phil says and don’t ask questions.”

“I was there! I saw what happened! Phil, I left Friend in your house.”

“Ghostbur, go downstairs and sit with Tommy. He needs someone more than Techno does.” Phil’s voice has an air of finality to it; Ghostbur doesn’t want to argue with him. Shoulders slumping in disappointment, he disappears down the ladder to check on Tommy.

 Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the boy since before his beach party. Would Tommy be mad at him for not showing up? Why is Tommy even here, isn’t he supposed to be on holiday? Everything is far too confusing anymore, but even those thoughts are pushed out of his mind when he sees the teen sitting in a bed.

Tommy is far too thin and sickly looking. His skin is too pale, almost colorless, with dirty, greasy hair falling into sunken eyes. Each breath he takes is a painful wheeze, his fingers tremble too much to grip the bowl of food he’s trying to eat.

Tommy’s gaze flicks up briefly when he sees Ghostbur, glancing back down a second later. “Hello.” Even the boy’s voice is rough.

First he watches Techno die, now he has to see his brother sick and malnourished? What kind of holiday had he been on?

“Tommy?” He moves closer, just as afraid of the teen as he was of Techno. Ghostbur already wants to forget today’s events and go back to being ignorant. He’s happier when he doesn’t have to think about anything.

“Surprise, we’re all alive.” Tommy’s tone is unbelievably dark, as if he doesn’t believe it himself. “One minute I’m contemplating everything that went wrong, and the next, Philza’s carrying me here like I suddenly matter. I go to sleep, and wake up to Techno missing half an arm. Dunno what happened there, neither of them will tell me.”

“I watched Techno die,” Ghostbur blurts. He probably shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but the words are out. “He had a totem though, so he survived. It’s a good thing, I think.”

“Ah.” Tommy sets the bowl of food aside, lying back down. Rather than looking colorless now, he’s turning a shade of green. “That’s information I didn’t need while trying to eat.”

“I’m sorry Tommy.”

“Are you okay?” Tommy asks. “Forget about me, I’m in great shape. You, on the other hand, look pretty shaken up.”

“Ah, yeah.” Ghostbur looks away. “Tommy, I forget a lot and I’m not the best, but what happened to Techno isn’t fading. I’m not sure how to process it.”

“You need a hug or something?” Tommy stretches one arm out toward Ghostbur. “Because you look like you could use one.”

“Are you sure you’re not using that as an excuse to get a hug for yourself?” Ghostbur can’t resist the tease. Nor can he resist the offer, letting himself move closer until he’s in Tommy’s arms.

“Fuck you, I don’t need a hug from anyone.” Tommy’s voice is muffled. “I’m independent and can do anything I want to on my own.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Phil’s voice interrupts. “Even on your deathbed, you’re going to give us all a headache.”

Ghostbur’s eyes nearly bug out. “Deathbed?” His gaze whips back toward Tommy to make sure Tommy isn’t actually dying. “Does he need a tot-”

“Ghostbur, relax. Tommy isn’t dying, and I assume you’re here to talk about Techno. He’s not dying either. Everyone here will be fine.” Phil rolls his eyes. “All three of you are the most dramatic shits I have the misfortune of knowing.”

“Fuck you Phil,” Tommy groans. “I can still fight you.”

“If you can get up without fainting, I’d love to take you on,” Phil laughs.

“Is... Techno’s really okay though, right?” Ghostbur asks. “Because-”

“Ghostbur.” Phil sombers up to give the ghost his full attention. “I’m sorry you had to see that earlier. I know it’s not easy, and judging by your reaction, your brain isn’t letting you forget it so easily. Techno’s strong, Tommy’s strong. We’re all going to make it out of this in one piece, alright?”

Ghostbur looks down. “Three of you will. I’m afraid it’s a little late for me, dad.”

No one has a come back to that. Whatever fragile bonds still connect this broken family are still fraying. Ghostbur may be there, they may be able to see and hear and touch him, laugh with him even. At the end of the day though, it’s a harsh reminder that he is not Wilbur, that the Wilbur they’d all loved is still dead, and not even his ghost can replace him.

“Hey Ghostbur?” Tommy tugs on his sleeve. “Will you stay with me for awhile?”

“Yeah.” Ghostbur lies back down, wrapping his arms around the teen. Everything about the boy is too bony, nothing about his appearance is okay. He wonders if Tommy actually is dying.

Nothing more needs to be said though. Broken family or no, at least all four of them are together.

[prose-for-hire]

UC Sunnyhell: Part five

Hello Jealousy!

Previous part // Next Part

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: College AU. Part five of eight. Spike is the campus bad boy with a secret soft heart. Spike realises something as he faces more time without you.

Warning: I think only like a little sex reference on this one.

Original request by: @sunflower-stan​

Other tags: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @harpersmariano @artsymaddie​ @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard​ @cameo-greaves​

You began to get comfortable around Spike. More so than you ever believed could be possible. He let you in more and it made you want to allow him to know you even more.

You were getting on well. It was strange and you hadn’t really been able to express it to your other group of friends but you really found yourself enjoying his company. He was sweet in a kind of gruff way. He never really showed much emotion on his face other than a scowl before now. But now you were getting to know him more, you could sense subtle changes in his demeanour.

Like how he was much more comfortable when he was at home. When he was in your company now he could almost… relax. You could both be yourselves in a way you never truly felt with anyone else.

Today you were trying something new together. You were sat in his room. A place you had never been invited before. He even opened the windows so you didn’t asphyxiate from the smoke fumes that appeared to cling to every piece of furniture.

You looked around it, smiling at the way it just screamed ‘Spike’. It was pretty dark, even with the curtains open.

You and Spike had been writing. Together. It was strange and very new but you found yourself enjoying it so much. To have a friend that understood. A friend that wanted to explore life through writing. Through words that can describe complex emotions that you would otherwise never be able to capture properly. To discuss it with him, even if you were doing most of the talking, it was so pleasant.

You would pause every so often and share little lines or swap and read through the other’s work and both be desperately nervous for the other’s approval. Neither of you need worry though, you were so entranced by the others mind. You hoped this would become a regular thing, it was special.

However there were other things clouding your mind. It was getting closer and closer to the presentation and you and Angel were out together more frequently. You were making sure to drop some good words in for Buffy here and there. You found yourself getting on quite well with him, you often found him reading while he was waiting for you. Sometimes you spoke about the book if the both of you had read it. He was a lot more sensitive than you had guessed upon first meeting.

It was actually really nice getting to know this popular frat guy, much more so than you had expected to be. You knew what Buffy saw in him. He wasn’t necessarily your type though. Although what your type was, you were still yet to realise. It still hadn’t quite clicked yet to you.

The presentation was on your mind a lot, you were still working on your confidence despite you now being a frequent performer at the open-mic nights. Luckily, you had your friends to distract you. You were sat with your group at lunch. You had all been laughing really loud. You had been laughing so hard your tummy began to ache. None of you could stop it, your humours matched. It was infectious. As soon as it began to die down, suddenly one of you caught it again and sent a wave around the rest of them.

Eventually the laughter died down as different people had different places they needed to go. The others had to go but you and Cordelia didn’t have any more classes for the rest of the day. She was going to cheer practice in an hour and you would go to the library or something when she did so you didn’t look like a complete loner (although nobody would have really been bothered if you had just been sitting alone).

Talk, as it so often did when it was you and Cordy, turned to mindless gossip. You enjoyed it usually she knew pretty much everything about everyone. But today, her sole focus was on Xander. She was complaining about how she couldn’t help that she got a lot of attention from people because she was so pretty. She like being pretty, she did it on purpose but Xander didn’t enjoy the way people would stare.

“So, why shouldn’t people appreciate me if they like the way I look?” She complained with a pout.

“I get that” You offered, nodding along. You were a good listener and Cordy liked this about you.

“Well, Xander doesn’t! Someone even looks at me and it’s like, hello jealousy, y’know?” You nodded along as you usually did, not realising how pertinent this phrase was about to be to your own life. You usually switched off from the conversation when Cordy spoke about Xander. They were so hot and cold no matter what advice you gave her she tended to do the opposite anyway. They weren’t particularly bad for each other they just got hung up on stupid stuff.

Thankfully, Cordy gave you a reprieve. She stopped the conversation, looking up with the meanest expression she could muster. You frowned, looking behind you. Revealing none other than Spike standing behind you.

He had come over to say hello to you. Bracing the cruel eyes of the canteen to get to you. You couldn’t help smiling, it brightened up his day to see you react that way at seeing him.

“Go away, you’re looking at me!” She scowled at him, trying to shoo him from your table as if he were a stray dog asking for scraps.

“Don’t worry, young dumb and full of-” Spike had started and you mimed at him pleadingly not to finish that sentence. To both yours and his surprise, he did. He cut himself off and changed tac, “-stupid thoughts… isn’t my type”

“Oh, God, why is he even speaking to me?! Shut up Spike your type is, like, anything that moves”

“Listen here you stupid bint-”

“No, you listen here you punk reject! Nobody wants you around here, look at yourself! You’re so gross”

You cringed at what they both said. Not knowing what to say yourself. You stayed silent and this was suddenly noticed by them. They looked at you for support and you groaned. This wasn’t working out. One wrong move and the other would try to cut you out of their lives. They both had reputations for being mean but they were both nicer to you than most. You wanted it to stay that way. You valued both of their friendships.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be. Please don’t rip each other to shreds” You offered, suggesting that you weren’t picking a side as you slid everything from the table and into your bag and hurried off.

After this, Spike had decided the fact that you didn’t side with Cordelia was a good sign. He so wanted to see the obvious good in you. Have you as a friend he could rely on. Share his time and his thoughts with you. His mind. Having you in his room, to himself, speaking those words he had started to want to hear more and more of.

You had been lying on your bed when he knocked on the door. It had been less forceful than his usual knock and it made you frown. Almost as if he was nervous to enter. You sat up, calling for him to come in if he wanted. He entered, with something in his hands. He stumbled over his words as soon as he stepped into your room.

“I, uh, found these… they’re really stupid. But I, uh, though you might like ‘em” He said, thrusting the plastic bag into your hands and looking away immediately. You peered into the bag, gasping in excitement.

Old movie scores. Musical numbers. Soundtracks.

Your eyes watered at the thought. To have a friend that thought about you. Wanted to make you smile.

“They were cheap” He shrugged, as if you had stopped this way because of the quality and not as how special this gesture was. How much it meant to you.

You threw yourself at him, getting overexcited in the moment and tried to hug him. He stiffened, his body completely rigid as you did. He didn’t know what to do with him self. In one sense, he was beside himself. Couldn’t shake the elation that you had wanted to hug him. On the other, he was embarrassed. Wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

He wanted to reciprocate the feeling, the warmth of the embrace, but he was still afraid that any show of vulnerability could open him to ridicule. Could make you jeer at him. His hands moved to hover over your body for a moment before they briefly contacted your skin.

You pulled away, his hands now lingering slightly now as you did. He almost felt as if he wanted to pull you back in for another hug. But… that would be absurd. Right?

“You wanna listen to them with me?!” You asked, an excited smile on your face. He couldn’t resist. He rolled his eyes but then nodded softly as you selected one to play.

Spike was sat in the shared living space. One that you both now truly shared. Spending your evenings laughing and making fun of something dumb on tv or just talking. He loved it when you leaned in to turn the set down so you and him could just talk. You had done this well into the night on several occasions.

He shouted for you from where he was sat on the sofa. He asked if you want to watch something on the box – that you can study or whatever later. He turned and saw that you were dressed up a little more than you usually would for lounging around the house. He subtly scanned his eyes along your form as he spoke.

“We goin’ to a party, love? Type with, say, free booze?” He tried his luck but you shook your head. He couldn’t help feel such acute disappointment that you had rejected it so quickly.

“No, just meeting a friend” you explain softly. You didn’t mention who it was, that you were going to have a drink with Angel and talk about your presentation. You knew how much Spike hated Angel. And you didn’t owe him an explanation about where you were going anyway. He never told you. So... why did you feel a little guilty to leave him this way?

You shrugged. Instead, you waved your goodbye with a little smile that he was beginning to find endearing.

He frowned at the idea of you leaving, something was bugging him and he couldn’t figure out what. He didn’t want you to go out and leave him lonely. He valued your friendship so much. He wanted you to come back and spend the evening with him. The way he usually pretty much always chose to stay in with you.

The feeling had been there for a while now, building up in his mind. He hadn’t even identified it until it had started to push itself to the forefront of his mind. He frowned but shrugged. Turning back to the tv for company.

It had been a few weeks since you went out for that evening and Spike had noticed you had been really busy lately. Instead of your time being his, spent in the house like you usually would, you had been out almost every day.

And, when you weren’t out, you were smiling at your phone. He caught you laughing out loud once. It made him tense his jaw. Mutter under his breath. You barely looked up to the tv anymore when you were sat together, let alone at him. Not that… he needed you to look at him, obviously. You hadn’t written together for over a week though either. You were busy messaging people he would insist he was too cool for.

It bugged him to no end though. That even in his company you would rather be talking to other people. He almost felt as if he wasn’t enough. As if you wanted to be away from him despite your insistence that he was someone you now considered a good friend.

On one rare occasion you deigned to stay in with him (an evening you had enjoyed more than any in that week because you could finally relax). It had gotten too much for him though. His annoyance that you had been using your phone so much rather than giving him attention he had started to crave. He ended up checking through your phone.

You had just left it lying there while you went into your bedroom to get something – what was he supposed to do?

He swiped it from the arm of the chair where it had been left. He opened it up and scrolled through your messages. Finding something that made his stomach drop. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

Angel. You were sat beside him but texting Angel. Sending him smiley faces and sweet replies. He tensed his jaw, a stone in the pit of his stomach. This feeling he couldn’t name weighing him down.

He had become suspicious. Of your intentions. There was a weird distance when you thought you had become friends. It made you a little upset. You didn’t know whether to broach it with him, you wanted to just enjoy your time with him.

Another evening and you were going out again. The library and then some dumb party after. Spike hadn’t caught where or he would have crashed. He knew how nervous you could get. Wanted to make sure you came back safe. 

Came back to… him. 

He frowned. That was a weird thought. Still, he shrugged it off and looked back towards you. He didn’t realise how much he had needed a friend. No, not just any friend. You. He couldn’t get over just how much he enjoyed having you around.

“Don’t go” He had whispered as you left, it was inaudible to you. He frowned at himself again. At the way he heard the pleading note in his voice. About how much that sentence really meant.

He refused to think about it. To delve deeper inside. To get why he had thought this. He just couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he lit up a cigarette and walked to the liquor store. He planned on taking the bottle to bed with him tonight rather than some cheap imitation of…

You frowned as you walked. Wishing you could spend time in and feel that bond you had started to become so sure of with Spike.

He drank to forget. His loneliness. The fact that he didn’t have you this evening. He found himself looking forward to every moment you would spend together. Just talking. Laughing.

Another afternoon rolled by where he had been staying in in the hopes of you being around the house too. The roles appeared to have switched since you began to get to know each other. Ever since he had found a real connection, a proper friendship, he had wanted to cling to it. 

But you were now more popular than ever, having to split yourself between so many people. Because they all saw in you what he did, how kind you were. How nice it is to be in your company.

“Alright, pet?” 

“Yeah, you know. Busy” You sighed. If you were honest, you would be pleased when the presentation was over. All this work you were doing, evenings and afternoons you were spending away from home. Not to say that you weren’t friends with Angel but being out so often when you were used to staying in was starting to exhaust you.

When he saw that you were going out again his face dropped. You were packing up your bag with all of the stationery you appeared to have a never-ending stock of. He was planning to ask if you were running a black-market, coloured-highlighter export on the side.

“Date?” He asked, the tone was light but his face was tense.

“Yeah like I would have time for that!” You smiled at him and he scoffed.

“Yeah, m’sure Angel would love seein’ your vast stationery collection”

“What? Is that a euphemism that my mind isn’t dirty enough to understand?” You aimed for a teasing joke but as soon as you said euphemism and assigned it to talking about Angel, he got even more tense. Launching into his petty review of Angel’s character.

“Yeah, well maybe he is popular and has somethin’ going for him but-but he has a massive forehead a-and stupid hair”

“Okay, childish. Do you want some crayons to keep yourself occupied while I’m out?”

“Don’t get smart, don’t suit you” He quipped which made you smile a little but his face was sullen. He wasn’t in a good mood with you again. And you didn’t properly understand why.

“Why don’t we write tomorrow?!” You said excitedly, “I have the entire afternoon free… maybe we can do what we did last time?” You smiled in his direction, your enthusiasm making the corners of his mouth tug into an almost-smile. But when he saw you begin to leave as you spoke, he said something else.

“Yeah if you got time in your oh so busy life”

“Offer’s there! I’ll see you later”

“Yeah, whatever” He said, slouching in his chair which made you sigh a little. You would be in a gloomy mood for the rest of the evening now that he was in a bad mood with you. You cared so much about what he thought and felt now, it was so strange.

He carried on this way for a while even though you mentioned several times you and Angel had been paired up together and were only ever working on the project. Hinting that you really wouldn’t be spending so much time out otherwise. 

Angel was friendly and nice to you but the long silences were hard to navigate at times. There just wasn’t that effortlessness you had when you were with Spike. He had annoyed you a little because what with all of his commitments you had ended up doing more than your share of the workload because of his busy schedule.

Spike had began to withdraw himself from you a little. It made you sad, this man who you had been forming such a strong bond with. Exploring this supportive friendship you suddenly had. Was suddenly turning his back on you.

He wasn’t really sure why he was in such a bad mood with you. He knew you had a presentation. He had given you a bit of help when he saw how much of a workload you had on. He had also seen Angel’s name on the form next to yours so he knew the reason you were spending so much time with Angel.

However, what neither of you really understood at the time was that Spike’s insecurity was winning over. He was comparing himself to Angel because he had so much of your time. Made him feel less-than. It made him believe that you probably felt that way too.

He couldn’t help his insecurity. The way it festered in his chest. Why would you want to spend time with him when there was someone like that you got on with so well?

His snide comments and tense nature was worrying you still. He thought he had been slick but you had seen him put the phone back onto your chair as you returned to the room that evening. You weren’t so bothered, you weren’t hiding anything it just meant you put a lock on your phone when you realised.

He had asked about your day and you told him. You had mentioned Angel all of once and yet it was the only part of your day he was thinking about.

“Oh yeah, and did you and Angel have a bloody brilliant time? Did you have a right giggle and skip through the merry streets-”

“What is going on with you? Why are you being like this?” You finally confronted him, you just wanted your friend back.

“Not being anything. Just tellin’ you what’s what” He shrugged, avoiding your eye contact.

“You’ve been in a horrible mood ever since I started my project – I can’t help that I’ve got so much going on! I swear with Willow’s blood-drive and Xander’s basketball games as well as Buffy’s parties and all of my work I have no time to even think for myself!”

“Well, at least your priorities are set, right pet?” He said, this time the bite in his voice was evident. He hadn’t even made the list. He wasn’t even on your mind as someone you wanted to spend time with was all he had gotten from your sentence.

“What that I can’t be friends with you if I’m friendly with them? With Angel?” You said this pointedly, you could tell that was why he had been so weird now, “It doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Uh… about our friendship” You realised the way you had phrased it may have sounded a bit ambiguous and so you added the latter part. He just stared at you. Stopping dead.

But he hadn’t stopped because of the awkward way you covered your sentence. He stopped because those words made him want you to mean that. That you would want to be in a relationship with him.

It was like a switch turning on. Those words. He was finally understanding it.

“Yeah, well, whatever” he just shrugged, adjusting the leather duster back on his shoulders before storming away.

But the conversation you had was still swirling around his mind. He finally realises why he’s being like this.

It all made sense to him so suddenly. Hit him in the gut.

The way he had enjoyed the interactions with you, even if you had been arguing. How he had acted with you in mind, to get a reaction. Even if it was anger. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off you in the room. Positioned himself closer to you. Wanted to spend all of his time with you. Had begun waking up earlier to spend more time with you. The way your words, your writing appeared to fill up his soul. The dreams he had about you…

“Oh balls!” He muttered throwing himself down onto his bed, “I bloody love them!”

He was aching under this realisation. His heart near-beating for you. His mind always on you and what you were doing. The idea of you being with a man that wasn’t him made his skin crawl. Made his mind fog with red mist.

He wanted to hold you. To catch your lips with his. Show you exactly what you meant to him. Wanted to have you with him more, sharing your hearts and minds. God, he made himself dizzy just lying there in bed thinking about having you that way. In every way.

The day of your project suddenly came and he did say good luck for it beforehand despite all of his weird behaviour. He knew that it meant a lot to you. It went well and you and Angel were so relieved. Neither of you were the best at that sort of thing, but you were definitely getting better. Your project was finally over and you and angel remained fast friends. Also, he had a thing for Buffy too you had never been more sure of it.

Spike seemed to relax when your project was done and your friendship had continued. He hadn’t brought a one-night-stand home in almost a week and even before that there had only been one or two people you had seen recently.

You even asked if he needed medical attention for his wrist because you were sure it was being over-used. You were becoming much more comfortable talking to him about sex. You were becoming so comfortable with him in general.

He threw a cushion at you and muttered something under his breath but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t even try to make an excuse up he just turned back to the soap opera.

You glanced sideways at him, trying to figure him out. You caught glimpses but you wanted more. You wanted to ask and have him tell you about him. His past. His thoughts. But you knew better than to push him. It might make him completely close back up again.

He just gestured with his head towards the tv. To tell you to watch the soap again. You had been caught looking. You snapped your gaze away too quickly. Staring at the tv, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks. You felt something when you looked at him. You couldn’t even begin to understand.

He acted as if he was watching the tv but he wasn’t. He was sneaking glances at you when he thought you couldn’t see. Inching slightly closer in his chair so that he was nearer to you. Wishing he could reach between the space. Embrace you like you had that one time.

He was used to quick sex, one-night stands and getting them to leave straight after. But when it came to you… this was so new. This feeling – he was sure of it. He was intoxicated by you. You were in every thought. Every waking moment. And in his sleep too.

The dreams he would have. He wanted you. He really wanted you. Only you.

[nonotranslates]

ARB Event Translation: Decisive Battle of a Billionaire: Second Part ~Duelists on the Board~: Chapter 6

Best enjoyed alongside the game itself, the movements and expressions etc adds a lot to the story. [Link to Gameplay Video]

Translation for Chapter 6 - A personality that can't leave one alone

Jyushi: UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

???: Are you alright?

Jyushi: Uuuu…… Hic….. Hic…...

Rosho: If you don’t mind, can I help you?

Jyushi: Hic…… Hic…… Ah, you’re…… Osaka’s?

Rosho: You’re….. if i’m not wrong, Nagoya’s......

Jyushi: Why……. are you here…..?

Rosho: I wanted to say that’s my line, but... why were you crying?

Jyushi: T-That is…..

Rosho: That is?

*screen blacks out as Jyushi explains*

Jyushi: —and that’s the case…...

Rosho: I see. That can’t be helped, just a case of bad luck

Jyushi: Because of that, I’m at a loss on what to do...

Rosho: …...I have a suggestion for that

Jyushi: ?

Rosho: I was troubled too because I couldn’t join the event. If you’re alright with it, do you want to join it together?

Jyushi: Eh…… W-With me?

Rosho: I’m not saying you must though…..

Jyushi: T-That’s not it! I’m not unwilling at all! Rather, I’d say you’ve helped me out here

Rosho: That so. Then, it’s an OK?

Jyushi: Yes! Please take care of me!

*scene change to inside venue*

Jiro: Huh~ There sure is quite the crowd here

Saburo: What carefree things are you saying…? If there’s more people here, our chance of winning will be low

Jiro: I get that—. But, what does a giant ‘Life is Game’ even means…?

Saburo: Seems like there’ll be an explanation of the rules after this so we’ve gotta listen carefully

Moderator: Everyone who have gathered here at the venue! Thanks for waiting! The explanation of the rules will now begin!

Jiro: Oh! Seems like it’s starting!

Moderator: Now, please pay attention to the screen!

Monitor: “The game is different from the family version of ‘Life is Game’, as participants will be working together with their partners towards the goal”

Monitor: “Scattered within each space is contents that allows you to attack other players”

Saburo: There’s offensive elements? This is the best!

Monitor: “Trip other players down, and walk towards a better life. This game is just as what this sentence says.”

Monitor: “Everyone, please collaborate with your partners, kick down other players, to grab victory!”

Saburo: This sounds interesting, doesn’t it!

Jiro: …...It’s a game that reveals one’s personality, huh

Saburo: Jiro! I’m the brains here! Don’t give me complaints about the things I say!

Jiro: Dude, did you read the rules properly? It’s written that we’re supposed to work together, didn’t it?

Saburo: Your judgement and whatnot will surely be wrong anyway, so just listening to what I say will be fine!

Jiro: Y-You goddamn brat……

Dice: Ah? Are the over ones there the Ikebukuro siblings?

Saburo: You’re Arisugawa…… Dice?

Dice: Yup! You guys are joining too huh

Jiro: You guys too……?

Gentaro: Even though they mentioned to work together, there’s already a falling out this soon…… it’s as if one team is already out of the game, isn’t it

Jiro: The hell was that!?

Gentaro: Oo scary scary……

Jiro: What a condescending attitude

Jyushi: Eh! The guys from Shibuya and Ikebukuro……?

Rosho: …...Coincidences keep happening, huh

Saburo: You guys are Osaka’s and Nagoya’s…… Why are you here…...?

Rosho: We grouped up due to some unexpected events. Since we’ve joined, we will be seizing for victory *Note: I don’t know how to phrase it in English without sounding weird… like, since they took the trouble to join, they can’t be losing now right?

Jyushi: The one who will be getting the prize will be us!

Gentaro: We have no plans to lose too, you know. Right, Dice?

Dice: Hehe! When it comes to winning, there’s no one whose guts can compare to mine!

Gentaro: No one was talking anything about guts though……

Jiro, Saburo: …...

Dice, Gentaro: …...

Rosho, Jyushi: …...

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Link to Chapter 7

Link to Masterlist

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Insightful Jiro, Saburo being excited about being able to attack other players lol, sweet Rosho-Jyushi interaction....... I love them. Special mentions to asshole Gentaro and cinnamon roll (dumbass) Dice. ARB events are getting so much better since the launch.....