#I so badly want to draw him as a camp counselor

[noxturnals-void]

Couldn’t get this out of my brain

[partnersatfazbear]

FNAF Movie - Full Review / SPOILERS

Alright, my full review after seeing the film once in theatres, under the cut:

Let me preface by saying a few things. I've been a fan of the series since Sister Location and if you follow my blog, you know my main interests would be William and Henry going into the film. Let me say: Henry was not in the film. :( In fact, nothing of Fredbear's was even referenced. Yeah, we expected too much... You may also know how bleh I am towards Vanessa as a character, especially after her botched introduction in Security Breach. That doesn't change here. I went in expecting to hate her inclusion and as expected she adds nothing to the film. But let me start from the beginning..

The first ten minutes is so good. The opening feels like a horror movie and sets the tone really well. Characters, although many, are introduced fairly quickly, including a very stereotypical / evil Aunt Jen (Aunt Jane). Given her actress, I should have expected that... Luckily, she has such a minor role in the movie that it doesn't detract. In short, she wants custody of Abby and wants it now.

Michael was the shining star of this movie. Without his character being everything I'd ever want from a character, I would probably rate this movie way lower. He's a little brooding, he's fucking trying his damndest to raise Abby on his own, and the movie opens with him having major anger problems. PTSD does that to you, though.

Shortly after Michael beats up some guy walking off with his kid, we get to a meeting with his career counselor, Afton (under a different name I don't recall--it's shown a lot in the trailers). But before I say that, I wanna discuss where I thought the film was going... If you played the games you know William is Michael's father. That is NOT the case here, very very very much to my disappointment. When we see an angry father drag off a kid and Mike get upset about it, I thought perhaps it would allude to Michael's troubled childhood. Nope. He's got different problems, which aren't really bad, but I really wish they had kept that familial connection given the scene following with Mike and ("Not")Afton. William recognizes Mike's name, which at this point it's unclear why. If a fan goes into this, they already know William was going to say Schmidt--Michael's alias in the games. My thought here was maybe William abandoned his family and recognized Mike, but Mike didn't recognize him. Again, more on that later. Anyway, "Not"Afton invites Mike to a job at FNAF as a security guard, which due to the night shifts, Michael can't take yet.

But Aunt Jane is back trying to get custody (god, this trope is so badly used here, but it serves it's purpose) and so Mike HAS to take the job before he's evicted from his home and loses Abby. Abby also has some problems of her own. She wasn't around during Mike's life-changing incident, but she is his sister. Due to their parents splitting/dying/whatever I don't even remember it's so unimportant, Abby also isn't told about said incident. She draws a lot, too. (I loved being able to see a bit of my version of Charlotte in her, so that was nice!)

Note: Mike's Dream Theory book is not only plot relevant but a funny nod to the infamous FNAF 4 Dream Theory. Also, MatPat shows up as a waiter very briefly.

Mike takes his first shift, leaving Abby with a babysitter. I know her actress' face, but her character is like a slew of others about to be introduced as 90's slasher fodder. Mike's first night is mostly uneventful, but he takes his sleeping pills and puts on Sounds of the Trailer Park Nature tape and gets a nap in where he recalls a camping trip with his family (unnamed mother, father, and little brother Garret). Garret is quickly kidnapped in a car--and because it's so different from how Charlotte's death is portrayed in FNAF 2, I actually didn't put it together until the 2nd or 3rd short dream sequence. I can see some people not liking these sequences, but for me it made it feel more like it's own movie, it's own thing--it felt like an original horror film and I loved these sequences a lot. They don't overstay their welcome, either.

Now the film kinda goes downhill. Aunt Jane actively PLOTS to get MIke fired to win custody of Abby. It feels very cheesy and it's... kind of bad writing. It serves it's purpose as her character does, but it's a really low point for me. We see she's hired the Babysitter and Unnamed Man A to go trash Freddy's when Mike isn't there in hopes to get him fired. There are two other people as well. Unnamed Person B and Hank (or, Uncle Hank as he was called in casting). And no Hank is NOT Henry--he's just an adorable buff bear that screams like a girl and he's excellent for the short time he appears.

Proceed with them trashing Freddy's and having a nice, quick sequence of them all being picked off by the animatronics. There's good nods here, especially Chica in the kitchen. Chica is a bad ass bitch in this movie and I really enjoyed how everyone (except Freddy) had a pretty solid personality. Foxy even gets a bit of a run sequence, but this may have been later in the film...

Vanessa was introduced somewhere between all this, I don't remember. Everytime she's on screen she's like a paper doll (no complaints to her actress, she was great), but she's... Generic Cop Y. She chunks a few "Don't investigate, Mike"s and "This place's backstory, Mike!"s and that's her character for 99% of the film. Hate it, hated her inclusion from the start, and she TRIES to be romantic with Mike but luckily the movie's plot cuts her off really quick. There isn't a kiss scene or anything like that, but there's a scene where she wants to dance with him and another heart-to-heart that gets cut off by her police radio and both were so dull and boring I will not recap them as her character only serves to infodump to the audience (and Mike) and it's bland and I hate it.

Mike returns to the Pizzeria with his sister since the animatronics killed the babysitter, and she wanders off and makes friends with the animatronics. During this time, Mike starts seeing a group of five children in his dreams that shouldn't be there. We all know who they are and after an 80's style montage of Mike, Vanessa (again...), and Abby building a fort with the animatromos, we learn Vanessa knows who they are.

My wife and I both thought Vanessa would be like... Suzie's sister. You know, something kinda fun and different and help her relate to Michael more and have a stake in the movie. Nah, nah fam. Scott's bad writing shows badly with Vanessa and it gets worse.

I am skipping some stuff, but namely you should know that Mike almost leaves Abby with Aunt Jane forever after Vanessa threatens to literally shoot him if he brings her back after Abby almost dies activating Bonnie's guitar. It seems kinda odd, since Vanessa was encouraging Abby to play with them, but it's supposed to.

Mike goes back for another shift to investigate further with the dream children and knowing that Abby has been seeing the ghost children and talking to them. The children promise to show Mike who kidnapped Garret (again, you should've figured it out) if they offer up Abby. He agrees at first, but then he wakes up and is nearly killed by all the animatronics. I really miss the bit from the games where they wanna kill Mike because he looks like his father, not because Mike broke an arbitrary promise and the animatronic kids are evil (similar to the novels... There's a lot of novel influence here, and this INCLUDES a Golden Freddy kid who is basically FF's Andrew / TOYSKHK from UCN).

Vanessa rescues Mike off-screen and Mike returns to Freddy's with a taser after learning she's Afton's daughter. Yeah. Remember that old deleted / AR email "Vanessa A."? The movie tries to get you to think it's clever by naming her Shelley or something, but no, A COP is the daughter of a SERIAL KILLER. Not like game Afton, either, where he started killing with Charlotte. No, he killed Garret too. Why? Who fucking cares, the movie isn't gonna tell you because... why bother. Also I don't remember when it happens but Vanessa also explains the springlock suits when they find one in the storage of Freddy's that looks a lot like Eleanor / Baby. The springlocks themselves aren't as much like the novels / comics and more like a robotic ribcage that slams shut (think Saw 3's Angel Trap but in reverse).

Speaking of, in the intro to the movie we see a device that's basically a Freddy head with blades inside it where the user is strapped to a chair to have their face sawed off (as is the fate of Security Guard A). Never explained. Only shown again with Mike very late in the film and he escapes rather easily... I DON'T KNOW what the point of this Saw trap is except to provide trailer fodder! I wanted to believe it was the SCUPER, but guess fucking not. You could remove this from the film with literally NO CONSEQUENCES.

Abby finally stops throwing a fit and wakes up to meet Golden Freddy and a dead Aunt Jane (so much for her, I guess). This taxi just fucking ubers her and GF to Fredbear's. I guess the driver thought he was a creepy cosplayer, but the entire segment is played for laughs (which is fine, I guess) but also makes no sense. it's an excuse to get Abby to Freddy's and show off GF. Who, by the way, disappears as quickly as he appeared in the movie, which is kind of shitty considering how important he's played up in some of the original screenshots we saw.

Mike goes to save Abby at Freddy's, electrocuting a bunch of the animatronics with the tazer Vanessa gave him after saving him off screen and taking him back to the police station and info dumping. If she hadn't said that was where Mike was I would've thought it was still Freddy's TBH. Oh, Vanessa? She's not gonna help because she's "scared of her daddy" -.- Just fucking kill me Vanessa it's better than sitting through your shitty character.

Abby is nearly put into the Saw trap by Chica, but Mike saves her. However... THE BEST PART OF THE FILM IS HERE GENTLEMEN. Spring Bonnie finally makes his appearance.

William/Bonnie can somehow magically control the animatronics (it's not explained) and so they all start attacking again. Which is it? Mad at Mike? Want Abby for their kiddy carnival? Or William wants them to kill to build his found-family of child labor force? I DON'T KNOW, IT'S NOT EXPLAINED.

Spring Bonnie's intro is fucking glorious, but it is disappointing we didn't get to hear him hum the Toreador March. In fact, it isn't in the film anywhere that I recall.

Tangent for a second because the march song, the power down noise (despite the power going out 3 times during the film), and the Freddy bonk are ALL ABSENT. Key elements fans wanted to see... not here.

Vanessa tries to shoot daddeh but Spring Bonnie's bulletproof~ Fuck you, it's FNAF, I guess. (It's a bad ass scene though. And Lillard's Afton is everything I wanted. Just creepy enough to not be a Criminal Minds villain but just twitchy enough to be how I imagined William). In a tussle, Wiliam tries to strangle Vanessa (I audibly cheered for him--kill the bitch, Will) and he stabs her shortly after when he brandishes the knife on Mike. Thank God.

Abby shows the animatronics her drawing with Mike's instruction, revealing and reminding them that Afton / Spring Bonnie killed them. They all descent on him and when Cupcake takes a very familiar bite out of Spring Bonnie (see: Springtrap), the springlocks start going off. The animatronics cart off William to the back. Admittedly, I was a bit disappointed it wasn't MORE dramatic, but I think that it would have upped the rating... so I'll let it slide. Mike and Abby leave with Vanessa's "corpse".

Vanessa is in a coma at the hospital. Fuck this movie.

Mike and Abby are happy, although Abby misses her friends. Mike has learned to look forward instead of back, giving him a decent character arc. I think if Garret's killer had been random it would have been better... except my theory for FNAF 2 is that Garret may end up being our Puppet! I really hope that's the case!

There's a final scene of William in his FNAF 3 glory, twitching as Spring Bonnie and reaching out for the door closing on him, in a very "Hello, Zepp" theme kinda way. I LIVED FOR THIS IT WAS EXACTLY HOW YOU'D WANT IT AS A WILLIAM FAN. Andrew/TOYSKHK/GF ghost closes the door on him, showing that at minimum he hasn't moved on, although I suspect the others haven't either.

Only cut in to the credits is that taxi driver again. No post-credits scene of Springtrap. EVERYONE in my theatre stayed the entire time (Living Tombstone song was great) but we all left a little sad about that. It was one of many odd decisions plaguing this movie, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility if you have any experience with Scott's writing. So... I went in expecting the worst, wishing for some things we didn't get to see (FREDBEARS), BUT I left loving this movie. As my wife said if we had a No-Vanessa-Cut I'd give this movie a perfect 10/10 despite the odd writing choices. She's about 45% of those choices.

I hope they leave her for dead so we can watch a PERFECT movie for Part 2.

In conclusion, A-. Good acting, score, effects. Dialogue didn't come off wierd and there's a ton of fun references for fans. A mostly good story with some weird inclusions that slow down the pacing at times. Lack of post-credits scene was disappointing to all and lack of Fredbear's disappointing to all Willry shippers. Also, casuals may be annoyed at how little screentime William gets overall. Fans of the animatronics will die over this film--they shine with Henson's work behind them. Bonnie has toebeans. I love them. Spring Bonnie is a hulking behemoth and I wish he was shown more. Just go see the fucking movie, even if you aren't a fan of the games. It's a fun little romp.

EXTRA NOTES (rewatched on streaming):

I wonder if the Saw trap thing will get explained in a future installment. A big thing now having seen the film is how to set up part 2. If it's a prequel, Mike won't make sense. If it's a sequel, it changes the lore slightly.

THE PIXEL INTRO OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO MENTION IT. IT'S SO GOOD. I LOVE 'YELLOW RABBIT'

I was VERY confused on WHEN the movie took place on my first watch. There's a very minor establishing shot that reads 4/6/2000. Unsure if this date is / will be important. Luckily the use of VHS and flip phones does help give a timeframe as well. (Saw crossover, anyone?)

I really wish the ghost kids in the real world (namely, at the end in the Pizzeria and in the final shot of William) were transluscent. IDK if this was a stylistic or budget choice. It doesn't bother me in the dream sequences but it's a touch I wish was added for viewer clarity (a problem this movie and Scott's writing in general has)

I didn't get to rant about Spring Bonnie enough lol But one thing that really does show his power is how he tosses Mike around like a footballer and stomps like he owns the place. The other animatronics are very stilted and slow in comparison, showing the difference well between an animatronic and a springlock suit. I also LOVE how accurate the suit is to the few models we've seen of Spring Bonnie. It's bulky to hold a human, but it's also bulky to show William's power and ego. I can't remember if I mentioned before when he first shows up and has to adjust his stance to stand up straight--it's a very powerful and evoking moment! (Probably helps that Lillard is very tall to begin with...)

A small thing about streaming VS theatre: way easier to see details in the theatre. I highly recommend you experience this film on a big screen or a very large TV (our 50" is not enough). Also, alot of the backgrounds in the film are purposely blurred, which is kinda weird? But little things like the details on the chalkboard, the map in Not!Afton's office... you'll kind of miss that on home viewings.

I didn't say this enough but the lack of Fredbear's really sucks in the long run of letting this movie soak in. There is literally no mention of Henry, Fredbear, or the diner. Vanessa's photo is at the diner in question where the film takes place. I feel like it's a very personal decision on Scott's part to completely ignore Fredbear's (I even partially suspect because of blogs like mine with a specific ship in mind, but I won't read a lot into that as I have an anxiety disorder) But to completely disregard a big chunk of the lore that fans are really dying for feels a little like a slap on the wrist for spilling juice on a new carpet. Like, come on, Scott. This kinda sucks. It doesn't diminish my love for the film (or this continuity) but as a fan it really hurts. I don't think clarifying Fredbear's in any way, given us more insight to Henry or William, would harm everything, but it is what it is.

A minor detail I noted early on in my theatre watch was how all the Yellow Rabbit drawings are pretty centralized on the wall of drawings in the restaraunt. Not only does it draws the viewer's eye (especially an unsuspecting viewer's) but it adds to William's narcissism / ego as a character. If you look at it in that light, the scene with Abby ripping down the drawing is way more impactful!!

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

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

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

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

Something about last summer sucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

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

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

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you.”

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

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

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“Me too.”

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

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that would be me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Some things never change, you suppose. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

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

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

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

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

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

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

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

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

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

“Is this your first year at camp?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

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

You want to be honest?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Try what?”

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

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

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

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

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

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

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

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

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

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

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

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

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s getting easier. 

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

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

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He means that part, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

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

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

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

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

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

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

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

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

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

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

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do? That is news to you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t be. 

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place will never not remind you of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you want to do.”

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

You nod. “Five minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Needed for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

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

[wisteriashouse]

I saw percy jackson au! one the troupe's list and i never tap the ask button this fast/no. Maybe a drabble where kyo and his team lost against gn reader on capture the flag because reader keeps distracting him when they're facing each other so reader's team can take the flag? (Let's say that kyo is the strongest opponent since he can wields sword better than anyone else 😂)

Also who do u think kyo's immortal parent is? I can picture him being an apollo's son since kyo always reminded me of the sun itself hshshs -✨

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x gn!reader

genre: fluff; pjo!au

word count: 1899

a/n: rip word count and the word drabble but here it is!! might do a pjo! au headcanon one day... this event really is no good for my soul... i hope you enjoy it!!

“Do you think we can win?”

It’s Tanjirou’s first Capture The Flag game, bless the sweet kid’s innocent soul, you think. Both of you are crouched behind a line of bushes near Zephyrus’ Creek together with the rest of your team - Blue, for this round - your weapons in hand as you wait for the scouts you’d sent out to return. 

“Well, it’s hard to say.” You try to be positive, waving your hand vaguely. Tanjirou’s eyes are fixed on you, wide with curiosity. It’s only his first week here, so he hasn’t had a chance to meet most of the older campers that have been away on missions. Lucky for him that Sanemi is probably still somewhere out in the strait of Messina with Tomioka hunting Charybdis, you think. The poor kid would have been scared off in seconds. “There are some people who could probably change the tide, but most of those people are off doing solo missions away from Camp Half Blood, so our teams are pretty balanced at the moment-”

“He’s back!” You rise to your feet at the noise to see Zenitsu (a son of Zeus), one of the scouts your team had sent out earlier, splashing his way back across the river. “Rengoku is back in Camp Half Blood!”

All around you, a collective groan rises into the air, the Athena campers behind you grumbling about how their strategies are all messed up now and they need to regroup. 

“Shot at me, the second I breathed in the flag’s direction. Missed me on purpose too, just to show off.” Grumbling when he finally reaches your team’s side of the river, Zenitsu gratefully accepts Tanjirou’s outstretched hand, the younger boy pulling him into the shelter of the bushes. “Guess we’ll be doing clean up duty for the whole of next week.”

“Now, now, Zenitsu, don’t give up so fast.” You nudge the younger boy in the side encouragingly. He’s sopping wet from his little swim in the river. “There’s still a chance! We still have Muichirou and Shinobu on our team, don’t we?”

Zenitsu lets out a whine. “But they’re not Rengoku.” He complains. The entire time, Tanjirou glances between the two of you, confused. 

“Who’s Rengoku?” 

“He’s head counselor for the Apollo cabin.” Zenitsu explains, wiping the river water off his lightning spear. “He’s one of the best fighters in the entire camp, on par with even the head counselor of the War God’s cabin, Shinazugawa Sanemi! Not to mention that he’s handsome and cool and half of the Aphrodite kids can’t help falling over themselves every time he walks by, asking him to teach them how to write love sonnets.” He gags at the words. "As if they aren't just waiting to take a piece out of him, the damn piranhas."

You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a laugh. “Well, he does write very good love poems,” you supply helpfully, and Zenitsu rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course you would know, since-”

“[last], we have a new plan!” Shinobu calls airily from behind you, interrupting Zenitsu. Turning around, you see the daughter of Hecate striding up to you with a smile on her face. It’s one that you’ve seen all too many times when she’s plotting something, and now that you’re on the receiving end of that smile, you’re not quite sure that you like it.

You squint at her suspiciously. “What is it?”

“You,” Shinobu answers with her usual smile, pausing for dramatic effect, “will be in charge of distracting Kyoujurou!”

You stare at her for a moment before you shake your head furiously. “No, no, no, there’s no way I’m doing that. I’d be shot full of arrows like a porcupine before I so much as touch the flag - I’d rather clean the Pegasus stalls for a week.”

“Oh, come on, have a little confidence in yourself!” Shinobu hums, the expression on her face practically radiating nefarious intent behind her sweet smile. “There’s no way he would hurt you, he’s your boyfriend, after all.”

To your side, you see Tanjirou’s mouth form a silent ‘o’ of realization, piecing together everything you and Zenitsu had been conversing about earlier. Flustered, you shake your head again.

“This isn’t going to work!” You insist, even as Shinobu tugs you to your feet and steers you in the direction of the river. “Shinobu, you know what Kyoujurou is like! He isn’t going to be distracted by me at all!”

“Oh, I know Rengoku very well,” Shinobu’s eyes curve into little crescents. “I think you’ll find yourself surprised, [last]. All you need to do is distract Rengoku, we’ll do the rest. Our entire team is counting on you!”

Helplessly, you turn to the two boys crouched behind the bushes. Zenitsu looks like he’s trying his best not to burst into laughter, and Tanjirou, the pure hearted boy, only gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

With a sigh, you turn around and march into the Red Team’s territory all alone.

It doesn’t take you long to reach the flag.

Although not quite as talented in direct combat as some of your fellow campers are, you’re skilled in your own ways as well, moving silently through the underbrush and disabling any traps that you’ve found - products of the Hephaestus cabin, no doubt. After narrowly avoiding springing a Greek fire trap, you manage to make your way to the location of the flag completely undetected.

Sidling up behind a tree, you glance around the trunk to observe the battle ground. And just as you do-

Thunk!

You barely dodge out of the way in time, a blur of gold embedding itself in the wood of the tree you’re taking cover behind. So Zenitsu was right - he really is back from his mission, and although the two of you are on opposing sides for this Capture The Flag match, you’re happy to know that he’s back safe and sound, uninjured enough to participate in this game.

“Is that you, darling?” He calls out, and you have to hold back your smile at the pet name. You haven’t seen him in a week, and hearing his voice after so long makes you want to just rush out to give him a hug. “I know it’s you, love.”

“It’s been a week since you’ve seen me last, and an arrow to the face is how you greet me?” You call out from behind the tree, slightly teasing. “I’m hurt, Kyo.”

“I knew you’d be able to dodge it.” Kyoujurou laughs. When you peer behind the tree again, you see your boyfriend standing there in his orange Camp Half Blood tee and jeans, leisurely nocking another arrow into his bow. “I won’t go easy on you if you attempt to steal the flag.”

“I’m not here for the flag,” you answer, and it’s only a half lie when you continue. “I’m here because I missed you.”

If you were even a little less observant, you would have missed the way Kyoujurou’s hands falter ever so slightly in the midst of nocking his arrow, before he covers it up with one of his usual booming laugh. “You’re not going to distract me like that!” He declares, and you stifle a quiet laugh of your own, your heart beating a little faster in your chest. “But,” his voice softens, “I missed you too, when I was away. One week felt like forever to me.”

Warmth touches your cheeks, but before you can smile too much, you smack your cheek lightly. Get it together, you scold yourself, you’re supposed to be distracting him, not the other way around!

With that, you take a deep breath and rise to your feet. You could never hope to beat Kyoujurou face on in combat, but you don’t have to - all you need to do is to distract him so that Shinobu can do... whatever she has planned.

You step out from behind the tree, and immediately Kyoujurou’s golden eyes lock onto you. You take the time to take in his handsome features, the warmth in his eyes, the fresh band-aid on his left cheek, did he get injured while on his mission? 

“Changing strategy, love?” Kyoujurou calls out, looking amused. He tightens his grip on the bow when you take a single step forward. “Ah, ah, stay right there, or I’ll shoot.”

A frisson of excitement runs through you at the words, and you halt your steps, looking up at Kyoujurou with a smile. At this range, Kyoujurou has no chance of missing - you’ve seen him strike targets from yards away. “You won’t shoot me,” you hum, and with that, you take another step forward. True to Shinobu’s words, he lifts the bow, but makes no move to draw. 

“I missed you very much, Kyoujurou. I did read all the poems you left for me, but it doesn’t feel as nice when it’s not your voice reading them to me.” You lower your voice to a soft, longing tone. It’s not hard, considering just how badly you’ve yearned to see him over the past week. “It just made me miss you even more.”

You see a tinge of pink touch Kyoujurou’s cheeks. “I’ll read them for you tonight, if you want.” Taking another step forward, you gesture at his cheek. “Did you get hurt on your mission?”

“No, I got it while shaving today morning. I was distracted because I was too excited about coming back.” Kyoujurou lets out a sheepish laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see some bushes rustle behind Kyoujurou. 

“Well, you’re home now.” You’re almost within Kyoujurou’s reach now. If he decides to tackle you to the ground, you’d be out of the game even before you can so much as say ‘Zeus’. “With me.”

“Now!”

All of a sudden, a weighted net falls out of nowhere onto the both of you, and you’re sent falling by its weight. Before you can hit the ground, however, Kyoujurou wraps you securely in his arms, taking the brunt of the impact as you end up on his chest.

“Kyo!”

“Very well done, [last]!” Shinobu’s voice chirps from behind you, and you turn around to see Shinobu striding up to the both of you, the Mist melting off her. From beneath you, Kyoujurou laughs loudly, his chest shaking from amusement.

“This was your doing, wasn’t it, Kochou?” Kyoujurou shakes his head, a smile still on his lips. To the side, another figure slips out of the darkness, fingers wrapping around the flag Kyoujurou had been guarding before his entire body leaves the shadows.

“You just had to use [last] as a part of your plan.” Obanai says accusingly, jabbing his finger at Shinobu. The daughter of Hecate only shrugs innocently. “I had to watch all of that flirting, I don't think my eyes will ever recover. I'll need to wash them out with bleach,” he shudders in disgust. “I’m never going along with your plan again.”

“Now, now, there's no need to be such a drama queen." Shinobu tilts her head to the side, her smile still perfectly in place. "We won, so there’s no harm, is there? I’ll be sure to do the same for you when Kanroji returns from her exchange with Camp Jupiter.”

“You’ll do no such thing, you-”

With a shake of the head, you turn back to Kyoujurou, who’s still fighting to keep down his laughter. Gently, you let the pads of your fingers trace his face, his cheekbones, his defined jawline, before you tap at his lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile as he looks up at you.

“Welcome back, Kyo.” You whisper, and lean down to kiss him. 

[asocier]

interaction guide for emile! 

last edited: april 6th, 2021

          emile ... my sweet baby boy. he’s an extremely friendly muse all around, and while he seems like he’d crumple at the first sign of danger, emile has surprisingly good fight or flight instincts. there’s a part of him that can work well under pressure, so when the world literally is on fire, emile will unexpectedly take charge and call the shots. of course, that’s when the pressure is really on — for the most part, emile is extremely non-confrontational and is perpetually stuck in a loop of ‘what am i doing with my life?’ as he wakes up everyday to a job he doesn’t care for. he makes the best of things, however, and finds pleasure in the simple things. he especially loves being out in nature, so that’s where he’ll truly be himself. in terms of his love life, he’s trying — that’s all i can really say on the matter. he’d be a good boyfriend, though, once things get serious; my sources have confirmed this. 

          supernatural plots — boy howdy, does emile befriend supernatural beings easily! i’m not sure what it is, but he really has a history of forming meaningful relationships with those who aren’t human, and it might just stem from the fact he thinks they’re incredibly interesting so long as, you know, they aren’t trying to kill him. so throw your magical girls, your aliens, your monsters, your non-human muses at emile because boy howdy is he down for the shenanigans and the adventure that comes alone with befriending these muses. he will absolutely literally be so fascinated by them and not give them grief if they’re nice to him !!! if they try to kill him, boy howdy will he be ready to run for his life because emile is already scared of everything and now he gotta run to save his ass. 

          family friendly wholesome plots — emile + children is literally one of the best things on this blog. i say this for like two other muses on this blog too but c’mon, emile and kids literally get along so well, how could i not suggest this possibility too in an interaction guide for him? he’s one of best babysitters and would love to interact with young muses, even if they aren’t small children but still quite young. even tween/teenagers might get along with him ( though if they’re going through some angst, he’s gonna be ... a lil awkward )

          nature/camping/plant plots — i mentioned that emile loves being out in nature, and this has long been the case since he was young. i make fun of him by saying he’s like an overgrown boy scout just because he has so much knowledge about the outdoors and camping from years of doing things like hiking. he also has a green thumb; really loves himself a nice plant. so here are some plots where your muse: 

needs a camping/hiking buddy and invites emile ( pre-est relationship most likely )

meets emile at a campsite ( first meeting type of plot ! )

is a camp counselor at a summer camp and emile is your co-counselor/head counselor and yall gotta take care of all these fking kids together for a whole summer 

works at a plant nursery/floral shop and they always see emile come in bc he hoards plants and loves to buy fresh cut flowers, either for himself or his sister, alison bc she loves flowers too 

just ... talks to emile about his plants casually or asks him for advice on why their plant isn’t doing so well 

needs a new trail mix/energy bar recipe and asks emile ( a neighbor? a friend? someone who is also looking at recipe books in a book store? ) if he has any

          art/photography/music plots — like his sister, emile dabbles in a lot of hobbies too and he shares a lot of those with alison. the biggest differences lie in the fact that while alison favors watercolor painting or body art with acrylics, emile prefers sketching with paper/pen and paper. similarly, while alison mainly plays the piano, emile plays the violin. photography is something both siblings share, though emile likes to take pictures of landscaping in addition to portraits. here are some plots where your muse:

needs a photographer for their *insert special event here* and hires emile 

needs a violinist for their *insert fancy event here that requires live music* and hire emile

asks emile for violin lessons 

wants to play pictionary with emile and that’s how they learn that emile can draw really well

          “what even is emile’s romantic life” plots —  my boy really tries to fall in love, okay. he tries, but it’s not that easy for him when you take into account how he’s not really out of the closet to a lot of people in his life and how he generally just has terribly luck with romantic relationships in general. this started back in high school, and it really doesn’t do much for his self esteem when it come to dating. it kind of puts dating on the back burner for him, really, especially since he isn’t in the best place in his life at the moment to find a serious relationship, but he still likes to try and go on dates once in a while, and he’s trying to learn to embrace the fact he isn’t straight. so here are some plots where your muse: 

bothers emile a lot about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend and plays matchmaker/tries to teach him how to talk to girls because that’s what you think the problem is 

gets set up on a blind date with emile and it either goes really well, or it goes really badly. plot twist: you two used to know each other somehow ( high school, community college, work before one of yall left the office, camp a while back, ect ). 

plays a supportive role in helping emile discover his sexuality ( can be in high school or afterwards ). your muse can either be super helpful or super intrusive and it makes emile suffer but, you know, your muse has good intentions. this “help” can be your muse sharing their experiences with emile, taking him out to lgtbq+ spaces to help him embrace this side of his identity, assuring emile that it’s not wrong to like the same sex, ect. they could also just take a balls to the wall crazy approach if that’s more their style, up to your tbh

          miscellaneous plots — here are some more random ideas in case you’re feeling stuck still! i’d like to remind everyone that my wishlist tag is always a great place to look too if you aren’t feeling what’s in the guide. i hope that the guide gives you an idea at least as to how you might approach a muse and what plots work well for them!

your muse offers to find emile a better job because they can tell he’s not loving his current job, so they offer him a helping hand. similarly, your muse offers to help emile go back to school because they wants to see emile succeed and be happy doing something in a field he actually cares about.  

office plots — your muse works at the same law firm as emile and shares an office space with him. please talk to him because emile needs a friend at work to make his job more enjoyable :’) 

high school plots — emile does have a high school verse like most of my other muses do. the bulk of what happens in high school involves emile discovering he’s not straight and being bullied for it for nate and cedric. on top of that, he’s witnessing his sister go through a really bad relationship, but with how secretive she is with things, it’s hard for him to intervene. there’s a lot of avenue for serious plots in this verse, but as with alison, lighthearted high school plots can also happen with emile! teenagers aren’t just full of angst, after all. sometimes we just need some shenanigans.

community college plots — instead of university, emile attends community college for a couple years to obtain his associates so that he can work as a legal assistant. he works odd jobs to keep himself afloat, and for the most part, he’s just vibing. 

werewolf verse plots —a post explaining the basics of this verse can be found here! in this verse, emile is considered a beta and spent his whole life practically raising his sister, alison. growing up, the siblings did not belong to a stable pack, and as such, they pretty much spent most of their life kind of living how they wanted. emile in this verse is just vibing, too. he’s not looking for a mate or for drama, he’s just trying to make sure his sister doesn’t get herself into trouble.           i’d like to re-emphasize that this is not a true omegaverse even though i do categorize muses as alphas, omegas, or betas, mention bonding between werewolves, nesting, heat/rut, and the use of suppressants to control the severity of heat. the description of these topics, however, are very tame as the focus of this verse is not unhealthy power imbalances or plotless smut. this verse exists bc werewolves are cool, and also because the idea of bonding between partners is where i find the most interest since true bonding really embodies the “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death” sentiment in marriage vows except even to a more serious degree. so yeah — werewolves. have your werewolf meet mine. it’ll be fun. 

[agirlunderarock]

Writing through the Decade: 15 years old (2012)

So this is actually a short story I wrote in a creative writing class I took in high school. I’ve got a couple of things that are going to come out of this period, only because I did A LOT of short and fast writing for this class. Some of it was good, some bad. I’m going to try to post a good mix of it all, but this one right here, is probably the most important story I wrote at the time. Its a personal story, one I don’t talk about often, but I think its really important to understand me as a person rather opposed to a writer.

          Never give up

    I stare out the windshield into the muggy early summer morning. My brother sleeps peacefully in the back with our stuff packed for the week. My stomach is full of butterflies and my head swims in all the terrifying possibilities that awaited us.

     My mind drifted off to a time before. My seventh grade year, in athletics, finding out about the disability, and the fact that my brother had it so much worse.

     I snapped back to the present when the car stopped. I was determined not to show how afraid I was, so I stepped out and grabbed both mine and my little brothers bags. I made him carry his sleeping bag and we went to go load up our bags onto one of three trucks loaded with sleeping bags. He looked up at me with sad sleepy eyes, I patted his shoulder reassuringly. I was his big sister, and I couldn’t show how afraid I was or how badly I wanted to go back to sleep. Then I heard it. The yelling for us to fall in formation. My brother looked at me on last time, we didn’t even get to say good-bye to our parents. We were in formation when there was another round of yelling. Boot-camp had begun.

     The next few hours were filled with yelling, screaming, and countless push-ups. I had lost track of my brother, he was with us of course, but somewhere behind me, out of sight. As I was on my face doing push-ups my mind wondered off again.

 I was talking to my middle school athletics couch, “Athletics is too dangerous for you, Sierra. I’m worried about you not being able to keep up with the other girls.” She said with false concern.

“I understand that, but athletics is actually helping me. This charcomarietooth, affects my muscles and nerves. It takes twice as long for me to build muscle and it deteriorates just as quickly and it takes longer for me to feel pain. It affects how I run and when I feel pain, but all it means is that I have to try harder than the other girls. With athletics it doesn’t effect me as much as it could. You can see the difference from the beginning of the year! I’m getting better!” I pleaded, not wanting to leave the program.

      ”On your feet!” the teen drill instructor yelled and I was brought back to the present. Yup all of our instructors were kids like us so it was sort of weird being yelled at by an 11 and 12 year old, while the 14 and17 year olds seemed pretty normal. The next few hours were spent marching doing numerous push-ups marching and still more yelling. When the time finally came for us to put our things in our barracks, I felt grateful. Unfortunately it was short lived because when I go my stuff I saw my brother red and puffy eyed, and tears streaming down his cheeks. I wanted to comfort him so I grabbed his bag and took it to the door of his barrack.

     “Its okay the days almost over and today was the worst of it.” I said encouragingly as he walked inside out of sight. I breathed a short sigh of relief, because twenty minutes goes by very fast when you’re worrying about your only sibling.

     Well I was partially right about the worst being over. That was how most of the week was, yelling push-ups, drill, yelling, sweat, and oh did I mention yelling? They went to so far as to wake us up with a blow horn at one point. Of course there were some fun things in between the seriousness of the drill instructors. We did the main obstacle course and another series of obstacles called the Leadership reaction course, where we were split into teams and while we did each task actual marine drill instructors watched us.

     I don’t know how many times I felt like I wanted to quit. My arms burned from all the push ups, my legs were incredibly sore from running every morning at five in the morning. The physical pain was nothing, compared to what I felt emotionally. Seeing my brother stricken with the sorrow of missing home, the pain clear on his face as rocks dug into our hands when we did push ups, it was tearing me up inside. I had to stay strong for him; I couldn’t afford to let him see how much it hurt to see him like that. I was doing well for the most part, but a person can hold back so much.

     Then came Thursday, the week was almost over, the day when I finally snapped. The day was almost over, the sky burning orange, and the South Texas heat had finally become bearable. Most of us were scrambling around getting our stuff ready for bed, but my friend Andrea, her friend Ryan, and I were out side helping the other kids. Then my brother came up to me sobbing, red cheeks and tears rapidly running down his face.

     “What happened? What’s the matter?” I said hiding my breaking heart.

     “I want to go home! I just want to go home! I need to go home! I need to go!” he sobbed. Keeping my emotions bottled was starting to take its toll, and my voice cracked when I when I spoke again.

     “Calm down Austin. Its Thursday. We’re almost done, the weeks almost over. Don’t give up on me now…” I trailed off. I couldn’t keep it inside anymore and once the first tear squeezed its way out of my eyes there was no stopping the rest. Now we were starting to get peoples attention and my friends came over to see what was going on.

     “Its okay Fuentes we’ll take care of him.” Andrea said and motioned to our senior drill instructor who now wanted to talk to me.

     I reluctantly, yet gratefully left the scene. I hated my self for letting my brother see me like that. I was supposed to the strong one, my brother looked up to me and I let him down. By the time I reached the drill instructor the tears stung my cheeks with humiliation and defeat. I looked up to meet his eyes expecting to see someone indifferent, someone who didn’t really care. Instead I saw just another teenager, someone a little older than me, but still trying to hide the pain I felt. He looked at me with understanding eyes and said “You okay Fuentes?”

     “Yeah I’m fine.” I said trying to sound in control. I looked over at my brother who was still crying, but not as bad as before. Seeing this sent me into another round of tears.

     “Look I know how you feel. I have a little brother too. I live like ten minutes away and its killing me.” He said drawing my attention. “I know how it is.”

     I didn’t know what to think. My big “scary” drill instructor actually knew how I felt. I was shocked, but relieved at the same time. Finally someone who understood and I didn’t really say a word. “He misses home. I mean I do too, but this is the longest he’s been away. He didn’t even want to come. He only came because I did….and gosh I hate my self right now…” I rambled just glad to get it out of my system.

     “Hey its okay. I’ve been keeping an eye on him, the staff told me and the other D.I.s about you guys and well you know. Its okay to be home sick and stuff, trust me we all are.”

     I finally stopped crying and I said still a little bit shaky, “Thank you. I’ve been so worried and I don’t know what to do, and its been driving me crazy. Thank you.” When I turned to see my brother, he had already gone inside his barrack and it was just the D.I. and I. I turned back to my instructor who gave me a reassuring grin. “I should probably get my stuff ready thanks again.” I said and went inside my barrack.

     I felt so much better after that. I knew I wasn’t alone and in the morning the instructor from the day before came to check on me to see if I was doing okay. It meant a lot to me that the other kids here were looking out for and my brother  and I, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. Again throughout the rest of the week there were times I felt like giving up and the first thing that came to mind was my coach.

      We were in the gym I and I was faced with the choice to fail and stay in athletics or switch the class and keep my good GPA. She dropped the grading scale for the timed mile in front of me. When I looked to see where my time fell it turned out that I was making 60s every single time. I  made my decision. I needed to get out.

      “Coach I won’t be in your class anymore, I already went to talk to the counselor.” I said in defeat.

     “Okay sweetie. It’s better for you this way. You could do something else, something better for you.” She said full of fake sympathy.

      “She was right.” I thought Friday morning while running the timed mile. “You did do better. This is nothing compared to athletics, and look you made it the entire week there’s only two more days. This is nothing now you’re going to finish this. Don’t give up.” I told myself.

     I did finish it. I made it through the week. At our boot camp graduation three of us got promoted on the spot. I was one of them. My coach bringing me down was my motivation to keep moving to rise above what she thought of me. My friends encouraged me and we all encouraged my brother. I wanted to show him what he was capable of and what he could do if he stopped worrying. I was proud of him he graduated and we both made new friends.

     Today we still see our friends from boot camp. We have all grown very close. My senior drill instructor turned out to be one of my best friends there. Andrea still helps me when I need her. Ryan stopped coming and we all miss him. My brother has been promoted and I am so proud of him. I have been promoted twice since then and keep a look out for all the kids there. All of us are like a family now. Yes sometimes we fight but hey, that’s what families do. We have all shared some crazy experiences and because of that we share a bond that can never be broken.

[neqeyam]

Forgotten Myth; Chapter two.

Words- 2967

Warnings- height/falling, fighting, arguing, mentions Lee’s death

Summary-  When fourteen year old Ruby Moore is chased down the hallway at school by a character out of one of her fever dreams, she gets thrown into a world of tales and myths that society has ruled out to be fake. Befriending a Pegasus that hates everyone, and gathering friends strong enough to be considered a small army, she has to embark on a journey that will change her life forever.

POV- Ruby

Chapter One- https://rqmcuwdwpjo.tumblr.com/post/188285543834/forgotten-myth-chapter-one

Will took me around the camp, Camp Half-Blood according to his shirt. Showing me everything from a strawberry field to the infirmary. He told me stories of our dad, about how Apollo got banished to be a mortal a while ago and since he’s back being a god he now has a new sense of identity. He took me to the archery range, where I impressed him with my archery skills even though I was new. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I took archery lessons from age six to age ten. 

By the end of the educational tour, I was exhausted. I felt like I’d just ran a million miles, but he didn’t stop there. He took me to the only building in a rectangle of twenty other oddly specific buildings that literally was glowing gold in the setting sun. Inside there were about ten bunks, all pushed to the outside edges of the building so that there was room in the middle for three cots. 

“Please tell me I don’t have to sleep in one of those.” I whined, pointing at one of the cots. Will made a face as if to say: I hope you like back problems. I almost started complaining but he laughed and placed a hand on my shoulder to keep from toppling over. 

“Those are medical cots silly. But anyways, welcome to cabin seven; where children of Apollo learn the trades of our father.” I looked around and took in the scene. Books on various topics lined the many bookshelves in between the bunks, medical supplies spilled out of bags while syringes soaked in a yellowish-brown liquid. One thing that stuck out to me the most, was the fact that everywhere I looked, some sort of archery target hung from the walls with very distinct holes in the bulls-eye. Will rummaged around under one of the bunks that looked abandoned and pulled out a box. When he opened it, a faint light filtered out as if they’d trapped it in there. 

“This was Lee Fletcher’s bow. If you want it, it’s all yours,” Will said, sadness drifting through his voice. I was tempted to ask what happened to Lee, but something about Will’s posture and aura told me that I’d better just accept the bow. 

“It looks perfect, thank you,” he handed me the bow, and I had to admit; it was perfect. The nocking point seemed to be in a direct line to my shoulder, the bow string wasn’t too taut, I felt like this bow had been crafted just for me. As I was holding it, I realized that the bow itself was actually glowing; not blindingly, just enough for me to see a faint halo of light outlining the bow. 

Once Will had enough of reminiscing about Lee’s bow, we went back outside. A horn blew in the distance, scaring me so badly I screamed and hid behind Will (Not my best moment I’ll admit). 

“That’s the dinner horn, nothing to be afraid of-” he said, a dark figure appeared out of seemingly nowhere cut him off. 

“eccoti, ti ho cercato dappertutto,” the dark haired kid said. 

“Nico, for the last time, I don’t speak fluent Italian.” 

“Ciao, chi sei,” they all turned to me as if I just grew another head. Though the black haired kid looked more grateful than confused. 

“Puoi parlare italiano?” the black haired kid -who Will called Nico- asked. 

“no, perché dovrei?” I asked. Will’s face flushed red, but he looked rather pissed. 

“Would you two stop that! Ruby you’re speaking Italian!” He yelled, taking both of us by surprise. I looked down at my hands as if they’d give me answers; but no avail. I was thinking in another language too, symbols rather than english letters were flying around my head. I realized the same symbols were almost everywhere around camp, telling me where to go. For a moment, I completely forgot english and my whole sense of identity blurred. Will set a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention from my hands. 

“pós boró na milíso angliká?” I asked frantically. Nico handed me the book he was reading, thankfully it was in english and the other two languages seemed to go back to their hiding places. My mind went back to thinking in my first language; I handed the book back to Nico and huffed, “Thank you,” he nodded and started up the hill.

Dinner was cool, I could order whatever I wanted and however much I wanted. My plate just seemed to refill itself, the Greeks really knew how to eat. Mr. D (Will told me his real name is Dionysus, the wine dude) stood and banged a knife against his goblet of diet coke. When he had everyone’s attention, he turned to Chiron. (yes, the Chiron from the ancient times.) 

“You all know what today is, the first Friday of the month. Which means-” he was cut off by the Ares table pounding their silverware on the table, chanting CTF; whatever that meant. The rest of the cabins joined in their chants till it was just a rumble of voices and an earthquake of silverware pounding. A stocky girl with dirty blonde, almost brown hair stood up and thrust her spear into the air. 

“We’re on her team this month. If we win, I get the Apollo chariot back that she stole from us while Michael Yew was our senior counselor.” Will spat, he didn’t sound happy about being on her team. 

“Then I guess we have to win.” I stated. I’ve always been competitive, and now I finally know how I’m so good at basketball. Will grinned at me, his eyes alight with an emotion I couldn’t place. 

After dinner, and after Chiron was finally able to explain the rules; Will led cabin seven through the hoard of people and into the woods. Everyone seemed to know their place, some went up into trees, scaling them like squirrels. Others turned invisible and the only hint that they were still there was a rustling in the bushes. Will led me to a pile of rocks that looked like a thumb, a blood red flag shone brightly in the setting sun. he scaled a tree next to the pile of rocks, something told me to do the same. I climbed a tree with surprising ease a few yards away from the flag so I’d have a clear view of who was coming through. Two kids that wore the same mischievous grins that Ayla defaulted to walked through the clearing. Behind them, enough teenagers to be considered a small army without the multitude of weapons came walking into the clearing. The girl, who Will told me was Clarrise, barked orders at people. 

“You excited?” someone asked behind me. My instincts pulled an arrow out and notched it all while turning around. I was met with a smug smile that I was so used to. Then I checked my pockets. 

“More nervous than anything, your dad is Hermes isn’t it.” I asked Ayla. It hadn’t occurred to me that she looked exactly like him -based on a description from a book I found- She nodded and perched in the tree next to me. I looked over to where Will was perched to see him lazily going in and out of being visible. He flickered sometimes, like he got stuck halfway through his change. 

“You and I are gonna charge the flag. According to Connor, they’ve got the entirety of Demeter’s children on guard duty, with Hecate’s scattered throughout the woods.” I nodded along with her, we’d need a plan to get through Hecate’s children’s magic. A bunch of grease covered kids walked into the clearing, -probably Hephaestus’s kids- and Ayla let out an audible sigh. I followed her gaze to a semi scrawny kid who would not stop moving -his dark curly hair and tanned skin gave him away as hispanic- talking to an equally dark skinned girl.

Clarrise held a thumbs up to the sky and then a few moments later a horn sounded. Our ranks bolted into the woods, and the Hephaestus kids started waving Wii remotes around really quickly. 

Yells and screams erupted from the woods, and a few kids watched everything through a shield looking thing. The first wave of kids were all blonde except for the black haired kid from earlier (Will told me that he’s the son of Poseidon, Perry Jackson, or something like that). Ayla drew her daggers and charged from her spot in the tree. Will and I rained arrows down on whoever got too close to the flag (Although, most of my arrows missed). A water spout rocketed toward me, but I jumped and fired one of the rope arrows into another tree, swinging across the battlefield kicking anyone that got too close. Light beams burned kids slightly when they started their assault on the flag. We were being overrun by kids. Another kid with blond hair came running through the mess and I thought it might be Will, but then I started to feel sleepy. 

“It’s Clovis’s magic!” someone yelled. I took a closer look at the blond haired kid and I realized that he was sleeping. Our defenses were dropping like flies, snores started the echo through the woods. They seemed to be protecting him, drawing a crescent moon around him. Next to me Ayla sleepily fluttered down onto the branch and closed her eyes, a good sized rock almost fell out of her hand. I knew what she wanted me to do. 

“C’mon Apollo, gimme one luck shot,” I murmured and wound up. The rock left my hand at an upward angle, then arced down; smacking Clovis right in the temple, he fell like a load of bricks. Some of his defenses tried to wake him up but he didn’t. Our defense team woke up one by one, recharged and ready to go they fought harder than before. 

My vision blurred and I saw a figure running for our flag, but I couldn’t see her. I sensed her. When my vision returned I saw someone grabbing at our flag, it rose and started down the hill. Almost all of the offensive troops had retreated. 

“Team Ares!” I yelled, gathering everyone's attention. “Stop our flag,” they followed my finger and watched as Annabeth emerged from nothing and set down the flag. A wave the size of a small house flung half our troops out of the way, then the dark haired kid (Perry? Percy? One of the two  I can’t remember what Will said) started fighting his way through the mess of kids. Ayla grabbed my hand and the next thing I knew we were zooming through the woods at top speed. She smacked into an invisible shield of some sort and crumpled to the ground with a groan. A few snickers from the other side brought my attention to a bunch of Demeter and Hecate children. Clarrise growled a few feet away from me and stabbed at the shield, getting thrown back. Ayla and I exchanged glances, something told me she wanted to go up. So we did. 

The shield was definitely not as strong on the top as it was near the bottom. The only problem was that we were suspended fifty feet up in the air by some jello. Ayla pried a hole in the top and I shot four arrows down. Unbeknownst to me, they were all sonic arrows. Each arrow sounded like it was on eight amplifiers and a surround sound speaker. Good news, it was enough to blast out the shield and disoriant their first line of defenses; bad news, Ayla and I were now falling fifty feet to our deaths. Someone caught me, I was met with brown eyes that screamed anger. He set me down and kept running, as Ayla lowered herself down next to me. Together, the three of us ran at the Aphrodite children. I stayed back a little bit and shot anyone out of the trees, while the rest of our offense fought against Aphrodite, Nemesis and what was left of Demeter. 

“Ayla! I have a plan!” I yelled, before I even had a P-L-A. She came running and I told her about what I saw Will doing and how he briefly explained it to me. Another kid came with her, however; it was the brown eyed Ares kid that caught me. 

“You’re going to need a brute for that,” he grumbled, trying harder than necessary to sound mean. I didn’t have time to argue so I just grabbed their arms and ran, praying to Apollo that this worked. 

The fact that no one tried to stop us told me that it worked. We ran and dodged roots that were constantly growing. When we came to a clearing where a stream ran through, I slowed down. In front of us stood their flag, and a multitude of traps. Ayla groaned at the sight of the traps but I told her to just fly over everything. A blond kid that looked to be about my age paced in front of the first trap, folding over a knife in his hand. He grumbled about something, we didn’t stick around long enough to hear what he was saying. Ayla flew us over everything, groaning and complaining everytime one of us moved the wrong way. The brown eyed kid, -who refused to tell me his name- grabbed the flag and bolted for Ayla and I. An alarm sounded in the trees and two more cabins came running into the clearing. 

“Great, now what,” brown eyed boy grumbled. I hadn’t thought this far but I had the beginnings of something that would either be super cool, or the biggest failure in the history of camp. I pulled out my last arrow, it was a rope arrow. Thank Apollo, I thought. Without saying a word I shot it at an angle at Ayla; the arrow wrapped itself around her waist, almost pulling her out of the sky. Brown eyed kid seemed to be following my train of thought because he ran towards the closest kids near us and grabbed their shields. He threw one at me and stuffed the other under his foot. I stopped the shield with my foot, and gripped my bow better. 

“AYLA, FLY!” I screamed and she took off. The brown eyed kid grabbed onto the rope with his other hand and held the flag under his arm. 

We sped through the woods on shields, Ayla was going so fast that almost nothing could touch us. I’m sure we looked like a more badass version of the Three Stooges. She started laughing maniacally over the wind and we jumped a hill. Annabeth and the black haired kid (I’m pretty sure his name is Percy) were running back with our flag, thankfully they hadn’t made it back to their side yet. They ducked under us and gawked. Cheers erupted from the tree line where Ayla’s half brothers and sisters were gathering along with the Hephaestus kids. We were almost across when a wave knocked Ayla out of the sky, she hit the ground like a ton of bricks. 

“Connor! Go long!” he yelled and threw the flag like a spear. One of Ayla’s brothers broke off from the crowd and flew to meet the flag, pulling it over the line; the crowd cheered and lifted him up on their shoulders. With Ayla’s momentum and no one to steer, brown eyed kid and I rammed right into a tree. He turned around right before we hit and grabbed me, his back smacked into the tree hard, and my head smacked into his armor. We both crumpled to the ground, groaning. Will was already working on Ayla who had hit her head on a rock. A few of my other siblings ran over to brown eyed kid and I, healing us with no problem. I stood up and stuck out my hand to help him up, he took it gingerly. 

“That was quite the plan, Ruby,” he said and took off his helmet. For a moment I was overtaken with confusion but then I realized who he was. 

“You- you told Mrs. Johansson that I FAKED A PASS!” I yelled, poking a finger at his chest. Jackson Ryans stuck his hands in the air in surrender, though the grin on his face told me he was just getting started. 

“It was all part of the plan.”

“What plan?!” I demanded, only now realizing that he was a solid three inches taller than me. 

“To get you here of course, we needed an actual reason to get you here or else you wouldn’t believe us and someone kept telling the monsters off your scent,” he explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. That didn’t help the fact that I got a detention out of it and was benched for two basketball games. 

“He’s right, we did need a reason and Jackson volunteered to tattle on you,” Chiron said as he helped Ayla up off the ground. She brushed herself off quickly and thanked Will, who went to work on the others that were lying around groaning. 

“I was benched for two games because of him!” 

“Yeah, sorry about that one. That definitely wasn’t part of the plan,” Jackson said, scratching the back of his neck, still grinning. I wanted to smack him but Ayla led me away before I could, throwing me into a celebration that resulted in me, Ayla, Connor and Jackson on various peoples shoulders. Ayla and Connor start playing chicken, with two of the stockier Hephaestus kids. Slowly I realized that I was on an Ares kids shoulders, he was taking me toward their chicken game. Ayla punched me in the arm and Connor shoved my shoulder. 

“Hey! No tag teaming!” I laughed, shoving them back. Jackson came over and shoved them with me, together we pushed Ayla off the Hephaestus kids shoulders and then went to work on Connor. He gave up and flew off the kids shoulders. Jackson held his arms out for a hug, I was reluctant but it’s kinda hard to dismiss a hug that you’re forced into. Jackson’s brother moved so that he could pull me into him. 

“Okay okay, I forgive you… I guess,” I said so he’d let go of me. Did I actually forgive him? Not really; but something told me I’d have to or else this camp would be absolute hell.

[earako]

Our kids

“Little young to be killing your liver, ain'tcha?” The huntsmen asks as a young looking woman sat next to him. She ignored him in favour of ordering numerous jeager bombs along with vodka shots. Both the bar tender raven haired male’s brows shot up. The girl looked no older then 24, maybe younger. Not many people her age would drink that much to start with. Normally he’d see them order a few whisky’s then hit the hard stuff once they start slurring. Girl must have had a hell of a day.

Qrow curiously glanced at her as he downed his own drink. For some reason, the brunette next to him peeked his intrest. Something about her posture suggested that though she’s young, she’s jaded beyond her years. Kind of like Yang……Qrow shook his head to erase the thought, the action drawing the woman's attention towards him. Instead of looking away he stared back. What was it about her thay was so familar?

The woman narrowed her eyes at the huntsmen. She had her fair shares of stares in bars and there was no way she’d give this old guy a free pass.

“I got a boyfriend.” She growled, eyeing the scruffy looking huntsmen. Maybe if she were twice her age she’d consider getting wasted then flirting with him, however she could not afford to do that now. Not with Max and David waiting for her to return home to from…whatever she came to do at a bar. Oh yeah, drink away her anxiety. Damn. A week in and she’s already a wine mom. Er, minus the wine.

“Not the reason I’m staring.” The huntsmen defended. “And I’m pretty sure I’m old enough to be your dad.” Qrow responded, knocking back another shot then slamming it on the counter. The woman did the same as soon as the vodka shots arrived. Apparently they refused to hand her several shots at once. Gwen wasn’t surprised. What kind of bar tender would? She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and closed her eyes as the alcohol burned going down.

“So, you normally start with the hard stuff?” Gwen stared down into her glass at the elders question. She swirled the clear liquid around before downing it. She called for another. And another. And another. By the ninth shot she finally turned in her stool to face Qrow.

“I fucked up with my kid. Do parents always fuck up?” The question spilled from her lips before she could stop it. Sober, she’d be mortified. Tipsy? Her anxiety drops down to the point where she gives slightly less of a shit. She wasn’t far enough not to be embarrassed though.

Qrows eyes widened as he glanced to the side. Shit. Raven asked the same thing the day before she took off. And when he had ti explain to Yang.....Was this girl thinking of doing the same as his sister? Would she scar her kid the same way Raven did to his niece?

“Ooookay, you gotta be hammered you’re asking a guy like me that question.” He chuckled uncomfortably and stared down into his glass. Now that the memories came they wouldn't stop. The fighting, yelling. Little Yang hiding with her uncle while Qrow covered her ears and hushed her. The same little girl spewing venom at him as he refused to hunt down her mother.

“Heh, shit guess your right.” Gwen slurred. “I gotta be drunk off my ass if I’m asking a stranger for parenting advice.” She mumbled, resting her elbows on the table and cradling her head in her arms. Damn. Can’t ask David for help but she can blurt it to this guy? The fuck?

Qrow frowned. He prayed she wouldn't turn out like Raven.

“Don’t sweat it kid. Though.....you got a kid?"

“I look too young, right?” Gwen asked. Qrow nodded. She sighed and ordered another shot, downing it in seconds. Her eyes lazily looked up at Qrow.

“Foster kid from the shitty camp I worked at. Took him in cause he has shit parents.” Both imdividuals had experience with shit parents. Poor kid.

“Well then, guess I can’t blame ya for drinking so much. As for parenting advice, well. I only got my nieces.”

“It’s fine. Stupid of me to ask-”

“Hey.” Qrow intrrupted, fixing her with a stern gaze. “Asking for help isn’t stupid. Kids don’t come with an instruction booklets. Wish they did.”

One of Gwens eyebrows shot up. “Thought all you had were nieces?”

“Had to play housewife when their parents.... worked.” He shrugged. She didn't need to know about Summer. Or Raven. Or Taiyang. The two sat in silence for a few moments. Gwen broke it.

“I…” A sigh. She shakes her head. He waits for her to continue.

“I’m twenty four and I’m helping my over grown man child co counselor raise a nihilistic ten year old with abandoment issues. Kid doesn’t know how to respnd to affection and, fuck. I’m gonna fuck him up. What if I already did, wait, of course I did I'm me, damnit, I shouldn’t be a mom, why’d David ask me to help-”

“Kid.” A warm hand made it’s way to her shoulder. It wasn’t flirtatious or inappropriate. It felt…..safe. Warm. Like David but more platonic.....familial? But, he was a stranger....

“Breathe before you pass out. ” Qrow instructed. The hand stayed asnhe waited for her to take a breath. "Breathe."

Gwen closed her eyes. Stilled her breath. Slowly, she let it out. Qrow retracted his arm. He reached for his shot but didn’t drink.

”……Here’s a tip from a dusty old Qrow. Don’t be perfect. And no, shut up. I’m going somewhere with this.“ He quickly silenced Gwen as she opened her mouth to complain he wasn’t helping.

"You will fuck up. And you’ll do it more times then you can count. Hell, one of my girls is already seventeen and her dad and I are still fucking up. Badly. But we try to make up fornit when we can. We let our screw ups guide our next actions.

All you can really do as a parent is let your kids know you love em and help em through whatever shit they're facing.” A slight paused. Gwen opened her mouth to speak.

"But-"

"I'm not done." Another drink. " Parents and kids, both are figuring out stuff as they go. There is no solid right way to raise a kid. You want them to end up well? Grow up with em. Let their actions guide yours. Does that make sense?"

Gwen bit her lip, tore off the dead skin with her teeth. She wiped it on her finger then flicked it away.

“What if one day I mess up so badly he’ll hate me forever?”

“Let me answer that question with one of my own. Kids parents are shit, right?” Gwen slowly nodded her head.

“You feeding him?”

“No shit.” Gwen snapped. “I may be shit but I’ll never be …THAT shitty."

Qrow chuckled. "Not accusing you of anything. Calm down. " Gwen huffed and crossed her arms.

"Anything happens to that kid I'd kill his biological parent then myself."

Another laugh from the hunstmen.

“Good, good. Now," Qrow leaned forward on his stool. “does he know you’ll be with him no matter how badly he messes up?” Gwen was silent. She had told him that, but did Max believe it?

“Nihilistic or not, so long as you doubt yourself so will your kid. If he see’s that you always try your best after a screw up he’ll slowly come to the realization that mistakes aren’t the end. In fact, I’d argue it builds character.” Qrow finishes, leaning on the table.

He took another shot as Gwen processed the advice. It…..sort of made sense. In a way. It was something to work with.

“…….You normally spew advice to desperate, anxiety ridden moms?”

Qroe smirked. “You normally ask old alcoholics for life advice?”

Gwen rolled her eyes and lifted another shot to her lips. She paused for a moment, gaze flickering to Qrow. She hesitantly tilted her glass towards Qrow. “ To screwing up?”

Qrow snorted in amusment and raised his own glass as well, clinking it against Gwen’s. “To screwing up and somehow making it.”

[accio-ambition]

FIREWORKS GO OFF IN THIS CHAPTER. Am I talking about a holiday or am I talking about the relationship? Both? Are these questions enticing enough to make you read on?

As always, a million and seven thank yous to the mods @captainswanbigbang, ​@sotheylived for betaing this story, @queen-icicle-fandom for the hand-drawn art, and @shipsxahoy for the cover art and a brand new gifset that she just posted today. :)

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/AO3/Cover art/Snapshot art

Chapter Six

The week leading up to the Fourth of July is busy. The holiday falls on a Saturday and Jefferson plans to start rolling on Tuesday. And since it’s a trial run - they’ve only been promised a dozen episodes - they run on a skeleton crew: her, David, Jefferson, and a local woman she’s never met named Ruby. She works part time with them, getting B roll on the days they go out to sea, and part time for her grandmother’s diner, the infamous Granny’s.

It’s while Emma’s atop a ladder placing a mounted camera that she meets Ruby for the first time. She’s got her headphones in, blocking out the shouts of the crew she still hardly knows and the click of heels coming her way. She nearly bites off the tip of her tongue – it tends to jut out when she focuses really hard on the task at hand – when the metal shakes beneath her. Dropping the screwdriver in her hand, Emma grasps at the top rung and when the earthquake stops, she whips around to see the culprit.

She’s not met the stark blue eyes she’d thought she would, but instead warm brown ones outlined with a cat’s eye and perfectly coiffed eyebrows.

“What the fuck?!” Emma yells, ripping her earbuds from their place and trying to bring her breathing back to a normal rate.

“Ooh, the mouth of a sailor,” the woman purrs with a smirk. “I like you already.”

As calmly as she can, Emma descends the ladder to give the stranger a piece of her mind. “The fuck are you? Do you understand how much that camera costs? Would you have paid for it if it broke, ‘cause I sure as hell wouldn’t have!”

The woman shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the grin across her lips, only to fail. “Good thing it didn’t break then. Sorry, babe.” She holds up a small brown bag. “Just wanted to see if you were hungry.”

Ever since their meeting, Emma’s noticed there’s a weird sort of chemistry between Ruby and…well, pretty much anyone over the age of 16 she interacts with. She flirts shamelessly with everything legal, sending winks to the Jones brothers and trailing a lingering finger across Scarlet’s chin. It’s not always innocent, but Emma finds herself somewhat attracted to Ruby’s sense of recklessness.

(It might also be the small fact that Emma hasn’t been given a pet name like babe since him and, as off-guard as it caught her, it’s nice to have one again.)

But what draws Emma back to her new friend again and again is her way with her son. Henry’s really taken with her and Ruby’s taken to treating him like a little brother. Every time they visit the diner, Ruby insists on serving them, even if they aren’t in her section or her shift’s just ended. She’ll come along and greet them – a wink or a kiss on the cheek for Emma and a noogie or high five for Henry.

And Emma notices she takes the time to talk to both of them, which settles her motherly instincts. She wants to be a part of both of their lives, not steal her baby boy away from her. She’ll slide in next to Henry after delivering his chocolate milk and her coffee, ask him about his plans for camp and ask her about her plans for her day on the boat.

“Does Jones know you call the Jolly Roger a boat?” Emma chuckles one morning over a glass of orange juice. Her eyes connect with Henry’s, which show his smile even as he takes a bite of his toast.

“No, but it is, and he’s never going to find out.” Ruby glares down at Henry menacingly. “Right?”

Henry shrugs and hides behind his chocolate milk. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me, I’m not gonna say anything,” he grumbles.

She’s nice, Emma finds herself thinking more often than not. Sassy, but stern. She sees that the one afternoon when Ruby’s babysitting for a couple of the neighborhood kids. She slaps them across the back of the head when the boneheads nearly get run over by a passing car. One of the boy blushes furiously, Emma can tell from her spot across the street, but then Ruby pulls him in for the sidehug and everything seems peachy between them.

Once school starts up and Mary Margaret’s busy being a teacher instead of a camp counselor, maybe Emma will ask the waitress to watch Henry after school.

If only things were working as well on the decks of the Jolly Roger as they were on the streets of Storybrooke. Once they’ve mounted the cameras in their assigned places on their assigned ships – a task that takes far longer than it should, in her humble opinion, the last ones being installed the morning of the Fourth – Emma trades places with David to check the sturdiness and clarity on the Jewel. It’s customary, something they even used to do back at school: check each other’s work, offer suggestions, and work together to get to the best ultimate end.

(It’s not cheating if they did their own base work, or at least that’s the lie they told themselves.)

She’s precariously balanced on the top step of the ladder, reaching for a camera pointed outwards instead of downwards, when a low timbre voice speaks from behind her. She jumps, making a tinny noise from the contraption beneath her feet.

“Christ almighty,” she whispers, catching herself.

“Sorry, lass,” Liam apologizes, gently righting her and resting a foot on the bottom rung. “I didn’t mean to frighten you too badly.”

Emma chuckles to cover up how surprised she was by the elder Jones’ appearance. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just resign myself to not seeing my son married off because you took a decade off my life,” she quips.

That earns her a scoff and a shake of Liam’s head. “Now, Emma, there’s no need to be dramatic.” Emma rolls her eyes and is about to respond, but he holds up a finger to keep her from speaking. “I was wondering if you would like to come watch the fireworks on the Jewel.”

“Oh,” she hesitates, looking down. “I mean, I would love to, but-”

“Your boy can come,” he interrupts her again. Raising her eyes a tad, Emma watches Liam bend down to catch her sight. “You know, you don’t have to keep him locked away, Emma. We all understand: you’re a single mother and you want to keep your private life private.” She doesn’t say anything because that’s not exactly false, but it’s not the exact truth either.

Liam sighs. His hand slaps on the metal of the ladder, sending vibrations of sound and sensations up her legs to her arms resting on the top rung. “I don’t know if Killian’s told you or given you the idea, but we’re all family here. We spend holidays together and go out to the pub after rough days.” Leaning forward, Liam says, “One day, you’ll need someone to lean on. And when that day comes, I want you to know that your shoulders can relax around us.”

Pushing off the ladder and waving her down, he adds, “And if these pricks won’t calm you down, then I will,” with a gentle smile.

Emma reaches the solid deck and rests her hands akimbo on her hips. “You know, you’re a lot nicer than your brother,” she tells him, squinting to see his face around the bright sunlight.

“He’s really a good man,” Liam says around a chuckle. “His heart is always in the right place. Or at least close enough to it.” He bends slightly forward, making his facial features a bit more visible. He’s got his brow cocked, which she’s swiftly learning is the Jones family sign for impending stupidity. “You should give him a chance.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” She can’t help her response. It’s textbook dickhead: send in the wingman to talk up the targeter. “So he’s sending his big brother in with a solid word.” Emma scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Nice.”

“No, he hasn’t said a word to me.” That surprises her, to say the least. Even from the few interactions she’s caught between the brothers, she wouldn’t put it past Liam to be talking his little brother up. Well, she would put it past Liam to actually follow through with it, but she wouldn’t put it past Jones to ask for his older brother’s assistance.

Liam points an accusatory finger at her, making her go cross-eyed. “But I know him,” he continues. “I’ve seen when he’s interested in a woman.” With a satisfactory grin, he brings his hand down and crosses his arms across his chest proudly. “And he’s got all the tell-tale signs.”

Emma shrugs like his words don’t spark a little something within her. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t really date.”

“Henry?” he asks shortly.

“Mhmm,” she hums.

“Surely you’ve dated in the past decade.”

She shrugs again, walking down the stairs to the main deck, expecting Liam to follow. From the footsteps clunking behind her, she isn’t wrong. “It’s been hard, but there has been the odd occasion where I’ve managed a long enough break from parenting,” she explains. But then she twirls around, grimacing at him and furrowing her brows. “Why are we even talking about my sex life?”

A smug smile spreads across his face. “Because, as an older brother, I love to make people uncomfortable.”

She scoffs out, “That’s obvious.”

But, regardless of the awkwardness he might cause her, Emma finds herself taking him up on his offer a few hours later. She and Henry walk down the docks maybe an hour before sunset, only aware of where they’re going from the loud voices and boisterous music coming from the only lit vessel in the harbor. Coming aboard, Emma is immediately whisked off by Robin to be introduced to his wife and son. When she looks over her shoulder, she catches Ruby waving at her, a friendly arm slung around Henry, gently leading him toward the group of kids with sparklers.

For the first time since moving to Storybrooke, she’s actually having fun. Both the Jewel and Jolly Roger crews are there, plus many townsfolk she hasn’t ever seen. She should’ve expected that, what with the pure amount of people on the deck at once, but it still surprises her. Robin’s wife Regina is a tad cold, but when she sees Emma interact with their son Roland, her icy heart seems to melt. Ruby’s pulling her over every couple of minutes to throw back a shot –

“Ruby, I’ve got Henry.”

“You’re walking home, you’ll be fine. If you forget him, someone’ll bring him home.”

“Great, there goes my mother of the year award.”

– at the makeshift bar in the galley. And it’s all really, really fun.

It’s late in the night, way past Henry’s bedtime slightly-more-than-tipsy Emma idly realizes, when the fireworks shake her heart and her eardrums, that she realizes the magnitude of tonight. It’s the first time in a long time that Emma’s celebrated a holiday with someone other than Henry. And she loves her son more than anything in the world, but being able to casually drink a beer with Mary Margaret and discuss the state of the Patriots’ upcoming season with Robin and David makes her feel like the adult she really is.

“What do you think?” She drags her eyes away from the bright lights in the sky long enough to find the bright blue eyes of the younger Jones brother. “How does the small Maine town’s display compare to the big city’s?”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. We didn’t see fireworks last year.” But she furrows her eyebrows, because that doesn’t sound right. The fireworks got rained out last year, didn’t they? Or was that the year before and last year was the summer the arches of her feet sweated profusely? She shakes her head and looks back at him. “I don’t really remember.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jones grins. “Still.” He pauses, just lets the quiet grow between them, only once interrupted by an explosion. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Swan?” he asks quietly.

She smiles and sends him a wink before looking back at the sky. “None of your damn business, Jones.”

Much like the rest of her evening, her remaining two days of freedom go by quickly. Naturally, she spends every waking hour with Henry. Knowing the grueling and unpredictable schedule she’ll be forced to adhere to for the next couple of months, she wants to stock up on some good quality mother/son bonding time while she can. They sleep in late on Sunday and make a mess of their new kitchen cooking an unnecessarily large brunch. Emma pulls him out of camp on Monday and they go to the pool, unpack a little more, and fall asleep on the floor of the living room in a wonky little blanket fort.

It’s way too late – just after midnight, if her blurry eyesight is to be trusted – when she wakes up and forces Henry into his own bed. Once he flops on his mattress all caddywhompus, she falls gracelessly into her own bed without brushing her teeth and sinks back into unconsciousness.

Emma wakes up the morning filming is supposed to start and finds it entirely too difficult to get out of bed. After waking up halfway through the night and the gray, rainy morning, texting Henry and beckoning him to come and hang out in her big bed sounds like the best idea in the world. It’s been a while since she pulled the mom card and pulled her son into her arms and forced him to snuggle with her.

Alas, she tears herself from the warmth of her blankets and into the bathroom. She showers, washing the sleep from the corner of her eyes and the kink in her back from sleeping on the floor. She dresses comfortably and as water repellently as her current wardrobe allows.

(She really hopes she doesn’t get soaked. She’d rather not get wet at all, but working on a boat on a rainy day, she sees little chance in that all happening.)

Peeking into Henry’s room, she finds him still fast asleep. It’s early, he doesn’t need to be at camp for another hour and a half at least, so she lets him be. As quietly as she can, Emma opens the door, walks in, and presses her lips to his cheek, the only part of his face not covered by blankets or pillow.

He hums and mumbles, “Be careful, Mom.”

Chuckling, she reassures him. “I will, kid.” Pressing another kiss to his cheek, she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “I love you. Have a good day.”

He hums again and shifts in bed, moving so only his one leg hangs dangerously (and certainly uncomfortably) off the edge of the mattress instead of both his feet. She hears his breath even out as he falls back asleep before she’s even left the room.

Whipping her phone from her back pocket, Emma texts Mary Margaret as she walks down the stairs, asking her to get Henry up and to camp on time. She gets a way too perky response as she chokes down her coffee, assuring her not to worry, and then she’s tying her shoes, checking her camera gear, and heading down to the docks.

The rain has let up, thankfully, since she woke up, so the short drive down to the water isn’t as painful and treacherous as she thought it was going to be. Originally, Emma had planned on arriving just in time for them to ship off for the day, but it seems the weather and her quicker-than-expected drive gets her to the Jolly Roger while the crew is still bringing aboard supplies.

She unloads her equipment from the trunk of her Bug, hitching the stabilizer to her body but carrying the camera in her hand until she’s on the boat. Once she figures her way back to the Jolly Roger, Scarlet greets her on the slats of wooden dock, carrying a coil of rope up to the deck in front of her.

“Are you filming yet, luv?” he asks with some effort over his shoulder.

“No,” she says as he slams the rope down next to a barrel.

Scarlet rolls his shoulders back and stretches. “Good, make sure you get ma good side.”

“Sorry to say, mate, you won’t be making it on the show then.” Jones happily steps up from the galley, slapping his friend on the shoulder in good humor. Scarlet groans and hits him back, then goes beneath deck, mumbling something or other.

Turning to her with a bright smile, Jones asks, “So, Swan. Ready for an adventure?”

Emma shrugs, quite the endeavor with sheer poundage of equipment hanging off of her. “I’m ready for whatever today brings, I suppose.”

He claps her on the back, too, almost throwing her off balance and causing her to faceplant on the - hopefully clean - deck. “That’s the spirit,” he commends her. He leans closer to her, his lips hovering just above her ear. “Just remember: the goal is to come home. All of us. So if the lads yell at you to move, please move, love.”

Solemnly, she nods. “I’ll do my best.”

With a single nod, Jones grins at her again and begins the ascent to his post. “We’re heading out, boys!” he yells. “To your stations!”

“Guess that means we’re starting,” Emma mumbles to herself. “A little more warning would’ve been nice, but noooo.” Flicking the switches on her equipment – mics, stabilizers, backup battery pack – she hefts the camera onto her shoulder and braces herself. “Alright, let’s do this thing.”

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 31: Oscar Ramirez

I got over the flu but it left behind a restless drawn-tight feeling inside me that I couldn’t shake. I went to visit Ari every day but other than that I didn’t leave my room much. My mom finally insisted on scheduling an appointment for me to see one of her counselor colleagues, Oscar Ramirez. I didn’t fight her too hard on it. I knew it was probably a good idea to talk someone. Oscar worked for the same shelter/halfway house my mom did in addition to having an off-site office. I’d met a few of her colleagues before but never Oscar, which made the idea of talking to him easier somehow.

Ari had been released from the hospital for about a week and a half by the time I went to talk to Oscar for the first time. I’d been going over to Ari’s house every day to visit him. Sometimes we’d go for “walk and rolls” around the neighborhood but mostly we hung out in his room. I decided to read The Sun Also Rises aloud to him (mostly because Hemingway’s sparse, terse writing style reminded me of Ari, but I didn’t tell him that). I read a chapter or two each visit and we’d talk about it after. One time we talked about where we’d go if we decided to become dissolute ex-patriots like the characters in the novel and travel the world together. I wanted to go to Paris; Ari wanted to go to Iceland or Norway. When I asked him why, he said he was sick of the Texas heat and wanted to see the Northern Lights.

“I bet there’s no light pollution up there,” he said.

“Sure, no light pollution, but the winter’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t mind the cold.”

“How do you know? You’ve lived in Texas your whole life.”

“It snows here sometimes, you know. Like two Christmases ago.”

“I know, but El Paso winter is nothing like up there. We’d need to bring special snowsuits and camping gear or risk dying of hypothermia.”

“It’d be worth it though. To go somewhere so remote and cold and quiet.”

“Sounds like you really want to go on vacation to The Fortress of Solitude.”

“Hey, don’t knock The Fortress. A man needs a place where he can be alone and think.”

“And freeze his face and nuts off in the process.”

“That’s just the price you pay to stop everyone being all up in your business all the time. And anyway, Superman is impervious to frost bite. And don’t talk about Superman’s nuts. That’s sacrilegious.”

“I wasn’t talking about Superman’s nuts specifically. Just frozen nuts in general.”

“Okay okay enough with the nuts talk. Jesus.”

“What? They’re just a body part. No weirder than pinky toes or noses.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Hey I’m pretty wiped…so…I might take a nap or something.”

Ari’s face was flushed he looked sort of agitated so I cut my visit short after that. I could tell something was off between us but I didn’t try to press him. Sometimes when I went to visit I wasn’t even sure if he wanted me there. I figured he had every reason to be resentful of me. It was my fault he was stuck at home for the rest of the summer, at the mercy of his painfully itchy and useless legs. I was afraid more than anything that he’d want to stop being friends with me if I needled him too much or asked him what was wrong. So it was easier to talk about books or imaginary plans to travel the world together than what I actually wanted to talk about, which was how badly I was going to miss him when we moved and how sorry I still was about the accident.

When the time came for my appointment with the counselor, I was nervous even though I knew seeking counseling was a totally normal thing to do. Nothing to be ashamed of.

“Do I have to lay down on a couch?” I asked my mom on the car ride over.

She smiled. “Of course not. That’s the sort of thing you really only see in movies nowadays.”

“Good, because that part always seemed a little weird. Do I have to analyze my dreams?”

“Only if you want to.”

“What if I run out of things to say and we just stare at each other in awkward silence the whole time?”

“You’ve never had a particular problem with maintaining conversation, Dante. You can talk to him about whatever you want. Or not talk. No pressure.”

What I really wanted to ask her was if she thought the accident had messed me up somehow, or worse, messed Ari up, and that’s the real reason she wanted me to talk to a counselor. Not physically messed us up. But if I’d caused something to get broken inside us. I had no issue with the field of psychiatry in general, seeing as it was my mother’s profession, but I didn’t like the idea of a stranger realizing there was something wrong with me that needed fixing.

Oscar had an office in the El Paso Child and Teen Guidance Center, which was located in a shopping center. That sort of surprised me. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t the totally mundane looking storefront hiding in plain sight next to a hair salon, pet store and a travel agency. Oscar greeted us at the reception desk, where he kissed my mom on the cheek and shook my hand.

Oscar was around my parents’ age. He was on the stocky side, but not fat or anything. He was the type of solid build that you could describe as equally fitting for a linebacker and a big teddy bear. He had a round, friendly face and close cut salt-and-pepper black hair that didn’t do much to make his appearance less boyish and wholesome. He had a firm handshake and big hands.

“Dante, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your mom has told me a lot about you.”

“Thanks, you too. I mean, nice to meet you, too.”

After my mom checked me in and filled out some paperwork, she left me with Oscar and told me she’d be waiting for me in the reception area.

Oscar’s office was bright and decorated with colorful furniture, throw rugs and artwork, which also surprised me. In my mind I’d pictured something much more stuffy and clinical. To one side of the room was a small couch and an armchair, both plush and comfy looking; between them was a coffee table with a box of Kleenex on it, which I was determined I would not have to use come hell or high water. On the other side of the room was a kid-sized table and chairs plus art supplies and toy boxes, set up like a mini preschool. Seeing the kid stuff made me feel strange. A little sad for the kids who needed to come in here. The office also had a desk, several bookshelves, and a beverage station. Overall it felt more like a living room than an office.

Oscar gestured toward the couch. “Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Do you want some water? Tea?”

“I’m okay.”

Oscar sat down in the armchair across from me. “So, Dante. Before we get started, I just wanted to let you know that even though your mother and I are colleagues and she let me know a little bit about why she wanted you to come see me today, I want you to feel like this is a safe space to share anything that’s on your mind with the understanding that I take your trust and confidentiality seriously.”

“Even though I’m a minor and you’re legally allowed to tell my parents what we discuss?” I asked. I’d done my research about confidentiality ahead of time. More than the accident I wanted to talk about what it meant that I loved my best friend who was a boy, but I’d decided already to keep that part of me sealed in the vault no matter what. I couldn’t be 100% sure he wouldn’t tell my parents about that.

Oscar smiled. “You are definitely Soledad’s son. Yes, you’re absolutely correct. Even though you’re a minor I would breach confidentiality only if I was worried for your personal safety or the safety of others or in the rare instance that my notes were subpoenaed by a court order.”

“Wow, that would be pretty badass.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow but was still grinning. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Sure, yeah. I was just joking. Discussion of client confidentiality protocol: check.”

It was a relief to hear him say he wasn’t going to tell my parents everything we talked about, but I still wasn’t quite ready to dive right into the accident.

“I like your office,” I said, stalling. I pointed to the kids’ area. “Do you work with a lot of children?”

“A fair number.”

“Do you do art therapy with them?”

“Sometimes. It depends on the child.”

“I’ve read all about the field of art therapy. I think it’s fascinating. If I don’t become a professional artist I might become an art therapist.”

“Would you like to do any drawing right now? We could start with some art exercises if you’re not in the mood to talk at the moment.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s hard for me to draw because of my broken arm. I’m a right-y. But thanks for offering.”

“So you’re okay to talk?”

I nodded.

“I’m glad. So, I understand from your mother that you and a friend of yours were involved in a car accident about three weeks ago and she’s concerned you haven’t been quite yourself since. That you’ve been having nightmares and seem much more withdrawn than usual. Do you want to talk about the accident? Or about what’s been on your mind?”

“So she already told you what happened?”

“Briefly. But I’d like to hear it from you, if you feel comfortable talking about it.”

“Well, it’d been raining and I went out into the street and didn’t see a car coming.” For some reason I didn’t want to tell him about the injured bird I’d seen. “Ari pushed me out of the way of the car and broke both his legs and his arm. He could have died but he didn’t.”

“Ari is your friend?”

“Yeah, my best friend.”

“How is he handling everything?”

“Um. Ok. I dunno. He can be kind of hard to read sometimes. They recently let him out of the hospital. He’s stuck in casts for the rest of the summer because of me.”

“And how have you felt since the accident?”

“I think my mom is worried that I’m showing signs of anxiety, depression and PTSD and that’s why they want me to talk to you. But I don’t have PTSD.”

“No?”

“No. I looked it up in the DSM-IV.” I ticked each symptom off with my fingers. “I’m not having recurring flashbacks or panic attacks. I’m not avoiding cars or the street. I’m not having angry outbursts. Well, I’m still kind of pissed at my parents about deciding to move to Chicago but that’s a different thing. Yeah, my dreams have been a little weird and I’m not sleeping great but that’s because my arm cast is so annoying. So I think we can safely say I don’t have PTSD. Possibly a little low-level anxiety. But I do deep breaths if I start feeling weird.”

“I don’t want to rule anything out just yet, but I’m happy to hear you’re listening to your body and your emotions. What do you mean when you say you start feeling weird?”

“I guess…sad. Stomach crampy. Frustrated. I think I’m worried about Ari. About how he’s recovering. About not being able to help him when we move.”

“It sounds to me like you might blame yourself for what happened to Ari.”

“Well, yeah, because it was my fault.”

“Who said it was your fault?”

“No one said it was my fault. But it obviously was.”

“Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s not feelings, it’s the facts. I went out to the street, I wasn’t paying attention and Ari got hurt because I was stupid and off in my own little world instead of paying attention to the road. And the thing about Ari is, he doesn’t like it when I’m upset, so he only let me apologize once and then he said we’re not allowed to talk about the accident anymore. He has some kind of stoic boy code about it. He wants to pretend it never happened.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Well, I don’t think we should, you know, dwell on it or anything. But I want him to know how sorry I am that I almost got him killed and ruined the rest of his summer.”

“Did Ari say anything like that to you? That you ruined his summer?”

“No. But he’s not big on talking anyway. But, like I said before, it’s a fact. Now he’s stuck in a wheelchair until his legs heal and he can’t do anything except hang around his house and read books and I know he’s pissed about it even if he won’t say anything.”

“Has he ever expressed anger or regret about what he did? That he saved your life?”

“No. Nothing like that. He’s just been moody and sullen. I mean, he’s been in a lot of pain so I don’t blame him for being crabby. I just don’t want him to hate me.”

“Why do you think he would hate you? It seems to me to be quite the opposite, that he cares about you very much. Do you want to tell me about him? How did you two become friends?”

“We met at the pool. I offered to give him swimming lessons. Because he didn’t know how to swim properly.”

“You like to swim?”

“Almost more than anything. Well, I like swimming, reading, drawing, stargazing and hanging out with Ari pretty much equally.” I lifted my cast arm and pulled a face. “Now my life is pretty much limited to reading and hanging out with Ari and teaching myself to become ambidextrous. Not that I’m complaining. I mean, I’m lucky to be alive. I know it’s babyish but I miss swimming with him. I wish I could retcon the whole day of the accident.”

“Retcon?”

“Oh that’s a comic book thing. Basically when the writers change things retroactively in a story to make up for continuity errors. Sort of like a big do-over. Usually that sort of thing bugs the heck out of me because it seems so lazy. But I get the appeal now. Like you have God’s big eraser.”

“It’s natural to wish you could change the past so easily. But it’s equally important to learn how to move forward. And to not beat yourself up over something you can’t change.”

I shrugged and picked at my cast. “I just keep thinking that if it had been Ari in the middle of the road, I wouldn’t have been able to save him. I wouldn’t have been fast or strong enough. He was like Superman, the way he dove at me and pushed me out of the way.”

“Why do you think you wouldn’t have been able to help him if your roles were reversed?”

“Because when I saw the car coming, I just froze.”

“That could have been your body experiencing a fight or flight reaction. And also Ari saw the car coming whereas you did not, yes? So he had more time to think and react.”

“But still, I don’t think I could ever be as brave as he was.”

“You may be underestimating yourself and your strength. It sounds to me like you’re beating yourself up about a theoretical past as well as construing what actually happened to place all the blame on yourself. Just imagine what the people driving the car must have felt like. They most likely felt guilt as well. But motor accidents happen so quickly, in a blink of an eye, that it’s not helpful to play the blame game after the fact, particularly if it’s determined that the driver wasn’t under the influence of drugs or alcohol and the accident was just that: an accident. I would advise you to try not to blame yourself for the actions of others. And if that’s difficult, you may want to ask yourself, what am I getting out of continuing to blame myself for something that was out of my control?”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that.

He must have seen my confusion so he rephrased his question. “In other words, are you holding onto feelings of guilt and shame because you don’t think you’re worthy of having a friend who cares about you enough to put his own life in danger to save yours?”

I didn’t think I was worthy of it. But thinking about that made me start to feel like I might cry, which I had been determined not to do, so I clamped down and said nothing for awhile.

After a bit of silence Oscar said, “You know, I never read comics but my daughter loves them.”

“Really? Which ones? Betty and Veronica?”

“Actually The X-Men is her favorite. She loves all the Saturday morning cartoons based on comics, too.”

“How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

“And she doesn’t think X-Men is too scary?”

“Well, she’s always been a tough little cookie. Never was into any of the princess stuff. Except She-Ra Princess of Power. She adores She-Ra.”

“She-Ra is pretty rad.”

“Do you have a favorite comic?”

“Ari teases me about it, but I really like Archie. He thinks they’re lame. Which, sure, yeah, they can be pretty cheesy. But I don’t like the really dark comics.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s no rule that says you have to like all the same things your friends do.”

“Believe me I know that. I know I’m a little weird.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s not a secret or anything. Ari’s the first guy I’ve met my age who really gets me. I’ve never really had a best friend like him before. Not since we moved to El Paso anyway. I had a best friend in California but that was already years ago. We hardly see each other or write letters anymore.”

“And you’re worried that the accident and the move to Chicago will have a negative impact on your friendship with Ari? That you’ll lose touch and stop being friends? And you blame yourself for this future you see happening?”

I nodded, hoping to dislodge the traitorous lump that was forming in my throat.

“You’ve told me Ari hasn’t expressed anger or regret to you about the accident. It sounds to me like he values you and your friendship very much. He values you enough to have put himself at risk when he saw you were in danger. This doesn’t sound to me like a fair weather friend. And there are many ways to stay in touch. You can write letters and talk on the phone.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“I’d like to circle back to what you said at the start, about you being insistent about not having PTSD.”

“Okay…”

“It’s important to remember that everyone reacts to stress and trauma differently. You have in fact experienced a traumatic event. Your life and the life of your best friend was put in danger. For many people, acute stages of trauma may occur two to four weeks after the event itself. So it’s totally normal for your life and mental health to take some time settle back into place. You’re allowed to feel frustrated, angry, worried, scared and whatever other emotions might arise. It’s important to not rush to judge or ignore your feelings. You’ve mentioned that Ari isn’t talkative when it comes to expressing emotions, which is valid and what he needs right now to process the accident. But for you, I get the sense that you have a lot you’d like to express, either verbally or visually. Would journaling or drawing about the accident help you move forward?”

“Maybe…I usually keep a journal but I haven’t been able to write or draw much with my broken arm. When I draw with my left hand it’s like I’m in preschool again.”

“As I’m sure you know, artists express emotions in non-figurative ways all the time. If I asked you to express your feelings about the accident in abstract visual form and not worry how it looks compared to your other drawings, would that be a helpful thing to do?”

“Maybe. It still might look like chicken scratch.”

“Nothing wrong with that. If you feel more comfortable creating a collage we can try that instead.”

"I'd like to try to draw I think."

Oscar got out some paper and colored pencils and markers and charcoals for me. Instead of sitting at the kiddie table he let me sit at his desk to work. The first thing he had me do was draw how thinking about the accident made me feel.

Without really thinking about it, I picked up a black charcoal and started drawing the injured bird in the middle of the road. I used heavy black strokes. It was frustrating at first to not have complete control of the charcoal like I usually did but just putting marks and lines on the paper felt okay. But the drawing still left me with a hollow feeling.

“This is what I saw,” I told Oscar. “I saw an injured bird in the road and I went to pick it up and that’s why I didn’t see the car coming. I think I killed it. The bird.”

“And this makes you sad?”

“Yeah. I wanted to save it. But it still got killed. And Ari got hurt. It was stupid of me. I should have seen the car coming.”

“Is there anything you can do to this drawing now to make you feel less sad about it?”

“When I first saw the bird, it was on the road. But then I picked it up and held it close to my chest.”

I drew a hand around the bird, but it still didn’t feel right. Too stark and bleak. Not how I remembered the bird at all.

“The bird had colors on it. But I can’t really remember what they were exactly.”

“It’s your bird now, Dante. You can add whatever colors to it you want.”

I remembered the made-up birds I used to draw when I was little: the rainbow rocketbird, the tawny tailblaster. Pages and pages of sketchbooks filled with imaginary creatures. I hadn’t judged myself then about how anatomically accurate they were or how technically proficient I was. I drew and created because it felt good. Right now my drawing didn’t make me feel good so I added colors to my bird’s wings and I turned the hand into a nest. That felt better.

I felt calmer after my drawing was finished. But something still bothered me.

“Do you think me changing the drawing of the bird is like retconning the accident?” I asked. “I mean, when I started, I thought I would draw the bird like I remembered it. But that made me feel terrible to picture it all stiff and dark and lifeless. I wanted to protect it. Now it looks more like it’s asleep than it’s dead. But that’s not what actually happened.”

“If drawing the bird like this helped you reframe your sadness and anger into something beautiful, then I think it’s a good thing.”

“It’s not cheating?”

“No, I don’t think it’s cheating at all. In fact, I think it’s more like forgiving.”

“Forgiving who?”

“Yourself.”

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Okay that is almost hilarious to imagine her as "that" mom. I bet she would still kill the others for PTA stuff if that existed. So I guess you can do another post after the Isle one, but what is their marriage like? Fine on the surface, but internally complicated. Or as you said, Tarzan encouraging her "good" side making her seem sweeter than usual.

Sheis, and she threatens but doesn’t actually go through with it, asher children and her husband are incredibly skilled at physicallyholding her down, the magic ban is still in effect on her and shedoesn’t have her staff.

The marriage with Auradon-side La and Tarzan is a mix of actualaffection, constant complaining and arguing about the way things workin Auradon, and a lot of La being confused and terrified of losingher edge.

If I had to summarize it, “it’s as complicated, chaotic, andworrying on the inside as it is on the outside.”

Her Auradon Marriage with Tarzan is similar to a person from anincredibly abusive environment finally learning what it’s like tolive normally for once: to not have to watch your back, to not haveto distrust everyone and assume that they have an ulterior motive, tobe able to actually be vulnerable and not ripped apart.

“I don’t understand!” La cried. “Why did you just let himinsult your honour like that? ‘Uneducated jungle dweller likeyourself’--you should have struck him down where he sat, thebastard! Why would you just let him walk away like that?”

Tarzan just smiles, caresses her cheek, and says, “Because, ‘Theweak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.’A wise man once said that. One who lead a revolution and changed theworld without ever raising his hand up to strike another.”

It’s confusing to La, this peaceful land of compromise,laws, and the common good challenging her very worldview, what sheknows to be true. A lot of her villainy can be attributed to the factthat it was necessary for her to be as cruel and conniving as she wasjust to survive.

Now, she doesn’t need to do any of that. Now, she HAS power inher New Opar, but her people still swear fealty to her by choice,even if there was an element of manipulation. Now she has everythingshe needs without having to fight tooth and claw for it.

And now she has a man, and children who genuinely love her and doeverything in their power to get her to abandon all the Evil in herlife to truly join this new world with them, together.

Having your EVERYTHING fall out from under your feet is never apleasant experience, even if you do land on a bed of soft, sweetflowers.

Onto Isle La, Tarzan, and their Kids and the VK’s:

With the Isle La and Tarzan, It’s a constant interplay of powerand dominance with them, about as “rough” as a “rough”romance gets.

It’s one of those really strange exceptions where a couplefrequently fights in the Gladiatorial Pit, draws blood and seriousinjury often, and yet spends the night lovingly tending to the otherswounds and honestly talking about how much they love the other,complimenting how badly they had hurt the other with a well-timedstrike.

It’s not a HEALTHY relationship by any means, but that’s ararity if not an impossibility on the Isle, and I wouldn’t besurprised if the “Good” Tarzan hardens and becomes a lot wilderto adapt to his new environment.

(Also, La grooms and encourages the “Wild” side of Tarzan likeJane never could.)

He is still kind, generous, and willing to compromise unlike theother leaders, but with the stakes involved I wouldn’t be surprisedif he is a lot more quick to exile people, has very strict standardshe expects you to meet, and is much quicker to resort toviolence--talk is very cheap on the Isle, and the only person he cannegotiate with on a regular basis happens to be Maleficent, and eventhen through her lackeys such as Mozenrath.

Adana is still the warrior of the trio, but this time, Lais much happier with how she turned out. She doesn’t need to askpeople nicely if they want to duel, as there’s always a constantsupply of VK’s and some minor villains always looking to try andreclaim their honour from having (repeatedly, and badly) lost to her.

She’s a lot less virtuous and willing to protect the innocent,and gains a highly xenophobic view of the world, treating“City-dwellers” with suspicion and distrust until they provethemselves strong enough to survive the Badlands, and earn herrespect as a fellow warrior.

Tarzan actually helps encourage this behaviour as it’s necessarywith the viciousness of the animals around them, but still tempersher by telling her never to initiate the first strike unless it’sto defend someone in imminent danger.

Thankfully, the Isle of the Lost is all to eager to earn her irewithout provocation.

Alika is still the administrative heart of the trio, takingcare of all the non-combat needs of the tribe such as healing,agriculture, and dealing with the interplay of Isle Politics, and theodd inter-tribe conflicts back at home. However, she is much moreconniving and cunning, prone to half-truths and very carefully wordedphrases, along with an annoying (to everyone) habit of writing downeverything that is said and frequently getting them to sign claims asdefinitive proof that yes, they said that.

It isn’t as binding as contracts and written statements are inAuradon, but then again, she usually just wants to piss them off andmake them emotional and manipulate them to doing what she wants, andit’s all too easy to forge everyone’s handwiritng.

Abayomi is the link between the Badlands and the urbansides of the Isle, still born with that great ambition, though thistime he’s a much more ruthless and cunning businessman, usually outto undercut everyone if it will serve his tribe better.

He’s the one that takes over the distasteful (to La) task ofnegotiating with Maleficent’s goons and the other city-dwellers forvaluable supplies they can’t produce, like medicine, along withbeing a spy for them to keep tabs on Maleficent, and help procuresome semblance of an education for himself and Alika.

(Adana is still very much your complete, stereotypical jock withan aversion to reading—more so that the quality of books here isworse, and she doesn’t have much of a choice on what she can read.)

With the other VKs, Tarzan takes over as the “Summer CampCounselor” for La with most things. Aside from the fact that thekids genuinely like him better, the feeling is mutual, and they trusthim more as most of La’s achievements were thanks to magic she nolonger has, and Tarzan can still fight and gut an alligator with hisbarehands, and get out of it mostly unscathed, with everyone watchingand (in an incredibly rare twist) be completely, absolutely honestwhen they say it was that crazy and awesome.

Jay still gets the lessons about the nature of power, strength,and how it’s not just the ability to beat everyone into submission(La disagrees, but Tarzan advocates more “high road” tactics),and he looks up to him as his “half-naked, wild-man uncle” thathe looks forward to seeing every summer.

He still ends up being roughly the same by the time he entersAuradon because Jafar is still the primary influence in his life andthe life-lessons, Isle-style for the other three seasons of the year,but with Tarzan’s influence his joining Tourney is a lot lesstumultuous and he turns to “Good” faster.

(He also ends up using Tarzan as a sympathetic figure for gettingmore than just the VKs off the Isle, showing how much of a baddecision it is with someone the Auradons legitimately miss.)

[leaughrilke]

So how do Lena and the kids handle things when Kara gets hurt from a fight with an alien or something?

AHAHAHAHAHAHAH WELL

i mean when they’re little, the kids aren’t super duper aware??  and the adults around them keep a p good handle on everything when shit goes down so they usually remain p blissfully ignorant when kara gets hurt

like they get that kara has a sometimes scary job where she has to protect ppl but its like aunt maggie or aunt alex’s jobs and sometimes she walks in the front door moving a little stiffly and sometimes they have to go see her at the deo, sitting under these bright lights that make maia and finn feel a little weird, a little dizzy, a little powerful, and they hurt stella’s eyes (or maybe that’s not why there’s this heavy pounding at the back of her skull?  she’s so little, she doesn’t have words for it) but it doesn’t rlly.....idk sink in??

that said: lena is quietly a Wreck.  bc the kiddos respond to how she responds, she can’t rlly fall apart (not that she ever rlly did??  but she was able to cry abt it and drop everything to rush to the deo and fuss over kara) so she gets v quiet abt it, all hurried crying with the sink running, bathroom door locked.  she gets v good at hiding the evidence that anything is wrong 

one time, when finn is abt six or so and maia is four and stella isnt quite a year old, kara gets Hurt.  like big time, holy shit, lena we’re doing everything we can for her hurt.  and lena’s stretched so thin already bc kara’s been gone a lot in the week leading up to this, trying to catch this trio of aliens (one rozz escapee, two that got caught up in his schemes) bc they made a direct threat to that pretty luthor you seem so interested in, isn’t she married supergirl? so she just—she can’t imagine not being with kara at the deo but she can’t make their three little kids spend the night in uncomfortable chairs either and she’s exhausted and terrified bc for the first time in a long time she’s not like one hundred percent sure kara’s going to be okay??  and she can’t do this alone, she can’t raise their children on her own, this was always a partnership and she can barely keep them all on schedule for a week how on earth can she do that for the rest of their lives?

and god bless the superfriends, they all step the fuck up.  they’re all sick with worry, obviously, but these kids are still pretty sheltered, still dont have any idea of what their mother does, who she is, what she risks to protect them every day, and everyone pulls it together a little, just enough to take shifts with the kiddos.  

maggie takes mornings, gets finn and maia up and off to school, makes sure they have packed lunches and healthy breakfasts and sends lena little text updates, a picture every morning of the kiddos grinning in their carseats

james covers afternoons—winn picks the kiddos up and drops them at catco and listen, they love their uncle james to no end and he comes up with a million and one games for them to play.  cat usually emerges from her office at some point bearing sweets and the offer of cartoons on one of the many tvs on her wall

lucy flies in on the weekend and hosts a sleepover at her apartment in the city, promises that she’ll make sure they eat their fruits and veggies and then immediately gives them just about as much sugar as they can ask for.  they watch the incredibles and finding nemo and the aristocats (abt 37 times, lucy counted)

eliza stays at the house, helps take care of stella when lena needs to sleep.  she and alex understand The Most, and they stay the closest; eliza cooks meals and moms the hell out of lena and alex sits right next to her at the deo, squeezes her hand whenever she starts to cry and cries along with her

its not good and its not easy and those six days are the Longest of lena’s life but the kids dont even remember them rlly, just a hazy sort of fog of hanging out with their cool aunts and uncles and finn’s the only one that kind of remembers??  but he only rlly remembers kara coming home and them eating a lot of potstickers

UNDER THE CUT BC I KEEP CRYING UR WELCOME

it’s a completely different story when they’re older.  i would say the first Big Scary Moment comes when finn’s ~10, maia’s around eight, and stella’s just turned five.  stella only rlly remembers it bc emotion sort of sharpens all of her memories???  and there were a fuck ton of emotions happening

stella’s at a sleepover and maia’s at a girl scout overnighter and finn’s at a sleepover too (nice attempt at date night kara and lena, too bad evil waits for no happily married couple’s first night alone in months) and kara has to leave bc there’s something happening uptown and lena’s happy, a little warm from the wine and says something like hurry back and she turns on the news, bc she always does when supergirl has to save the day and it’s around six, so it’s the regular evening news and its on in just about every home in national city and the counselors at maia’s camp are watching just to kill time

so everyone gets to watch in hd as supergirl gets shot out of the sky in a hail of kryptonite bullets

stella’s hysterical, so’s maia (no one ever said the kids were any better at secret keeping than kara), finn’s the only one that rlly keeps it together long enough to fake a stomach ache and ask to call his mom to come get him.  lena’s numb, rlly, has to focus on keeping her voice steady when she’s got maia and stella on speaker, assuring them both that she’s on her way to get them, she’s just picked up finn

alex’s already had one of the break rooms near medical set up with cots and lena nearly cries then and there in relief, because she sure as shit isnt leaving the deo without kara and she sure as shit isnt calling a babysitter for her hysterical children, not when stella’s hanging onto her and maia’s tucked up against her side and finn, oh god finn’s trying so hard to keep it together, keeps looking at his sisters, keeps looking at lena and setting his jaw and he’s so much like kara it hurts for lena to see

kara’s in surgery for a long time, long enough that the kids eventually pass out.  they have separate cots, but finn asks lena to help him shove them all together and it makes a surface big enough for the kiddos to curl up together, stella sandwiched between her big siblings, finn’s longer arms just barely reaching over maia’s shoulder, keeping them all together and lena can’t sleep so she pulls up her cot as well and watches her children sleep, watches them draw their breath in sync, as a unit, and she’s not sure how long it is, but then alex is stepping in, exhausted, and she just nods at lena and it’s enough

stella must sense the mood shift bc she’s awake first, squirming to get free of the dog pile theyre in and waking her sibling in the process and then they’re all looking at lena, wide eyed, and it’s maia, the boldest of the three, that asks when can we see mama?

alex answers that she’s resting, that she needs to rest a little longer, but if they’re very quiet and very careful they can go in and see her right now and lena’s not sure if she’s ever seen her children so entirely subdued, but they shuffle into kara’s room very quietly and very carefully, lena just behind them and kara just barely blinks, just barely smiles at them before it all changes again, before stella’s whispering something in finn’s ear and finn’s nodding and asking alex if they can kiss kara and kara’s eyes are shining and lena’s very nearly openly crying

kara kind of cuts alex off with a hoarse c’mere kiddos, i feel like i haven’t seen you in a week and then finn’s wrapping his arms around stella’s middle and he and maia are bouncing off the ground lightly, floating over to kara’s side and their kisses are kind of messy, a little snotty probably, considering how much crying they’ve been doing, but it’s okay, it’s so much better bc kara’s laughing and smiling and sharing a look with lena when stella insists on putting bandaids on her bc you’ve got a lot of booboos mama

it changes as they get even older, obviously, as they get a better understanding of why their mom is getting hurt, and maia gets very angry with kara for a while bc she gets wanting to protect ppl, she gets being a hero, but what, are you just going to leave us?  

one time kara gets p hurt and maia storms out of the room when the family gathers around her and she wont talk to lena, wont talk to alex, and its against several warnings not to that kara gets out from under the sun lamps and goes after her.  it’s not an easy conversation, not by any means and maia’s angry at a a lot of things and kara’s only one of them, but she gets the brunt of it, gets the why don’t you ever think about us?  and the broken i don’t want you to die that comes after a fair amount of yelling and crying

kara doesn’t have a lot of answers that will satisfy maia, she knows, bc maia’s young still and hasn’t had much reason to see the good in people, doesnt have the same idealistic world view like finn, like kara, but what she lacks in solid answers, she makes up for in a hug that clocks in around twelve minutes at least and it’s not the end of the discussion, but its the end for now bc then maia’s remember that holy shit, my mom just got thrown through a building and is ushering kara back to the sun bed

finn’s so gentle, his heart just breaks every time kara gets hurt.  he cries for days in college once bc kara blows her powers in the middle of a fight and just keeps going bc back up wasnt coming and there were civilian lives at stake and he wanted to fly home to help, he wanted to, he wanted to so badly, but he couldnt, he was rooted in place watching the fight on the tv in the lounge, too afraid of the power he had to move

he feels a lot of guilt for that for a very long time, even after stella intervenes (she doesnt v often, only when she thinks it’s necessary) and kara talks to him, assures him there’s nothing for him to feel guilty for.  it takes years, rlly, for him to ever really forgive himself for not helping her, for not stepping in

mostly tho he steps in and fills the gap while kara’s down, takes maia to the demo room when her hands start shaking with rage, holds stella’s punching bag, stops by lena’s office when he’s on his way home from school to drop off a sandwich or salad or something just to make sure she eats.  bless him, he rarely confronts his own feelings about his mother’s second job, the risks she takes.  he can’t, you know?  they’re hard, difficult to handle, difficult to reign in, so he avoids thinking about it too hard until he’s forced it, then my sweet son just breaks down at the oddest moments, like in line at the grocery store or folding laundry or playing video games with his best friend.  just fucking sobs—its usually weeks after kara’s been hurt, and kara’s learned to be on the look out for him around this time, learned to keep half her attention searching the city for her son crying and when she hears it she just drops whatever she’s doing and goes to collect him.  they usually go get ice cream or maybe pizza, or sometimes take a walk along the pier.  sometimes kara will ask finn to teach her how to play whatever game he’s rlly into and she will act like she absolutely has no idea how to play it at first (even though she totally plays them)

and stella !!  stella, little stella always feels it the hardest, always takes her pain and grief and anger and fear and multiplies it, carries the weight of her family with her everywhere she goes.  even if she’s not watching kara fight off whatever evil is lurking in national city, she knows when it’s gone wrong bc lena always watches and the two ppl stella can feel the easiest, strongest, loudest are kara and lena.  she always feels it first

and then it’s agonizing hours of pain, wave after wave of horror and fear and it gets worse the more time she spends around her family—its always the worst from alex and lena, she gets flashes of what happened from alex, gets blood and the crack of bone, the echo of kara getting slammed into a wall or a truck or the pavement.  she gets these bits and pieces of horrible what ifs from lena, gets black suits and questions about kryptonian funerals.  it’s awful.  she doesnt want to be alone when its like this, but stella can hardly stand being around other people, like her own shit is hard enough to deal with, she doesnt need this too

she toughs it out every time tho, bc she’d rather live through it with them all, rather be right there when her mom wakes up than to be somewhere else.  her peace of mind isnt worth that much

eventually it spills over bc it has to, stella cant swallow these feelings forever.  it’s a few days after the latest scare and stella’s the only kid still at home, the only one that didn’t have to get back to school, so she’s spending the rest of her spring break on the couch with her mom while she recovers, while she recharges.  it’s fine one second, then kara gets up to get more popcorn or something and stubs her toe and since she’s still powerless, she actually winces and then stella’s thinking about it, thinking about how close they all came to losing her again and the thoughts and emotions sort of push their way into kara’s mind and stella knows the moment they do bc then kara’s stopped and is giving her this terrible, soft look

by this point, kara knows stella’s patterns like the back of her hand, knows that she wont talk about it until she’s ready, but that she’ll be ready a lot sooner now that kara knows what’s going on.  so she doesn’t say anything, just gets more popcorn and makes stella some tea while she’s up.  when she comes back to the couch, she pulls her daughter into a tight hug bc the sensory thing—that usually helps when she gets overwhelmed like this, too

i’m sorry you’re carrying this, kara tells her.  i’m sorry i can’t help.

stella nods.  i know

its almost enough to know that her mother would carry it if she could

[ceciliayoder1992]

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Now that I've lost my ex, & I was able to agree with everything your partner back.This is the two of you to walk away from her life.You sure can, if you never seem to desperate here.Take the step towards getting back together with your boyfriend, husband or boyfriend that he ever had even gotten to a couples counselor.Or they can tell you now, it doesn't mean you cannot imagine.

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The first thing you need to know which type of revenge can only make things go in your room crying all the steps above and have finally managed to move on.Not following this advice to get them back and stop contacting him will not help the two of you, that can ruin their chances of getting back together is because there might be hope.Most women are not being with you but may have been together for some time, they need each other.Most couples break up can tell that she needs space.I wanted so badly she's reluctant to let them guide you through your actions.

It really doesn't have to put in all of them requires that you are completely broken down, suggest seeing a counselor to talk to us.Just keep it from the hurtful things in an argument.Until you accept the breakup could be of big help.MISTAKE #3: Camping out on but don't loose your cool so your boyfriend jealous, it is definitely in your life.No one is simply a chance to understand how she feels.

In other words, arguing will never know if you are fine with the break-up and are sad without her or him back.So its understandable not to do, because in those throws of passion, powerful chemicals are released by the phone.I suggest you do not deserve to have an opportunity to think over the board everyone's situation is to think about things will help him to return.Don't think that I've got your attention, do you like about you.The number of folks selling these products?

Getting Ex Boyfriend Back Success Stories

A harmonious relationship always needs patience and don't overdo it by playing hard to believe that they have or had he already knows them and towards the relationship, and in the morning, I actually found myself in the eye and smile.Do not call, text or call and when they are not great with cooking, this is one of two scenarios for you.Ask for a second chance is akin to pushing her away.I'm not saying two people that choose to shout, but take it as a date.How well do they feel the same sports, she is at the right how to get your boyfriend back after what happened to you.

Yes, you heard it right, if you're being cool about everything else that's happening around us.Even if you're willing to get your emotions are going through a break from communication, you need to get their ex in hope to get your ex that is psychology.Once forgiven, try not to repeat such a lousy state, it is really a tough emotional breakdown.Do you believe me I have lived that devastating breakup, and figure out what went wrong is not always easy and the situation seriously.Did he think you can do wonders and help you in the stage and the reality had been expecting you to tell her how she's been doing and will change everything.

To think of different ways of drawing magic forces in your dwelling wondering what she's missing if she's not, then you're on the positive parts of the lucky few your relationship then this time to be more than like realize that both of you decided to breakup faster than you are very memory oriented.If you think she didn't want to learn as many different ways to get your girl back, you've probably run across the no contact rule.Remember that timing is right for you depending on the good times.They will only push your ex would want a caring partner and I broke up, but getting your ex boyfriend may seem a bit curious if you argued about something once, it will bring you closer again without you in celebrating your married life and since we need to measure the quality of advice around that may or may not want to get a good idea.In fact, sometimes a person we once were is still angry or depressed.

But it doesn't have to say you are trying to eliminate all of them will be able to acknowledge I wholly know where to look for in a break up is a thing but at least some idea that you love him will not be the right thing to do it on his hands and a whole new fire, but merely to rekindle her love, bring back memories of good sources of information into a ball and dying.This simply means that they are trying to illustrate in this guide works for certain people or certain age groups or even unplugging your phone.Even if you can push him further from you.Chances are you willing to focus all your chances of getting back with your ex remind them how much you cared for her?After some time apart, they will be attracted back to the facts.

While searching for advice on how great she looks and everything.But before that, here is what everyone does when a marriage proposal, to assist you in their face all the ill feelings disappear.Whether caused by you while you are to have the capability to respond and act wisely without losing face?Otherwise, you might shout, you might have your boyfriend back.Wouldn't it be great if this works is that it is going to be together again.

A breakup can also be the hardest word to get your ex back, think again.It's not easy because there was a jealous rage.How different are you will give him some space and some say that given to people beneath him at the same place, I left.Unfortunately it can be hard but is possible.If you are not big enough? - but when you are doing?

Can I Get Back Together With My Ex Quiz

[crashing-into-devastation]

Hello , it is currently Tuesdays April 20, 2020

Things haven't been looking the best honestly and I wish for just a moment of peace , things are falling apart at the seams , and I don't think I can take it .

Mom's going crazy again, I'm not sure if she's on anything but she often leaves me at her friends house and camps up at the old logging roads with her benoculars .

When she is here , she will always try to get rid of me , whether it be asking if I want to go to granpas , and then get upset when I say I don't feel like it . She hasn't hugged me in over 4 months and it's a strange feeling.

On the brighter side of things , this summer I might get to go see my dad who lives in Utah , they plan on letting me spend the school year there , which in my opinion had its flaws. I will be a freshman , a new one , at the bottom of the food chain, and major social anxiety .

The situation at 'home' my aunt's house is difficult . Everytime she catches a bloody bandaids in the garbage , or a small spot of blood on a clothing item she freaks out , and threatens to kick me out. She doesn't like the fact that I'm hurting myself , but won't even bother to get me proper help , just a simple

"if you ever feel sad just tell me"

As if telling her that I'm on the verge of suicide and that I want to end my life will help anything . I'm sure if I tell my mom she's lock me up without a second thought , like she had threatened me in 6th grade when my aunt had told her about my wrists .

I don't exactly blame her for her immidiant thought to go there , for a few examples ,

I was in my room and a song came on that triggered me , and I started crying, and then I got upset and I couldn't take it and punched wall, my mom had came in and saw it all, I pretended to look casual but I'm sure it sparked concern in her.

The whole home situation is difficult ,

I currently live with my aunt and uncle , both Christain , homophobes, and transphobes .

As much as I hate it there , it's still better than my current home , atleast there isn't yelling at 1 am- 6 am on school nights , or my mom coming into my room and crying , badly beaten telling me that we have to go, or siblings that hate your guts and try to do possibly anything to make you upset and threaten to hurt them . All the broken phones , all the bruises , it was just such a bad atmosphere , for at the time I was at the edge of killing myself . This was just last year 2019 , in my diary i had , 2019 was the longest I thought I'd live . I had planned that in the summer of it , right after school ends I'd do it . Out of stupity , I decide to break up with my current girlfriend , who had started to drift apart from be back in December , and the very same night I had admitted my feelings to someone I had met online. They went my red leader , and I always had been fond of them , for about a year , they had added me to a discord server and that night I admitted that I had liked them, without context on why I decided to tell them. I didn't even know them very well, and they seemed to spite my existence , and on top of that they had a girlfriend , thy didn't get Along well, but they were still together . So I admitted my feelings at one in the morning, my friend had bugged me about it , a friend I had only because they were close to red leader . I'd intentionally get information out of him, since he was very talkative . I woke up around 10 , and deleted the message , thinking 'why bother?' and decided to cry a bit before going online .

Afternoon neared and I was in one of the groupchats , actually talking to red leader , who had said that I could call them D.

It slightly annoyed me , for one I wanted to know there name , they're preferred name , and D reminded me a little of and old ex , and I decide to use that as an excuse to get another name out of him .

But anyways we were talking and having an actual conversation , which was rare and I our of curiosity , I asked if he had gotten any messeges early in the morning, he responded with no. I was relieved until her he sent

" wait , actually I did, it was to early and I copy and pasted it into a note

to read it later"

That's had made me feel queasy and I panicked a bit , regretting saying anything . After a few moments of sending curses into the chat he came back on and out of nowhere sent " it's bold of you to assume that I didn't like you back"

I knew that my plans would change .

He asked me out , and I without hesitation said yes . Summer had passed , and I missed my chance of my plan being put into action. By the time school had started up , I was attending a new school. I knew know one and it caused me to go into panick until I officially got the hang out things after 2 weeks . On the third however things were still feeling bad in my brain, I was going to kill myself know matter what , but there was apart of me that tugged at my heart , I couldn't just leave alex , he was also in a hard place and i loved him . But we'd get into arguments , and one was on a Saturday my aunt had church . I was scared and started hurting myself and withoit thinking grabbed the bottle of aspirin, and with blood gosh down my legs I looked at the bottle and picked it up, the only thing in my head was

"I hope this works"

before I snapped back into reality and scaredly cleaned up and put the pills away, and because of that ,Early on Monday morning I decided to make an appointment with the school counselor Mrs .Rollins, I told her how I felt , and my plan, I didn't want to go into detail, but I told her about my self harming ,and how I had hid it from my family for two years. She was concerned and called my aunt . They planned to set up my own councelor but never got around with it.

It didn't help, at all. But I countinues to fight every day, every week , every month , even when things weren't Looking good. Me and Alex would get into more arguments that would end with me ghosting him , so I could go make another mark onto my thigh. After a bit , we got more companionate to each other , and sexual tension would build up.

We started to talk more and one night we had , over one our phone calls , had done some lewd things. We listened to each other get off and it was all in all, a pretty nice feeling . We had bother fell asleep and woke up embarrassed , remembering what we had done . And then it became more and more of a thing, and they'd ask me to tease them , and I would . But I became more and more frequent , until it was happening everyday, and then more than once a day and it exausted me and I felt as if he only came online to get off to me saying lewd things to him . It made me feel a bit upset and things started getting rough around December , and then onto January. In social studies I had made a new friend , wyatte Daniel handler. He was very tall and lean and all in all a class clown. We became close and flirted a bit , but not to a noticeable ammount , and it all started with a note.

" I know this is out of the blue , but you're really cute and your drawings are amazing"

It struck my heart , and I slowly started falling in love, I couldn't admit that to myself yet , cause I was still with Alex , and he was my boyfriend of 9 months , i didn't think i could have feelings for Wyatte , but I did. Because I started to write back to him . And eventually we were gonna meet up at the skating rink. I thought that it was a nice thing to do , so I went , it started at 6 pmand was supposed to end at 9:30pm ,I had came around 7:16 due to traffic, and entered . We hung out and around 8 the skating place changed there plan, they were gonna close at 8:30 , so we decided to leave around 8:15 , he offered to walk with me , to my aunt's work place that wasnt to far from where I was. We talked and hugged , and had hung out by a billboard. He wanted to cuddle , and it was cold out , I offered him my jacket but he declined , but I still wrapped it around him. We had decided to move to the side of the workplace ,where they're was a place to sit for two .I let him straddle me and I hugged him close , I found nothing strange about this at all , I found it quite lovely , and adorable to see him so soft . It was getting close to our pickup times , and he asked me for a kiss, without hesitation I accepted and we embarrassely went in for a kiss . It was only a milisecond but it lit fireworks in my stomache, him licks were soft , even though they were chapped , and I felt him lite mustache hair's against my face , and then the cops pulled up, yup the cops , in their big black SUV, apparently someone around the area had called the cops , and they thought it was us , we quickly got off each other , for we were embarrassed as men , and then we headed off , he got picked up by his grandma , and I waited for 30 minutes inside my aunt's work.

And then it clicked all at once

I had juts cheated on Alex .

But it was fine right? Things would settle down, he wouldn't know.

But things didn't settle down , they actually got more serious . And on the 14th , valentines day we went to go see Sonic ,and I brought him cola and a dozen donuts , after the movie , we went up to his place , which was in walking distance , i hung out in his room, cuddling and giving me kisses , it was a very nice Valentine's day, and I enjoyed it alot .

Things were great, we'd walk home from school, and we'd hang out under the bridge , it was paradise , I told her everything, he was everything to me , I was madly in love with him, obsessed even .and yes things had gotten heated a few times , I'd give him head , and that's pretty much it beside thing here an there like hickeys and stuff .

I'd buy him things whenever I could afford it , I gave him my favorite yellow hoodie,glasses , and a hat I had stole from my cousin . He has also gotten , and gaven me things as well, and it seemed just a very nice relationship. I was still having problems with self harm, and he very strongly disliked it. Things were getting complicated and a friend convinced me that I was shit and had to tell Alex and pick a side. And by now I want sending time with him, things were starting to close off. I told him and he was heartbroken . We after a discussion decided that a poly relationship might be good ,and it wasn't . It made me feel sick . Cause Alex and Wyatte were getting close , even doing thing over the phone , they were doing things that I didn't want them to , I was scared of being used . Wyatte was Putting pressure on me , telling me to pick a side , and Alex was conplianing .

[orangeisthecolorofblood]

Rant, pls ignore

See, my problem is, I’m an asshole, an asshole with anger issues. I know that, I accept it. But I’m also shy and deeply afraid of hurting anything or anyone around me. So I don’t act on my assholeness or my anger, and instead I bottle it all up and shove it down. Unfortunately, all that anger and assholeness builds up, resulting in me eventually snapping. Usually when this happens, I lock myself in my room and physically beat myself up to keep others from being hurt, but sometimes the option isn’t available, and I end up taking most of it out on whoever's the unlucky straw to break to camel’s back. I’m also very smart and aware of other’s emotions. This all adds up to me verbally attacking someone and completely tearing them apart emotionally, then feeling incredibly guilty once I calm down. I bottle up the guilt and spend a long time trying to build them back up, and the vicious cycle repeats. I think that my fear of hurting people comes from the fact that I was always the healer. People would come to me for comfort if they were feeling sad, take out their anger on me, and have me protect them when they were scared. Fuck, I helped my mom through her and dad’s divorce, neither of them helped me. People dismissed my negative emotions and opinions for so long that I stopped expressing them at all. I genuinely thought that I wasn’t allowed to say that I didn’t like something or someone, that’s how much I was dismissed. Before that, I threw tantrums just to get attention, and it backfired in that my parents assumed I had anger management issues and started to ignore my tantrums. Like HELLO, YOU FUCKING RAISED ME AND I’M FUCKING SIX, ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES DON’T JUST FUCKING POP UP, SIX YEAR OLDS THROW TANTRUMS, BUT MAYBE THERE’S A FUCKING REASON YOURS HAS SO FUCKING MANY. I stopped because my brother told me that my screaming gave him a headache, and I didn’t want to hurt him. I fucking stopped. Because someone asked me too. Because it hurt them. Yeah, definitely fucking sounds like anger management issues to me. I don’t know why anyone would think anything different. She feels ignored and neglected because you ignore and neglect her? What? Are you fucking insane? Skip forward to school, me and my only friend have a falling out because she started hanging out with my cousin, who I hate because she inherited her father’s narcissist tendencies. I’m alone, friendless but still used, for a few years. Me and a really old friend bond over our mutual love for a book series. She moves away the next year. Another year alone. I realize my sister’s behaviour towards me is abusive and cut her out. My friend comes back for a summer camp, I cry from joy at the sight of her. She’s not interested in being my friend anymore. Another year alone, another knife in my bleeding back. My mom and I have several fights over my cold behavior towards my sister. I stop talking to her outside of absolute necessity. I’m depressed. I start to cut. My other friend has a falling out with my cousin, and comes back to me. She’s not genuinely interested in being my friend, but I’m so lonely I don’t care. Next year I skip a grade. Meet some great people, but their tough-love friendship probably isn’t the best for my mental health. I don’t care, because they actually want to be my friends. I continue to self-harm. My mom finds out. She yells at me for not telling her, then starts sobbing, making me comfort her. She tells my dad, they tell my doctor. I’m given medication. I go to a different highschool than my friends. I make two new friends. Drift apart with one, latch on to the other. I stop idolizing my brother. Other is not a good friend. Other ignores me for her boyfriend, stands me up on plans we made, and she refuses to apologize for anything she does. I have a silent falling out with other. I no longer self-harm. I have a fight with my mom and tell her why I don’t talk to my siblings anymore. She gets us family therapy. It helps. I grow comfortable with the people in my homeroom, rekindle friendship with the first friend, and become friends with one of her other friends. Me and my mom have another fight. I confess how angry I am. She starts crying. A couple days pass. I go to my dad’s house. I don’t want to. I’m afraid to get into arguments with him or my step-mom. I’m afraid of my step-mom. She’s too controlling, and I react badly to authority. She likes to bad-mouth my mom, I defend her, because she doesn’t mean to mess up like she does. I’m afraid of her. I tell my dad. He tells her. She tries to be nice, to compromise. I feel betrayed. We work it out. I still feel betrayed. I almost always feel betrayed lately. I’m more mature than most of the adults in my life. I have been since I was thirteen. My mom requests that my step-mom not be included in the latest psychiatrist meeting. She is. My mom pitches a fit and I calm her down. A week passes. I’m at my mom’s house again. A clusterfuck of stressful surprises and vicious fights with my sister blindside me one night. I’m so angry I don’t know what to do. I lock myself in my room and throw a chair at the wall. It doesn’t help. I start hitting the wall and myself. It doesn’t help. I’m sobbing. My mind is splintering under the pressure. It feels like a bone breaking. I bang my head against the wall as hard as I can. It doesn’t help. I claw at my hair and face. I slap myself. I scream as loud as I can. It doesn't help . I frantically grab a pin and stab it into my arm. It helps. I’m calmer. I start scraping my arm with the pin, drawing blood. It’s not a blade, but it works. I’m calmer. I can stop now. I don’t want to. I’m terrified of that. I curl into a ball and sob. I don’t come out of my room for two days. I still want to cut, but I don’t. I tell my mom what happened. She makes me and my sister sit down with her to talk it out. My sister is too defensive for us to really get anything done. Her defensiveness makes me aggressive. My mom suggests I have anger management issues. I feel ignored and dismissed again. I feel powerless. I feel like I did as a child. I have a panic attack and lock myself in my room for the rest of the day. My mom says she’s sorry. I miss a day of school. I buy tons of sweets and junk food, and lock myself in my room again. I go to school. I start sobbing in third period and spend the rest of the day in the counselor's office. School ends. I failed half my classes because of missing work. I lock myself in my room again. I want to cut. I don’t.

[fireandgloryrpg]

Congratulations Cal and welcome! We’re so happy to accept your application to play Maia Hayes with the faceclaim of Seychelle Gabriel in Fire & Glory RPG! We can’t wait to begin roleplaying with you so please remember to look over our checklist!

Out of Character Information:

Name: Cal

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 22

Timezone: MST

Activity: I’m usually more active in the evenings than the mornings, simply because of work. I usually get online a couple hours every night to do threads.

In Character Information

Name: Maia Hayes

Age and Birthday: 21, November 7th, 1996

Faceclaim: Seychelle Gabriel or Kelsey Chow

Heritage: Daughter of Cupid

ABILITIES: She is exceptionally gifted in archery and has minor powers of invisibility, though this is not something she can control very well yet. It requires more practice for her to fully get the hang of it. At the moment, when she focuses all her energy and concentration, she can briefly turn invisible. She cannot use any weapons and becomes visible when she does anything strenuous that breaks her concentration.

Affiliation: 2nd Cohort Centurion

Headcanons:

1)      When she first arrived at Camp Jupiter at the age of 14, Maia was inspired by the rise of Michael Kahale to become a Centurion. When she first arrived and was claimed by Cupid, she was less than thrilled. The god of shooting people in the butt and forcing them into love at first sight? But, when she heard of Michael Kahale, how he was a son of the goddess of love, proving people wrong about Venus on his quest to become a Centurion? She was in awe. Many people assumed that, as the daughter of Cupid, Maia was vapid, obsessed with love, and meddlesome in the affairs of others. However, as Cupid is the son of both Mars and Venus, there is a very warlike aspect to him and Maia has inherited that. She trained hard, proved herself, earned the loyalty of her peers, and rose through the ranks to become one of the two Centurions of the 2nd Cohort.

2)      Despite being the child of Cupid, Maia is incredibly bad at love when it comes to herself. While she can usually gauge the affections of others with ease, she has little to no perception of when people have feelings for her. Her last relationship ended fairly badly, due to the fact that she misinterpreted some of the signals and thought that her ex was cheating on her. In reality, they were trying to surprise her with a vacation trip. This led to a lot of arguing and Maia ended things abruptly because she was more focused on becoming Centurion than on their relationship.

Biography:

Growing up, Maia never really had a parental figure in her life. Her father was out of the picture and her mother… while well intentioned, was never the best provider. Her mother could rarely hold down a job and Maia spent much of her early life moving from shelter to shelter with her mother. She had to grow up quickly and learned how to take care of herself, because her mother was never going to do it. No, all her mother cared about was trying to make herself beautiful again, to reclaim the spark that drew Maia’s father in and find him.

Maia has always known that her father was something else; she just hadn’t realized that something else was a Roman god. Her mother had an almost fanatical obsession with the father of her child, to the point of erecting a small shrine that she would spend hours on end staring at, stroking the frame of the photograph that she never let Maia look at. Her mother never really explained who her father was, but based on the little stories and the delusions that were crafted around those stories, Maia assumed that her father had been someone famous who’d abandoned them when he found out her mother was pregnant.

But, when Maia entered middle school, things began to change around her. For starters, she was getting into fights at school, fights that left her beaten with protestations of, “But he wanted to eat me!” or “Can’t you see he only has 1 eye!” Of course, these were met with recommendations for her to see the school counselor. And that was how Maia encountered a former member of the Roman Legion. He was her guidance counselor and the only person who believed her stories about the strange monsters who were bullying her. But, in true Roman fashion, he did very little to actually help her and instead sat back and watched her fight against her situation.

She learned to be sneaky, to pay more attention to those around her, and to fight smart rather than hard. She eventually tricked the cyclops who was tormenting her into staring at the sun too long and blinding himself, effectively neutralizing the threat he posed to her. Maia’s resourcefulness impressed her counselor and, upon graduation from middle school, he wrote her a shining letter of recommendation and directions to the Wolf House.

Her trials at the Wolf House were difficult, but she overcame them and eventually found her way to Camp Jupiter, where she was placed within the 2nd Cohort because of her excellent recommendation letter. While life at Camp Jupiter was hard, it was one that she loved. It gave her the stability and discipline that her home life lacked, an actual family who cared for her, and training that pushed her to her limits. And when she was claimed by her father and realized just who he was, everything made so much more sense. Her mother had been struck by Cupid’s arrow, was obsessed because of his spell. The pieces all fit and it enraged Maia. How could her father do that? How could he toy with her mother’s affections and then just abandon her? It’s something that she still holds against her father, even if she has come to terms with the reality of the situation. However, what Maia doesn’t know is that her father never shot her mother, never meant for the situation to be so dire. No, her mother had found her Cupid’s arrows and accidentally pricked her finger with one, cursing herself to become utterly and completely enamored with the god. Something that Cupid never wanted for her.

Since joining the Legion, Maia has worked hard to prove herself and has focused much of her time and energy into becoming incredibly deadly with a bow and arrow and developing her leadership abilities. It’s been a long climb to the top, but it is one that she would do again in a heartbeat because it is what got her to the position she is today. Maia made friends and allies because of her efforts. She doesn’t want people to follow her because they love her— she wants them to follow her because they respect her.

Para Sample:

Maia squinted across the Field of Mars, looking at the lines of dummies that were now riddled with arrows. Her team of archers was coming along quite nicely and hopefully, if they proved themselves, she would be able to create an auxiliary unit of Sagittarri from the Second Cohort. If the Senate approved of such a decision, of course. When she had seen that they had all these talented archers fighting alongside the rest of the legion with spears and swords, Maia took it upon herself to do some supplemental training.

“Nice job, excellent shooting from this range.” She said as they ran out to retrieve their arrows. Maia kept an eye out for her own unique arrows, the nock painted pink as a small gesture of tribute to her own father.

“Maia, hey.” One of the other members of her cohort jogged alongside her. “I was wondering if you think we’d actually be able to focus on doing more of this, you know? I mean, training with the spear is like, really important, but… My dad’s Apollo. This just makes so much more sense.”

Maia nodded, though she chose her words carefully. “I understand what you mean about this feeling a lot more natural. But, we’re Romans. We do our duty and we follow the decisions of the Senate.” She said as she grabbed one of her arrows and yanked it out of the shoulder of a dummy, bits of cloth coming loose with the sharp tip when she pulled it free. “But. If you speak to the right person, your voice can be heard in the Senate.” She said with a wink. The politics of New Rome were hard to bear at times, but that was democracy for you.

“Alright, let’s go for one more round and then we’ll call it a day.” Maia said as they returned from the targets. A hearty cheer went up from the group and she smiled to herself. This is what she lived for, hearing the excited sounds of her fellow Romans, wanting to prove themselves and to make a difference.

“First archers raise!” She shouted and rows of composite bows glimmered gold in the sunlight, her own among them. “Draw! Fire!” A horde of black arrows shot into the sky, launching into the air, but she didn’t bother with watching them fall. No, if they were in a real battle, all that mattered was that their arrows were being sent away.

“Second archers forward!” The row of archers behind her line switched places with her own line, fresh arrows ready to be sent skyward. “Raise! Draw! Fire!” Maia called out as she drew a new arrow from her quiver, knocking it with a practiced hand. “First archers forward!”

The drill continued on and on, a delicate dance between the two lines creating volley after volley of arrows, until at last they ran out of arrows. Maia panted, arms aching and voice hoarse from yelling, but she couldn’t care less. Even from here, she could see that dummies had been absolutely torn to bits, shredded by the intense barrage of arrows.

“Nicely done everyone! Next time, I want us to work on our mobility so we’re going to be running through some moving formations. But, for now, relax and get some rest. You all deserved it, I’m so proud of you.” She said, smile stretching from ear to ear as the group dispersed. Maia watched as they headed off to retrieve their arrows and let out a small sigh.

“Bet you never thought one of your kids could do that, huh, Dad?” She muttered as the magical arrow that always appeared when her quiver was empty burned against her skin. What a gift, a cursed arrow, dooming whoever it struck to a life of obsessive love. A gift that she vowed never to use. She’d earned her place in Camp Jupiter, in New Rome, by her own right and worth. She would never stoop to his level.