#and i just got back from my summer camp job. i still need to digitize my inventory and write my closing report

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Me: I should probably clean my room, unpack, find my laptop and finish the work tasks that were due yesterday

Also me: I think I'm going to hot glue flowers, vines, and ribbons to a basket instead :)

[lewmagoo]

six summers | bob floyd

description: it's been six years. six years since you walked away from the man you loved. six years since the night that your own foolish actions led to the disappearance of sixteen-year-old melissa seresin. you’ve spent these last few years living with crippling guilt. and after everything that happened, the last thing you are expecting is an invite to return to the camp and reassume your role as counselor. but here you are, staring in disbelief at a letter asking you to do just that. providing you with the opportunity to make things right. will you be able to come to terms with the past and allow yourself to accept this second chance? or will you let your guilt consume you?

characters: bob floyd x reader, the dagger squad as their respective characters, pete mitchell, penny benjamin, a number of my own ocs

warnings: 18+ only, mentions of death, guilt, references to sex, mentions of anxiety

series status: ongoing

listen to the playlist here!

this story is inspired by @ryebecca and this fantastic moodboard she made ; i also drew some inspiration from riley sager's the last time i lied

*this is my own original work - i do not consent to having it reposted or redistributed in any way

July 30th, 1980

1:15 am

All you felt was terror. Icy cold, like someone had shoved their frigid fingers beneath your shirt, digits pressing harsh, angry bruises into the skin while they were at it. Your arms were wrapped around yourself as you stood in the damp morning air, your eyes flitting about nervously, your gut churning with nausea. 

“You do realize that your negligence in this situation is going to come with consequences, right? How could you be so stupid?!” Penny Mitchell’s voice had a sharp edge to it, despite her lowered tone. Her eyes were piercing. You couldn’t look at her.

“Don’t try to pin this all on her. I’m just as much to blame.” That was Bobby’s voice, coming from beside you, an air of protectiveness emanating from him as he stepped closer, standing in solidarity with you.

“Oh, trust me, I’m holding you responsible, too. But she’s the one who was supposed to be in charge of that cabin. If she would have been at her post, this wouldn’t have happened. But no! The two of you were off doing God knows what, while one of our campers wandered off into the night!” 

Penny got into your face, pointing her finger, her anger palpable, radiating off her in waves. “You had better pray that girl is still alive, because if she winds up dead, her blood is on your hands, counselor.”

May 18th, 1986

10:30 am

“Mail’s in!” The voice of your roommate carried through your apartment, pulling your attention from the rhythmic tapping of the antique typewriter you’d picked up from a yard sale. Without a second thought, you sprang from your chair, flinging open your bedroom door, bare feet quick against carpet as you hurried toward the kitchen, where Margie was just walking through the door with a stack of mail. 

“Any of it addressed to me?” You asked, a hopeful inflection in your voice. 

Margie nodded, tossing the envelopes onto the countertop. “Yeah, you’re popular, got two letters addressed to you.”

Eagerly, you shuffled through the stack before you located the letters she was talking about. One had no definitive markings, so you had no idea where it was from. But the other had a promising logo on the front– The Capital Gazette.

“The Gazette sent something back!” You exclaimed, flipping the envelope over, fingers trembling as you tore into the seal. 

Margie gasped, her attention immediately zeroing in on the letter you held. “What did they say?!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Gimme a minute!” You shot back as you rushed to unfold the paper. Your eyes hurriedly scanned the contents, but within moments, your shoulders fell, the thrill of hope fading away to heavy disappointment. The words we regret to inform you were all you needed to read to know what the letter was about.

“I didn’t get the job,” came your glum statement.

“What?” Margie snatched the paper off the counter when you let it drop, reading it for herself. “Oh, come on! You’re the best damn writer I know, how could they turn you down?!”

You shook your head, fighting the tears of disappointment that had gathered on your lash line. “They don’t need me. They’ve got better writers.”

“That’s bullshit!” She huffed, shaking her head, knocking some of her unkempt curls loose from her haphazard ponytail. 

“Whatever,” you said, bitterly. “There are other newspapers I can apply to. Other magazines. People are hiring all over the place,” you said, hoping to instill hope in your own heart. But it did little to lift your spirits. 

Your roommate sighed softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Thanks, Mar. So am I.”

Her attention shifted to the other, unopened letter on the counter. “What’s that one say?”

With a clueless shrug, you reached for it. All it bore was your address in handwriting that was oddly familiar. Tentatively, you tore into the envelope, brows furrowed as you unfolded the paper and began to read.

And then, “holy shit.”

“What is it?” Margie demanded, curious. When you looked at her, she noticed the expression of worry etched into your brow. 

“Camp Mitchell,” you whispered. 

At that, the woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God.” And then, she waved her hand, motioning you on. “What does it say?”

“They…they want me to come back as a counselor.”

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out to you because I wanted to extend a formal invitation to return to camp as a counselor this summer. I know that things ended on a sour note for all of us involved, but Pete and I desire to breathe new life into this camp. We want to give other campers the chance to experience the wonder and magic of summertime at Camp Mitchell. I understand if you would prefer not to return, but it would be an honor to have you back with us again. Think we can agree to let bygones be bygones? I sure do hope so. Please give me a call at the number below and let me know if you would like to return and reassume your role as a camp counselor. Arrival deadline for counselors is May 24th. Hope to see you soon!

Best wishes, 

Penny Mitchell

You stared at the words in absolute shock. They wanted you to come back? After everything that had happened? After your own foolishness had resulted in a girl going missing? You had to admit, it was a bold move on Penny’s part. 

The police had heavily investigated you when young Melissa Seresin went missing six years prior. Penny had even blamed you for the girl’s disappearance. It was hard to imagine her wanting you to come anywhere near her camp ever again.

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, tossing the letter back onto the counter and stepping toward the kitchen table, where you hurriedly pulled out one of the chairs and lowered yourself into the seat. Two life-altering events had just taken place in the span of five minutes. You needed to process all of it. 

As you tried to regain your wits, Margie scanned over the letter. Then, she sauntered over to you, letting out a sigh as she pulled out the chair across from you and flopped down into it, her legs parted, arms falling down to dangle over the sides. She blew a pesky curl away from her face. 

Sympathetic brown eyes landed upon you, and the girl before you smiled softly. Understandingly. “What are you gonna do?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Since the job with The Gazette fell through…I might have no choice but to take up the offer to go back to camp. At least I’d be making some kind of income during the summer while I try to figure things out.”

Margie raised a dark brow. “Listen, you do what you think is best for you. But…after everything that happened there, are you sure you’re ready to go back? It’s only been six years.” She was not coming from a place of judgment. She was coming from a place of genuine concern for her friend. 

You groaned softly, placing your head in your hands. “I dunno know what to do. Honestly, I’m not ready. But then again it might give me closure. And maybe that’s what Penny is thinking. If she wants to make things right with me after the way things ended…maybe I should go.”

The girl sighed. “Yeah, I guess closure might be something that comes outta this. I just don’t want you to have to go through all that shit again, though.”

Your mouth quirked into a grateful smile. “I know, Mar. I’ve gotta think about it, first. I’m not making any decisions yet.”

“Well, let me know what you decide. Whatever choice you make, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

As Margie left you at the table to be alone with your thoughts, you considered the weight of the situation. It had all happened so fast, and you felt as if you were caught up in a whirlwind. You only had a week to make a decision, because you had to be at camp on the 24th if you decided to go. 

Were you ready to go back, after only six short years? The thought made your stomach turn. Camp Mitchell was a place that held a lot of trauma for you. Your life had fallen apart there. 

You had been a first-year counselor in the summer of 1980. A job meant to get you through the summer, before you returned to college in the fall. You remembered being so hopeful and excited about what the summer held. 

Camp Mitchell was a camp situated in Michigan’s wilderness. Secluded, surrounded by forests as far as the eye could see. Quaint little wooden cabins. A mess hall. A volleyball pit. A lake. All the other amenities that a typical summer camp would have. 

You were put in charge of the junior/senior girls' cabin. Eleventh and twelfth graders. You were slightly intimidated because you were only a few years older than they were. You worried that they would not respect you. But much to your relief, the girls accepted you with open arms. 

Throughout the many weeks of camp, you bonded with several different girls who passed through your cabin. But none of them connected as well with you as Melissa Seresin. 

July 1980

She was the younger sister of one of the other counselors, Jake Seresin, and she was sweet as could be. She attended camp most of the summer, because her brother worked there, and she didn’t want to remain stuck at home alone while her parents traveled for the summer. 

So, she tagged along with Jake. Unlike her brother, she was not cocky. She had a very kindhearted demeanor. A little spoiled, once in a while, due to being the youngest and only girl of rich parents and a doting older brother, but nothing you couldn’t tolerate. 

Melissa remained a semi-permanent fixture in your cabin, even as groups of girls from different places — schools, church youth groups, family groups, so on and so forth — passed through all summer. 

She knew the camp like the back of her hand, and had spent a few summers there already. You didn’t have to worry about her like you might other campers, because she was well aware of the camp’s procedures. 

That was why it was so jarring when, one night in the middle of the summer, she disappeared without a trace. 

Late one night, after lights out, the girls in your cabin noticed her absence. Melissa was always in bed come lights out. Not always asleep, but certainly always present. Her neatly made, unoccupied bed raised suspicions, but it was her missing backpack that made the girls think that she had left altogether.

You were not at your post like you were supposed to be. Earlier that night, you had enforced lights out, but soon after had slipped out into the night to meet someone. The girls ranged from fifteen to eighteen years old, so you were not particularly concerned about them getting up to mischief. But in your haste to leave, you neglected to double-check that Melissa was present. 

To your utter shame, you had left to meet up with another counselor. The head counselor of the seventh and eighth-grade boys' cabin, Robert Floyd. Bob to his friends. Mr. Bob to the campers. Bobby to you, and only you. 

It wasn’t in your nature to sneak around. Neither was it in Bob’s. But you had gotten tangled up in an impassioned summer fling, and you took advantage of every free moment you had to be together. 

It was in that time span of you and Bob sneaking off to the lake, that Melissa had gone missing. And when you returned to the cabin an hour later, the girls were all awake, in a slight state of upheaval. 

“Where have you been?!” Asked Claudia, one of the senior girls. “I was about to leave and go find Mrs. Mitchell!”

“I needed some air. Why, what’s up?” You cautiously asked. 

Claudia motioned to Melissa’s empty bed. “Melissa never made it in for lights out.”

You stared at the bed, its covers untouched and meticulously tucked in, as a hotel bed would be. That was the way she made it every morning. She hadn’t been in that bed since last night. “No, she was here when I left!” You insisted. 

“Um, no she wasn’t,” Marissa, another senior, piped up. “Plus, her backpack is gone.”

“Oh, God. Well, that’s my bad for sure. Okay, um, I’m sure she can’t have gotten far. She knows this camp well. Don’t worry, I’ll go take a look around. The rest of you, stay put. Lemme just do a count to make sure nobody else went off with her.”

After a headcount, you came up with fourteen girls. Melissa would make fifteen, so she was the only one missing. Huffing out a sigh, and attempting to keep yourself calm and neutral so the girls wouldn’t panic, you squared your shoulders.

“I’ll go grab another counselor and we’ll take a look. Claudia, you’re the oldest, so you’re in charge. Make sure no one leaves. The rest of you, try to get some sleep. I know you’re a little freaked right now but it’s gonna be okay.” The biggest lie you could have told them. It was, in fact, not going to be okay.

“What should we do if she comes back?” Claudia asked, running a nervous hand through her thick brunette locks. Her dark eyes were fearful, although she was trying to appear brave, just as you were trying to do. 

“Just make sure she stays put. I’ll come back and check in a bit, if I don’t find her, and we can touch base then.”

Once you were certain the girls understood the plan, you excused yourself again, stepping out into the humid July night. Crickets sang as you ambled down the path that led to the boys’ cabins, but the pounding of your heart in your ears drowned out the sound. 

Your hands shook, unsteady as you held your flashlight before you. Tears blurred your vision, and the heat of embarrassment washed over you. How could you be so stupid? Here you were, off getting laid while one of your girls was nowhere to be found.

You had to look for her, but you weren’t going to do it alone. Hurriedly, you ascended the steps of cabin 13, the first of the boys’ cabins. Light on your feet, so as not to step on any squeaky boards, you crept closer to the door. 

Three soft raps, five seconds apart. That was your code. And sure enough, within moments, the door inched open, and there was your Bobby. You had just seen him twenty minutes prior, but he’d already changed into his sleep clothes. An old camp shirt and basketball shorts. 

Brow furrowed, he quietly closed the door behind him, stepping out onto the porch. You reached for his hand and guided him off the porch, onto the soft, sandy ground. “What’s goin’ on, Kit?” He asked. The nickname he’d dubbed you for reasons so much more lighthearted than the situation you were facing.

“Melissa’s gone,” you whispered. “The girls said she was never there for lights out.”

“Huh? But you checked on them before you left.”

“I did, but I…I guess I just missed Melissa. I thought she was there, but tonight was so chaotic…God, I can’t believe I could be so stupid” You despaired.

“Shh,” Bob soothed, reaching out to run comforting hands down your arms. “Hey, she probably just went for a walk. I’m not close to her, but I know she likes to go and write in that journal of hers a lot. She’s probably doing that.”

“But that’s not like her. Yeah, she writes in her diary but she’s never done this before. Just…up and left like that. I’m scared, Bobby. I think something might’ve happened to her. And it’s all my fault.”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, don’t even let your mind go there. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” His hands had moved to cup your cheeks. “Tell you what, I’ll help you look for her. If we don’t find her in the next hour, we can tell Penny and get a search party goin’.”

You prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but the sick feeling in your gut told you otherwise. It was your fault, no matter how much Bobby tried to assure you it wasn’t. If Melissa was truly missing, then you were the one to blame. But you didn’t dare speak it into the air. You couldn’t.

“O-okay. We can look together, then.”

And so, the two of you set off on the search for Melissa Seresin. Missy, as her brother liked to call her. You thought of Jake, who was in charge of the senior boys’ cabin. You knew he’d be pissed that you didn’t wake him up immediately and tell him what was going on. He was very protective of his baby sister. But you didn’t want to involve him just yet. You had to try to find her yourself, first. 

You set out to search all the places she frequented. Melissa wasn’t as outgoing as her brother. She had a vibrant personality, but also had introverted tendencies. She cherished her alone time, so it wasn’t odd for her to be at the lake, or the horse stables, writing. But she was always visible, and she had never sneaked off before. And certainly not after dark, either. 

These woods were terrifying at night. It was easy to get lost in their vastness. Even a girl who knew her way around could get lost. But you prayed that wasn’t the case. 

You took to searching her usual hangout spots. The lake, even though you and Bob had been there a half hour ago, and hadn’t seen her. Sure enough, she wasn’t there. Then, you took a peek in the horse stables. The camp had not yet obtained horses to occupy the stables, so it was just an empty building.

Hopeful, you followed Bob inside, holding your breath as he called out, “Melissa? You in here, honey? It’s Bob Floyd.”

But you were met with dead silence, so deafening it brought a shiver down your spine. “Oh, my God. She’s gone. She’s gone forever. This is all my fault!” You panicked, burying your face in your hands. 

Bobby, ever the calm and steady one, gently soothed you. “Hey. Hey! Look at me.”

You lifted your tearful eyes to his face, illuminated by the yellow glow of your flashlight. 

“It’s gon’ be okay, alright? We’ll find her. We just need to go get Penny and Pete and tell ‘em what happened. We can get a search party organized. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Lovingly, he took your hand, and together, you made the trek back toward the main part of camp, where the office, mess hall, and staff quarters were. The entire walk, your mind was spiraling with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Melissa. 

Something was wrong. You knew it. 

And, as it would turn out, you were, unfortunately, right. Melissa Seresin never was found. Not when you and the other counselors organized a search party. Not when the police got involved. Not when Jake and Melissa’s dad, an agent in the FBI, got his team involved. It was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Gone without a trace.

Jake blamed you. But that was okay, because you blamed yourself, too. 

Your own negligence was the reason Melissa was gone. And the police grilled you for it. Much to your utter relief, the Seresins chose not to press charges. But you were left to live with the guilt, and that was punishment enough.

And now, here you were. Six years later. Wounds from the past only partially healed. Presented with an opportunity to go back to the place where it all started, and ended. If you did return, would those wounds reopen, and drain the blood from your veins? Or would those wounds finally heal?

And most importantly, did you have the guts to find out?

One Week Later

A ticket reading Harper, Michigan was clutched tightly in your hand, the paper rumpling from your grip. Your suitcase and duffel bag were beside you, as you stood at the bus depot, waiting for the Greyhound to pull up and take you to your destination.

“I still think you’re crazy for this,” Margie spoke from beside you. She’d come to see you off. 

You turned to her, taking in her soft smile, despite her disapproval of your choice. “I know,” you replied. 

“But I also understand why you want to do this. I really hope it gives you the closure you’re looking for.”

You threw your arms around your friend’s shoulders, hugging her tight. “Thanks, Mar. I’ll try to give you a call at some point in the next few weeks, but the only phone on the property is the one in the main office and I doubt I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can tell me all about it when you get back,” she assured you. 

You took one last good look at her, as you knew you wouldn’t see her for a few months, if you fulfilled your commitment to work the entire camp season. The late morning sun shone down from the sky, illuminating her dark curls. Always so unkempt, but the style suited her. 

“I’ll be seeing ya,” you finally said.

She nodded, squeezing your hand. “Take care of yourself. And good luck.”

The bus pulled into the stop as you bid your final goodbyes, and then, you handed off your luggage to the attendant to pack away beneath the bus before you climbed the steps into the large vehicle, flashing your ticket to the driver. You took a seat toward the back, settling in and placing your purse beside you, hoping that you would get two of the tackily upholstered seats all to yourself. 

As soon as you were settled, you fished your Walkman out of your bag, unraveling the headphones and placing them on your head. As soon as you hit play, the opening sound of the 1975 Eagles album, One of These Nights, filled your ears.

You had purposely chosen this tape to accompany you on your trip, because it held a lot of nostalgic memories for you. Namely, it had been a gift from your Bobby. He’d given it to you in the beginning stages of your romance, after you’d expressed to him that the album was one of your favorites.

“I want you to have it,” he insisted. “A memento that you can have all the time, to remind you of what a great time we had together here.”

And you did have a great time. But the trauma of Melissa’s disappearance had soured the whole thing. All you had left of Bobby was this tape, and a few braided jute bracelets he had made you, from plant fibers. You still wore them on your wrist to this day. 

He had tried to keep in contact with you after the camp shut down. He’d sent letters. Called your home phone. But you never answered. As much as you loved him, the reminder of what had happened was too painful, and you let your connection to him fizzle out. 

But as you listened to the familiar cords, a rush of memories flooded you, the wave so intense that it took your breath away. Flashes of Bob’s beautiful face. Twinkling eyes, blushing cheeks, a crinkled button nose. The prettiest laughter you’d ever heard.

Large, warm hands exploring. Lips trailing searing kisses down your sternum. Whispers of your name. Groans of pl–

With a gasp, you snatched the headphones off your head, eyes flickering about, as if someone around you could have heard your thoughts. But everyone else was in their own little world, completely oblivious to the salacious flashbacks you had just experienced.

But they made you warm with shame nonetheless. 

You’d be foolish not to admit that you’d thought of Bobby over the years. Looked back on your encounters with fondness. With desire. You’d been sexually involved with a few other people since then, but the entire time, you could only think of him. It was why you’d stopped seeing other people. They weren’t your Bobby. 

You wondered if he thought about you, too.

More importantly, you wondered if he’d be returning to Camp Mitchell like you were. Were you ready to face him again? The thought made your stomach flutter with butterflies. 

You imagined he’d moved on. He had to. Hell, he probably had a wife and kids already. Imagining such a thing sent a queasy rush through you. You still weren’t over him, and you supposed you never would be. He was your first great love. 

But he wasn’t the only person you would potentially face from your past. 

Your mind went to the other counselors you’d worked with that fateful summer. Specifically, you thought of Jake Seresin. Surely he wouldn’t return to camp, right? Not after his baby sister had disappeared from that very place. It had to be too painful for him. 

Little did you know, everyone you had worked with was also traveling from their own respective homes and cities, headed right for Camp Mitchell, just like you were. 

The camp was founded by Pete and Penny Mitchell, a husband and wife duo. They had started it with the best of intentions. It was in its fifth successful year when you came on staff. And that just so happened to be the last year it was in operation. 

Until now. 

What had made the couple decide it was a good idea to reopen the camp, you had no idea. But you were going to give it a chance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

But several hours later, as the Greyhound pulled into the station in Harper, a tiny town boasting of a general store, a bus depot, and a long, winding road that led up to the camp itself. 

As you stepped off the bus, you realized one very important detail: you had no idea how you were even getting up to the camp. Would they send a driver down to retrieve everyone? 

Your question was soon answered when you caught sight of a large white poster board propped against a nearby lamppost. CAMP MITCHELL STAFF WAIT HERE. A DRIVER WILL ESCORT YOU TO CAMP. 

With a sigh, you rolled your suitcase over to the post, hoping you wouldn’t have to wait long. And you didn’t. About five minutes later, an old teal-colored truck came down the road, its engine obnoxiously loud. On the side, Camp Mitchell was printed in bold letters. 

You straightened, smoothing out your travel-rumpled clothes as you grabbed your belongings, prepared to help load everything into the truck. It didn’t even occur to you that you might know the driver. You expected to meet someone entirely new. 

As soon as the vehicle pulled to a stop at the curb, you were already moving to the truck bed, hoisting your duffel bag over the side, letting it land with a satisfying thump. 

“Here, let me,” a familiar voice spoke up, and in moments, a pair of hands were stealing your suitcase away, heaving it into the bed. 

You looked up at the man assisting you, and your blood ran cold. As he turned from putting your luggage in place, he froze, too. Wide blue eyes, no longer hidden beneath a pair of wireframes, locked with your own. 

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. 

But he did. In a voice as smooth and soft as butter, yet breathless with surprise. “Kit?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. 

Kit. The nickname he’d dubbed you six years ago. It was something so simple. So silly. You’d had an affinity for KitKat bars that summer. They were the only candy bars you liked from the camp store. As a joke, Bobby had said “I should call you KitKat, since you like those things so much.”

And thus, it was shortened to Kit. The name stuck. 

Hearing it again made your head spin. You felt woozy on your feet. You swayed a little. A memory flashed in your mind. You and him. Sitting under the old weeping willow. His fingertips wiping chocolate from the corner of your mouth. 

It sent a burning ache through your chest. 

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “B-Bobby.” The first words you’d spoken to him in six years. 

He let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d show.” 

You gathered yourself, trying to regain your composure. “I didn’t either,” you whispered. 

He offered a tentative smile. “That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you, though.”

You lifted your head, brow furrowed in confusion. “You are?”

“Gosh, I am. It’s been too long. I didn’t…didn’t know what happened to you. You never responded to my calls or letters. I thought maybe…” He wouldn’t speak it out loud. He couldn’t. 

But you inferred what he meant from his tone. He’d feared that the trauma of what had happened had been too much for you to handle. That you’d succumbed to it all. 

“I was working on myself. Trying to heal.”

He nodded. “Understandable.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “I really am glad to see you, though. You look well.”

You shrugged. “I’m workin’ on it. And I’m glad to see you too.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and you realized how much he’d changed, but also stayed the same. He’d filled out. His shoulders were more broad. Muscular. His glasses were gone, presumably replaced with contacts. His hair, once close-cropped, was longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, peeking out from beneath the baseball cap he wore. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. 

He looked like a man. 

But there was still that boyish glint in his eyes, and hiding behind his smile. Still that same gentleness reserved particularly for you. It was overwhelming, and you could feel your chest beginning to tighten. 

“Are you, uh, are you ready to head up there? Or do ya need a minute?” Bobby asked, his voice low. Laced with concern. 

You stepped back. “I thought I could do this. Maybe I can’t.”

He let you have your space. “Take all the time you need.”

The rush of memories flooding you was overwhelming. The last time you saw him. The last thing you said to him. 

Six Years Ago

The day you left camp, it was raining. Pouring from the sky in sheets, washing everything in a gray hue that made the world look like a watercolor painting. 

The sandy ground squashed beneath your feet as you walked toward that old truck, with the camp’s logo on the side. Your luggage was stuffed into the truck bed, wrapped in plastic garbage bags so it wouldn’t get wet in the downpour. 

As you climbed into the cab, Bobby came running out of the main office, making a beeline for the truck. He scrambled to wrench open the door and join you inside, breathing labored as he settled into the seat. 

For a few moments, it was silent, save for the sound of him moving to start the engine. He fiddled with the heat dial, hoping to reduce the fog on the windows, as the rain had made the air unseasonably chilly that morning. 

You both sat there, staring out the windshield, watching the water trickle down the glass. He made no move to put the truck in gear. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

“Bobby—”

“No, listen to me. I’m sorry it came to this. It shouldn’t have.”

“What’s done is done. Please, let’s just get out of here. I can’t stay in this place another minute.”

Bobby lingered for a moment, his eyes on you, even as you refused to look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you’d melt into a fit of tears. So, with a soft sigh, he put the truck in drive, and began the journey down the winding dirt road that led out of camp. 

The trip was silent. You had nothing left to say, because you’d exhausted all your words these last few weeks. Countless hours of interrogation. Recounting that night over and over again. The conclusion was that a girl was missing, and it likely would not have happened if you’d been doing your job. That was a sense of guilt that you would have to live with for the rest of your life.

Bob pulled into the bus station fifteen minutes later, and you didn’t hesitate as you hurried to slide out of your seat, shoes colliding with wet asphalt. Your chest was tight, eyes blurring with tears as you rushed to grab your luggage. 

“Would ya stop for a minute?!” Bobby exclaimed, reaching out to gently grab at your arm. 

But you jerked away from him. “Please, don’t…don’t make this harder than it is,” you whispered.

He stared at you, brilliant blue eyes wide, filled with emotion. “So, what, you won’t even say goodbye?”

You feared that saying goodbye would break the dam, and you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together. You’d fall into his arms, sobbing your heart out, and you would never get on that bus. The man before you sighed, shaking his head before he moved to haul your suitcase out of the truck, placing the plastic-covered bag on the sidewalk. 

“That’s it then?” He spoke, his tone grim.

Squaring your shoulders, you nodded, forcing yourself to hold it together. “Goodbye, Robert.”

You turned to leave, and he watched you go, his heart falling to pieces within him. He was losing you, perhaps forever, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He wanted to go after you. Wanted to shake you and tell you to just listen. But you were so entrenched in the trauma of what had happened that he wasn’t sure you could listen to reason at all.

So he let you leave. He watched you climb onto that Greyhound, bound for home, all while he was left there with a wound in his heart, wishing that things could have ended differently. Wishing that your love for each other had been enough to keep you with him.

But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. And that was something he had to live with.

May 1986

Seeing you again was a lot for him. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. Even more so, now, if that was possible. He was also hit with a rush of emotions. He never thought he’d see you again. When he’d received the letter from Penny, inviting him back to camp, he had thought about you, and was sure you wouldn’t come back.

But here you were, standing before him, uncertain and anxious, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and comfort you. But he kept his distance, not wanting to invade your personal space. You weren’t his any longer. He could not touch you the way he used to. 

You took a moment to pull yourself together, taking a deep breath, counting to ten, trying to ground yourself. Then, you fixed your posture, and nodded in Bob’s direction. “Alright. I think…I think I’m okay. We can, um, we can leave if you’re ready.”

“Okay. Let’s go then.” He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into that old truck once again, just as you had six years ago. 

Everything had come full circle.

Bobby rounded the truck and settled into the driver’s seat, and soon, he’d started the engine, pulling away from the curb, turning onto the road that led up to camp. Your gut churned with anxiety. You were really doing this. There was no turning back now. 

The radio played softly as Bob drove. Some old country song. Hank Williams, you thought. Its grainy, peaceful tune did well to calm your anxiety. Your hands had stopped trembling.

“It’s been a while,” the man beside you murmured. His accent seemed to have gotten thicker, a slight twang to it. 

“I know,” you replied, staring down at your lap. Then, “God, I’m so sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t have gone no contact like I did. I got the letters you sent. And I got every message you left on my answering machine. But I just…I couldn’t bring myself to respond.”

He shook his head. “No, I get it. I should’ve given you more space. I know everything that happened was a lot for you.”

“But that’s no excuse for me to just ignore you. It wasn’t right of me. I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted. It’s in the past, Kit. We can leave it there.”

It was that easy. A soothing sense of relief washed over you, warming you from head to toe. That exchange made you feel a little more at ease, and the conversation soon shifted.

“Did everyone come back this year?”

He nodded, humming lowly. “Most of ‘em, surprisingly. Bradley, Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, Javy. Half got here last night. The rest came earlier this mornin’.”

You hesitated, picking at a jagged nail on your right hand. “And…Jake?”

Bob was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, him too.”

You recoiled in confusion. “But…why would he come back?”

“Penny didn’t say it in her letter, but they’re doing a dedication ceremony for Melissa. There’s a new garden area they installed in the main part of camp. It’s gonna be called Melissa Jo’s Garden. They had a plaque made and everything. Jake agreed to come for the ceremony. I dunno if he’s staying all summer though.”

“Oh.” It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs. You had not left things on a good note with Jake. He harbored deep resentment toward you for neglecting to watch over your cabin. He blamed you for his sister’s disappearance. 

“He seems to be handling everything alright. He might actually be okay with seeing you again.”

But you weren’t so sure. There was that nervousness again, roiling in your gut. Did you have the nerve to face him? And how would he react? You doubted he’d welcome you back with open arms. 

You’d soon find out, because just up ahead, the Camp Mitchell sign could be seen. Large, deep green in color, with white lettering. So familiar, yet so foreign all at once. 

You couldn’t believe you were back. What if this turned out to be the most foolish decision you’d ever made?

You didn’t have time to consider that, because Bobby was pulling into the common area in no time, and killing the engine. It was time to face the past you’d been running like hell to get away from. 

As Bob got out to gather your luggage, you pushed the old, squeaky passenger door open and let your feet land in the soft sand. 

The scent of pine and honeysuckle filled your nose. It sent an intense wave of nostalgia through you. So much had changed, and yet nothing had, all at the same time. 

The layout was still the same. Clinic. Main office. Mess hall. Common area. But in the middle of the main entrance was a small garden. Stone paths weaved throughout. Spindly bushes, multicolored flowers, and other plants decorated the soil. Right in the middle of the garden was what appeared to be a large stone, covered with a tarp. You assumed the plaque for Melissa was hidden beneath the tarp. 

And then, a voice caught your attention. You looked up to find Penny Mitchell approaching you. Blue cotton shorts, accessorized with a belt. A blue and white striped t-shirt tucked into them. A pair of hiking boots were on her feet. Practical, that one was. Always ready for an outdoor excursion at a moment’s notice.

You braced yourself, unsure of how she would behave toward you. She had rightfully held you responsible for Melissa’s disappearance, and you weren’t sure if she’d moved on from that. But, if she’d invited you back, she had to have at least found it in her heart to forgive you. You hoped so, anyway. 

“Welcome!” She said, sweeping her arms out in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Oh, um, thanks. Me…me too,” you said, unsure of the proper response. 

Bobby sidled up beside you. You didn’t feel so alone with him there.

“Did Bob fill you in on everything on the drive up?”

“Kinda, yeah,” came your answer.

Penny nodded. “Once everyone is settled, Pete and I will take you on a tour. We’ve made a lot of changes these last few months.” Then she looked at Bob. “Would you show her to her cabin? We’ll put her in cabin five.”

“Sure thing,” he replied.

“We’ll have a little orientation meeting after dinner. There’s a whole itinerary we have to go over. I put a schedule in your cabin. Any questions?”

Yeah, lots. You stared at her for a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you invite me back? After everything that happened?”

She regarded you silently, her expression neutral. Then, she said, “Because I believe in second chances. Or, rather, my husband does. He wanted to bring all of you back and start with a clean slate. Whether or not you’ve earned that second chance remains to be seen. But I hope you have.” Her words sent a painful ache through your chest. You didn’t blame her for being wary of you, but it still hurt. 

As she excused herself, you were once again left alone with Bobby. “Y’alright?” He gently asked, cadence low and comforting.

You processed his words for a moment. “Yeah…yeah. I’m okay.”

“You need a minute?”

“No. Let’s just get my stuff to my cabin.”

With a single nod, he grabbed your suitcase and duffel bag, moving to walk up the hill. You followed closely behind, letting the rush of memories ebb through you. The cabins were small, build from dark wood, with green paint detailing the shutters and doors. They looked like they’d received fresh coats of paint, but otherwise, everything was still the same.

It didn’t take long to reach cabin five. Bob carried your things inside, and you slowly followed, your heart quickening as you stepped through the door. The scent of cedar and pine was familiar and painful all at once. 

This wasn’t the cabin you’d been in when you were here last. You were in cabin two then, just one over from this one. Even so, it looked so eerily similar that for a moment, you were transported back to the summer of 1980.

Funnily enough, Bob had been the one to show you to your cabin for the first time that year, too.

“You’ve still got ‘em.”

Your eyes flickered to him, and your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“The bracelets I made you.”

Oh. You looked down, eyeing your wrist, where the two braided jute bracelets remained, from when he’d made them for you that year. Dyed faintly with berry juice. Fraying at the edges, but still intact. “Um, yeah…I do. Guess I just could never bring myself to take them off.”

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out. You let him gingerly take your wrist into his palm. His fingers brushed against the braided rope, and his touch sent goosebumps across your skin. “After all these years,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his voice would fail him.

All at once, you were floored with an intense wave of emotion, so powerful it nearly drove you to your knees. It hit you out of nowhere, like a gut punch. “Bobby,” you whimpered.

Shocking blue flickered to meet your wide-eyed gaze, and his face crumpled, bottom lip quivering. “Kit.”

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you were in each other’s arms then, holding on tightly, as if the other would float away if you loosened your grip. The sound of soft sobs reached your ears, and you realized that they were coming from you.

“I never should have walked away from you. Never, ever!” You cried against his chest. “I’m sorry!”

“No, shhh,” he soothed, cradling your head against him. “Don’t do this to yourself. It’s okay, you’re forgiven.”

You pulled back to look at him, shaking your head. “It’s not okay!”

Two large hands came up to hold your face. “It hurt me, alright? I’ll admit that. Broke my heart in two. But I never held it against you, because…because I knew everything you’d been through. I know that summer was the worst time of your life. It made sense to me if you didn’t want to speak to me ever again. I would’ve just been a reminder of everything that happened.”

“But I did want to talk to you, Bobby. I did. I just couldn’t get past the goddamn trauma.”

He shook his head, his face kind. “I know. But we’re here now, together. That’s gotta count for something.” Maybe we’ve been given a second chance, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He was well aware that your romance might never be rekindled. However, he was content to just remain friends with you if it meant that you would be in his life again.

You went quiet, letting your head fall against his chest again. You couldn’t believe you were here, standing in the middle of a cabin at the place where you had lost everything. It felt so surreal. It was as if a million years had passed since you saw him here last, and yet, it also felt like no time had passed at all. 

There was so much that needed to be discussed. But there was no hurry. For now, you were just relieved to know that you had not burned a bridge with your first great love. If nothing else went right for you this summer, he was the one good thing that would come out of it. 

“I’m glad…I’m glad it was you who picked me up at the station,” you admitted.

Bobby smiled softly. “So am I.” He searched your face, as if memorizing it. “I really thought I wouldn’t ever see you again.”

You hummed in agreement. “Me too. But I guess fate wanted us to meet again.”

“She’s a tricky one, that Fate.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Finally, he parted from you, though the absence of his body made yours feel cold. He didn’t want to overstep. “Well…I guess I’ll let you get settled.” He moved toward the door, but your voice gave him pause.

“Actually, wait for me. I don’t want to face everyone alone. I’d prefer it if we walked together.” Bobby might be the only person in this damn place to accept you again. You wanted to cling to that, and the security it provided.

He gave a single nod. “Alright. You want any help getting settled, then?”

Together, you set about getting everything situated. Bob went around and checked the cabin for spiders, because he knew you weren’t a fan of the little (and sometimes big) guys. He found one, which he very gently coaxed into his hand (murmuring “c’mon, little buddy” as he did) and released it outside. 

Once you had your stuff organized, and did a quick clean sweep of the cabin, you were ready to join everyone else. There was a paper posted on the wall just beside the door, detailing the itinerary for counselors and other camp staff. In about fifteen minutes, dinner would be served in the mess hall. 

Directly following that, there would be an orientation meeting in the meeting hall, a place where staff meetings usually took place. Assemblies with the campers were also held there. It ws in that hall that you would be forced to face people from your past. Namely, you’d have to face Jake again. 

The thought made your stomach churn, and your hands tremble. But then, Bob’s gentle presence brought you back to the presence, and your racing heart calmed down a little. 

He offered you a kind smile. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod.

Together, you walked out of that cabin and into the camp grounds, falling into silence as your steps synced up. There were so many things Bobby wanted to say, but he didn’t want to inundate you with questions and confessions, so he left it. He knew you had to be terribly overwhelmed as it was. He didn’t want to be the cause of more stress.

So, silence it was, all the way until you got to the mess hall. He stopped to open the door for you, and you hesitated. 

“It’s okay,” he assured you. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

You liked the sound of that. 

So, with a deep breath and squared shoulders, you stepped through that door, entering the room. Dark wood stretched out before you. The mess hall was a similar design to the cabins, just much bigger. High ceilings with unfinished wooden beams. Wooden floors and walls. Dark green paint detailing. Windows on each wall to let in natural light. A large stone fireplace in the middle of the room. 

It was very cozy, but as your gaze shifted to the table of faces to your left, you felt a chill run over you. Here goes nothing.

You appraoched the table, taking in each person seated there. At the head of the table was Pete Mitchell, Penny’s husband. He lifted his head and offered a smile, but you couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. Beside him, Penny glanced up at you.

Then, to her right, you saw Natasha Trace. Another person you had once had a connection with. She was good friends with Bobby before you met him. The two of them had gone to school, and eventually college, together. Beside her was a woman you’d never seen before, but judging by the way Natasha held her hand, you inferred that they were in a relationship. It was no surprise to you. Nat had always made it clear that she only had eyes for women.

Then, on the other side of the woman was Mickey Garcia, another one of Bob’s good friends. His best friend, in fact. Mickey offered you a smile, and you took that as acceptance of you. He always had been rooting for you, all those summers ago.

Beside Mickey was Javy Machado. You couldn’t get a read on him. His face bore a neutral expression as he regarded you. Back then, he’d been best friends with Jake, and had therefore been completely on his side. You assumed the sentiment was still the same. 

Then, of course, there was Bradley Bradshaw. He was Pete and Penny’s surrogate son, in a way. After Bradley’s mother died when he was a teenager, Pete had brought him on to learn how to run the camp. One day, he would take charge of the place, after the husband and wife duo retired.

All of them were seated around that table, but you noticed that one was missing. You had no idea where Jake was. Maybe he wasn’t joining everyone for dinner. Maybe he’d left. A part of you hoped so.

“Wanna sit here?” Bobby asked, motioning to two seats next to Bradley. 

You nodded, and he pulled out your chair for you. Once you were seated, he took his own seat beside you, between Bradley and you. The other man leaned over the table, and you got a look at his face for the first time in six years. He’d lost his baby face, and was now sporting a defined jaw. A neatly kept mustache shadowed his upper lip. You thought it suited him. “Good to see you again,” he said.

Bradley’s statement seemed to break the ice, and a few murmurs of greeting echoed around the table. Even still, an air of awkwardness hovered over the group. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin. But you were here now, and there was no turning back. 

The food was set up around the table like a regular family dinner. Simple foods. Sandwiches. Veggies and dip. Chips. You grabbed a sandwich, but you found your stomach in knots, and the thought of eating anything nauseated you. 

“Well, Penny, you did it. Got us all to come back. Good on you,” Natasha spoke up.

Penny shrugged. “Pete and I have been talking about it for a while. I know the way things ended back in ‘80 was…bad, to say the least. But we really feel that this place has potential, and we could breathe new life into it.”

“What do the Seresins think about that?” Javy asked, his brow raised.

“We think it’s an okay idea,” a voice spoke up from across the room. 

The group looked up all at once to see the man stepping through the door. You tensed, taking in a breath. Your heart rate picked up, thudding against your chest as the chill of anxiety crawled along your spine. 

“Really?” Natasha piped up.

Jake nodded as he approached the group. “Yeah. Seeing as how Penny wants to dedicate this place to Missy. We all remember how much she loved it here. I firmly believe she’d want it to keep going.”

Penny smiled. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Jake.”

He stopped at the empty end of the table, hands coming up to rest upon the back of the chair there. “But I do have one question.” 

“What’s that?” The woman asked.

Jake smiled, but you could tell is wasn’t a real smile. In fact, when you looked at his eyes, the pale green was filled with snake’s venom. “What the fuck is she doing here?” He jabbed his finger in your direction, and you froze, your eyes growing wide.

That was more like the reaction you’d been expecting. 

Penny faltered, her smile fading. Beside you, you felt Bob stiffen. But you didn’t dare pull your eyes away from Jake’s accusatory glare. 

“I-I just thought that–”

“I don’t care. Look, Penny; I really appreciate you putting this all together, but in what world did you think it was okay to invite the person who had a hand in my sister’s disappearance?”

“She isn’t the one who wanted to invite her. I am.” Pete stood from his seat, his eyes narrow. “I thought that she deserved a second chance. And I wanted you to find it in yourself to allow her that chance.”

“Oh, really? What, is she gonna bring my sister back? Hm?” Jake’s gaze was so cold. You wished the ground would swallow you up. How on earth could you have thought this was a good idea?

“No, but–”

“If she stays, I’m refusing the dedication. She’s the reason I lost Missy. She doesn’t get to just stand there and pretend she’s sorry, while my parents and I are still grieving.”

Your eyes had blurred with tears, and your chest was tight. You should never have come. 

But then, “leave ‘er alone, Jake.” Bobby stood up, facing the other man. 

“Oh, you coming to her rescue is rich, Baby on Board. Wasn’t it your dick she was sucking when my kid sister went missing?”

The room went dead silent.

Bob took a breath. Then two. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. She’s here, whether you like it or not. And she deserves another chance, just as much as anybody.”

“No, you know what? You’re right. This was a mistake. I should never have come,” you spoke up, rising from your chair.

But Bobby grabbed your arm. “No. Don’t let him drive you away.” His eyes were pleading.

You pulled away from his grasp, sadly shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Then you turned to Jake. “I wish I could bring your sister back. But I can’t. You need to know that I cared about her. And I should have been more thorough when I did bed check that night. I regret it every day, and I’ve lived with that guilt for the last six years. But my guilt is nothing compared to the loss you and your parents have had to endure. And for that, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll leave, if that’s what you’d prefer. I never should have come in the first place.”

With that, you ducked your head, pushing your chair out of the way as you scrambled toward the exit. You could hear Bob calling your name, but you ignored him, your legs carrying you quickly toward the door. Your vision had tunneled, and your chest was heavy. You had to get out of that building. You felt like you were suffocating. Like someone had pulled a plastic bag over your face.

You threw your arms out in front of you and shoved the door open, letting out a great heaving sob as you stumbled down the front steps. You made it a few feet from the stairs before you leaned forward, hands braced on your knees as you fell apart.

“Oh, God!” You cried. You heard footsteps quickly approaching. It made you whirl around. “Just leave me the fuck alone!” Came your wail.

“No! I don’t care what he says, you deserve to be here!” 

It was Bob, you realized. 

“What do you want me to do, then?! He doesn’t want me here, Bob! And I never should’ve come. So just…just pull the truck around and I’ll get my luggage and get the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

“Either you take me back to the station, or I’ll get someone else to do it!”

“No other buses are running until tomorrow morning, so you can’t leave anyway! You’re stuck here for the night.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. “I just want to leave!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders. “You’re not listening to me! I can’t handle watching you walk away from me again. I lost you once, and I’ll be damned if I let Jake Seresin be the reason I lose you again!”

And then, silence.

“Oh.” 

He released your shoulders suddenly, his face stricken. “I-I’m sorry. I’m coming on way too strong. This is probably super overwhelming for you and I’m just making it worse.”

“No. No, you…you aren’t.” A pause. And then, “I don’t want to walk away from you again, either.”

“If you want to leave, then I’ll take you to the station tomorrow morning. But I just want you to try and stay. I know Jake doesn’t want you here, but I’m sure Pete can convince him to at least give you a chance.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

However, back inside the mess hall, a discussion was happening. “I’m sorry, Jake. I know we should have told you we invited her back. I take full responsibility for that oversight. But your parents…they knew she was coming. We checked with them beforehand. Your mom is of the belief that we should give her another chance.”

“What?” Jake asked, incredulous. 

“Yeah. So, I know it’s hard for you, but if your mom is willing to forgive, then I’m going to respect that, and give this girl a chance. You know she’s lived with this guilt for so long. I think that’s punishment enough.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. If it was up to me, she’d be on the next Greyhound outta here. But if my mom wants her here…” He looked out the window, eyeing you and Bob as you spoke to each other. “It boggles my damn mind, but I’ll respect my mom’s wishes. That doesn’t mean I forgive her, though. I don’t think I ever will. But you go ahead and keep her on staff. Something tells me it ain’t gonna end well, but what do I know?”

And with that, Jake stalked off in a huff. 

He swung the screen door open, and your head shot up, your eyes widening as you saw him coming down the steps. Bobby took a protective step toward you. 

“You can stay,” Jake said as he walked past. “But only because my mom is the one who wanted you here.” Then he leaned in close. Well, as close as Bob would allow him to get. “But just know this. If you fuck up in any way, shape, or form, I’ll ship you back home myself. We clear?”

“Y-yes,” you responded with a curt nod. 

“Good.��� 

And with that, Jake Seresin walked away.

You let out an unsteady breath, your shoulders slumping. Bobby looked at you, his gaze questioning. “What are you gonna do?”

You shook your head. “I…I don’t…”

“You don’t need to decide now. Just sleep on it. Make your decision with a fresh mind, alright?”

“Yeah,” came your whispered reply. “Yeah, that’s–that’s what I’ll do.”

He took his baseball cap off, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot for you. Do ya wanna just turn in early? I’m sure they’d understand if you skipped orientation.”

You considered his words, and finally, you shook your head. “No. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to go, and see how I do. But I think I’m going to just go and lay down for a while until then.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“I’d like that.”

With a soft smile and a nod, Bobby began to guide you back toward the cabins. Your hands were shaking, and your head was spinning. It felt like someone had shoved their hands into your chest and taken hold of your lungs, squeezing them with all their might. 

It was a painfully uncomfortable feeling, and you hoped that it would pass soon. But as long as you were here, in this place that held so many memories, it would probably remain a permanent fixture in your body. The only thing that soothed it was Bobby’s presence.

Even after all these years, and after the sour note you’d left him on, being near him still felt so comforting and peaceful. It was an odd, but welcome, sensation. You hadn’t expected it to be this way. When you thought of seeing him again, you imagined it would be painfully awkward, or that maybe he would refuse to speak to you. 

But this was Robert Floyd you were talking about. He didn’t hold grudges. And if he did, then he’d been deeply hurt beyond repair. It was a relief to know that things were not beyond mending between you. At the moment, you were too overwhelmed and emotional to even consider what it might mean for you in the future. You were just grateful that he was near you again.

So much had changed. When you’d left him, he’d been more gangly. Twenty-two years old. Large wireframes perched atop his nose. All round cheeks and softer features. Now, he seemed a little taller. Or maybe, his slight bulk made him appear so. Gone were those gangly limbs, replaced with muscle that had been defined by physical labor. 

His hands, though. His hands had stayed the same. They’d always been big, but he’d grown into them. They suited him now. Strong and steady. Farmer’s hands. 

“You want me to come get you when it’s time for orientation?” The low cadence of his voice jarred you from your daydream.

“If you would? I forgot to pack my battery alarm clock, so have no way of keeping time.”

He nodded. “Sure. I can get ya one of those clocks. I actually have two, you can have one of mine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, I don’t need two anyway. I’ll bring it to you later tonight.”

You shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Together, you stopped just outside your cabin, lingering at the foot of the stairs. Bob’s face was gentle, his eyes kind. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s a for you lot to be back here. And Jake didn’t help anythin’ by reacting the way he did. But if no one else is happy to see you, I want you to know that I am. I’ll respect whatever decision you make, but I really do hope you’ll stay.”

You considered his words, mulling them over in your mind. He didn’t expect you to decide at that very moment, and you knew your brain was too overworked to make that decision then as it was. So, the best you could do was nod your head. “I’ll see you in a bit, Bobby.”

He hummed, mouth quirking into a smile. “See you in a bit, Kit.”

You watched him walk away, his footsteps sure, his stance confident. He had a swagger to him that he didn’t have six years ago. It suited him well. 

With a soft sigh, you finally turned and made your way into the cabin. As soon as the screen slammed behind you, you surged forward, collapsing into your bed, which was right near the door. Immediately, you buried your face in the pillow, and everything you’d been keeping inside came spilling out of you in bitter waves.

What had you gotten yourself into?

to be continued...

-

taglist (tagging those who showed interest; if you want to be added let me know)

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @oldfangirl30 @attapullman @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @fairyheart @hangmanapologist @laracrofted @callsignspark @bobfloydsbabe @milesmillergf @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @floydsmuse @senawashere @creatchie8

[copperbadge]

[ID: A poster ad in the Chicago subway for Taskrabbit; it reads "You're never gonna hang that up; never gonna take that down" followed by "Mounting & More" and the Taskrabbit text logo.]

For a subway ad there's...a lot going on there.

I again don't have photos of the work I did this morning so I thought I'd share that ad; funny to get rickrolled waiting for my train. I've been working on sorting bins to go to storage again, and honestly I expected this to take all week but I think I've got most of it completed. I still have a bin I need to sort through but that one is likely not to go to storage anyway; it's what I call my "trauma box" because originally it was a box of stuff from my last job, which I forgot existed for six months after leaving the job (somewhat traumatically). Realistically it's now just a massive bin of odds-and-ends I don't know what to do with, but most of them need to either be donated, thrown out, or stashed somewhere in the condo. There's also a full bin of paperwork I need to sift through -- old grad school notes, scrapbooks I need to digitize, and a collection of Marvel Comics trading cards I should probably take to a card store and see if I can sell.

Still, this morning I packed up my camping gear and grill bag, pulled down the bag of summer clothes I packed up earlier, and emptied out one of the two "sort through" boxes so now they're all in one box. I cleared out the other "under bed" storage box (the new plastic ones should arrive this week!) and set aside some more clothes to donate and put another few loads into the laundry to wash.

Probably for the best I topped up my account with the laundry room last month...

I'm pleased I kind of got back to "limit by podcast" levels of work -- I listened to the latest Criminal episode, "The Reverend", and I was just starting to feel a little scattered and overwhelmed as it ended, so I stopped for the day. I'll still need to change over the laundry and fold it and figure out what to do with some of it, but at least that's all I have left to do, and I don't have to worry about finding more.

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know���"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

[shrinkyclinksfest]

That's a wrap!

Thank you all so much for another successful run of Shrinkyclinks Fest! Altogether the works add up to 150K words of new Shrinkyclinks content and six new artworks! We want to thank all our wonderful writers, artists, promoters, promoters, readers, and supporters. We will see you all next year!

Without further ado, the Masterlist:

Title: Nazi Punks Fuck Off [Shrinkyclinks AU] Creator: bleedxblack Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 22 Warnings: N/A Summary: Local punk Steve Rogers goes to see his hardcore vocalist boyfriend, Bucky, perform with his band, Widow. Friend and guitarist Natasha took the first photo of them after the band had finished their set. Steve took the following photo himself while he watched his friends and lover play on stage.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271081

Title: Steve has hot guy problems Creator: HeyBoy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: T Prompt #: 33 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the ShrinkyClinks Fest prompt: Meet-cute at the gym! Smol Steve is determined to work on his cardio and fitness. He reluctantly goes to the gym, feeling intimidated but ready to spit fire at anyone who so much as looks at him twice. He is going to get a good workout, damnit. Ignore the clunkheads. Ignore the gym rats. Ignore the super hot guy with long hair and stormy eyes who always seems to be using the equipment near Steve. That wasn't so bad! Now we can shower and go home. Wait, hot guy is also in the shower and… he's singing. WAIT hot guy just exited the shower and now he knows that I know he was singing!.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271468

Title: asthma attacks, fire escapes, and chai Creator: beemotionpicture Medium: fic Rating: gen Wordcount: 6,657 Prompt #: 9 Warnings: none Summary: It happens because of his asthma of all things.

As soon as he feels short of breath he starts rooting through his messenger bag for his inhaler. Steve has a moment to think aha!and then fuck,before he’s losing his grip on the thing and it’s skidding across the pavement and into an alleyway.

He freezes when he realizes he’s not alone.

Steve hears a muffled sound coming from behind the dumpster, but that’s not what makes him look; no, it’s the metallic scent in the air which, with a creeping feeling of dread, he hopes isn’t blood. He looks. It’s blood.

And there’s a man sitting right in a puddle of it, leaning heavily against the brick wall and clutching his side with a metal hand.

How Steve finds an injured Bucky, nurses him back to health, and takes down a HYDRA agent while he’s at it. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33272239

Title: Highway Ghost Creator: Neonbat  Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 15820 Prompt #: 31 Warnings: Usual WS Bucky warnings Summary: Steve hated long drives, it was too easy to zone out, especially when you’re full of cook-out food and good times. Having someone fall out of nowhere right in front of his car wasn’t exactly something he’d ever consider a possibility. He had enough excitement already from his job as an ER Nurse. Except, where most people would have been laid out on the asphalt, the man dressed in black got up without a scratch and insisted medical care wasn’t needed. The fuck was his life?  Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33283738

Title: He "Accidently" Picked A Hot Roommate Creator: rufferto Medium: digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33279370

Title: special delivery Creator: @glim / glim Medium: fic Rating: Teen + Wordcount: ~6,000 words Prompt #: 30 Warnings: n/a Summary: Written for shrinkyclinksfest, Prompt #30: Steve Rogers has always been prone to sickness, but summer colds are the absolute worst. What he wants is a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup and some ice cream. What he gets is a food delivery guy who’s so built and hot Steve chokes on his tongue. That’s why he keeps ordering long after he’s recovered and how he finally gets Bucky Barnes into his apartment and his bed. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33343828

Title: When the Pool Closes Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1858 Prompt #: 36 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve just wants to enjoy a day out in the sun by himself. That’s not too much to ask. Except it is, apparently. With such fair skin, sunscreen is a must, and there’s no way he can reach his entire back. He’s just going to have to find someone to help him apply it, and if the guy is ripped… Well, it’s not Steve’s fault that he’s got good taste. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33341596

Title: To the Future and the Past Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1465 Prompt #: 40 Warnings: Major character death Summary: Maybe a funeral isn’t the right time to admit to a gay love story, but Bucky doesn’t care. That’s what Steve wanted, and Bucky’s never been able to say no to the love of his life. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33358726

Title: A Shot Across The Bow Creator: Author: Becassine Artist: Call_me_kayyyyy  Art Rating: G Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 18382 Prompt #: 52 Warnings: Blood/Injury, Implied/Reference Abuse, Reference Slave Trade Summary: Bucky Barnes is a Pirate Captain, and one accustomed to getting his own way. When fate drops Steve Rogers in his path one lonely evening in Tortuga, his life is forever turned upside down. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33265450/chapters/82597747

Title: Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Creator: Girl_Back_There Medium: Fic Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6214 Prompt #: 45 Warnings: Some Homophobic Language, Instances of Sexual Harassment against women Summary:Bucky doesn’t know how his mother managed to Jedi mind trick him into dropping off Becca at summer camp this year, but she somehow did it. Despite his grumpiness at the unreasonable hour in which he was wrenched from his nice and cozy bed, Bucky is glad for this time with his little sister. Becca spends their time talking about the activities she got to do last summer that she hopes will be back again this year, all of which was organized by Steve Rogers. After she came home from Camp Marvel last year, all Becca could talk about was Steve Rogers, one of the counselors for her team, The Howlies. Steve Rogers was an amazing artist. Steve Rogers participates in all of the competitions despite his asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, and various other medical issues. Steve Rogers totally drinks his respect women juice. Bucky would be worried about his sister may be developing a crush on this Steve guy, but after meeting him, Bucky is more preoccupied with the crush he's developing on Steve. So preoccupied in fact, he ends up signing on to be a camp counselor for the summer. Link to work:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33339220

Title:  The Way To A Man’s Heart Creator: Author: HaniTrash Artist: Kocuria_visuals  Art Rating: T Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 11852 Prompt #: 53 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers, skinny Brooklynite, is a college student who makes old recipes and posts videos of them on tiktok. When Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier and Avenger, sees one, he's instantly hooked and becomes Steve's biggest fan. What follows next is a story of food, flirting, and a very unlikely pairing. But much like Steve’s unusual recipes, what shouldn’t work often does… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33312223/chapters/82722664#workskin

Title: Maybe A Muse Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): fic Rating: M Wordcount: 2871 Prompt #: 28 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary:  When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33393928

Title: Be My Breath Creator: Goosenik and clarkestetler Medium: Fic Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 44,575 Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2021 prompt: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate.

Basically: Bucky moves in with Steve after he escapes from Hydra, and Steve begins the long process of helping Bucky remember how to be human again. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33275848/chapters/82626394

Title: Tap-Tap Into Your Heart Creator: huntress79​ Medium: Fic Rating: T Wordcount: 5k Prompt #: 6 Warnings: none, except for one blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of animal death  Summary: When HYDRA finally fell, the Soldier was lost, in more than one meaning. And for the next several months, he, more or less, drifted from one former safehouse to the other, always avoiding to stay too long in one place. Until he comes to Brooklyn - and finds a new purpose, again in more than one meaning… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33416524

Title: I'd be selfish but never with you Creator: Lacunalady on Ao3 Medium: Fic Rating: E Wordcount: 20k Prompt #: 32 Warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Prompted with: "Arranged marriage AU. Steve is a prince and Bucky is a newly crowned king of the neighboring country having conquered/overtaken the last ruler. In order to keep the peace between their countries, Steve's father decides for them to wed. Steve is reluctant for several reasons but mainly because he wants to marry for love and the fact that Bucky has a reputation for being exceedingly ruthless in battle (aka the winter solider)" by Bangyababy on Tumblr! Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33424936

Title: Just Peachy Creator: Erosanderis Fic Rating: N/A Wordcount : 1266 Prompt #: 34 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers was not looking forward to meeting his soulmate. Ever since the day he was born, he had the worst possible words on his forearm. So of course he would meet them at work. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33412060

Title: Knocking Boots with Sugar Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 4095 Prompt #: 29 Warnings: N/A Summary: In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33499603

[juliandev0rak]

Into The Wild  

Chapter 4: Clover

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧

Words: 3788

Warnings: blood, minor injury

Willa really has no idea what she’s doing.

She spends most of the next two weeks looking for Muriel, but in all that time she hardly catches a glimpse of him. He seems to be avoiding her, and as hard as she tries to get him alone to talk, he stays away. Sure, he’s busy, he has other job duties that take him away from the camp, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for him to have gone missing. 

But she’s pretty sure he’s avoiding her.

Willa knows she comes on too strong sometimes, she can’t help being open about how she feels and what she thinks of someone. As hard as she tries to bottle up the emotions or simply think about something else and focus on her job, her thoughts always turn back to that night by the fire and how she’d finally gotten to know Muriel a little. The more she learns about him the more she wants to know. 

And it doesn’t help that her friends tease her about him, constantly. Asra catches her eye across the room when he sees her searching for Muriel, Portia asks her twice if she’s kissed him yet, and Willa tries her best not to blush in front of the campers.

Still, life goes on and camp is busy even if Willa’s brain is far away. Summer is in full swing and the campers seem to be pulling out all the stops to ensure that the staff of Camp Vesuvia is exhausted.

The summer has also heated up, with temperatures in the triple digits nearly every day. The only reprieve is swimming in the lake, which Willa luckily gets a chance to do every afternoon. She’s lifeguard certified, thanks to the summer job she had a few years ago, and she often helps the recreation director Lucio with supervising campers at the lake.

Asra had warned her that Lucio was “an asshole” and she quickly finds that she agrees with that sentiment. Lucio spends most of his time regaling anyone who will listen with stories of his glory days as an athlete, he’d called himself an “olympic swimmer” who simply hadn’t gotten the chance to compete. But as self-centered as the man can be, he’s also great with the kids. They think he’s cool and more importantly—  they trust him, he’d been able to get even the most nervous of swimmers out in the lake.

Still, Willa tries her best to avoid him while she's on the lake. Even when Lucio is not in her sightline his voice seems to carry, echoing off of the rocks and trees as if he has a microphone. And up until a week ago, he did have a microphone, a megaphone to be precise. Nadia had luckily confiscated it because he was more than loud enough on his own. 

One late afternoon Willa sits in a canoe in the middle of the lake, trying to avoid another of Lucio’s infamous high school swim meet stories. Away from the shore the lake is incredibly peaceful and there are less campers to keep track of. While it would be easy to doze off or get distracted by the beautiful scenery, Willa takes her lifeguarding duties seriously.

All day it’s been sunny and hot, but as Willa drifts across the lake she watches the clouds roll in, slowly then all at once. They’ve gotten a few summer storms, they come on fast and leave just as quickly, but they can often include thunder and lightning. Willa pulls her sunglasses down, peering out from behind the tinted lenses as she surveys the sky. Just as she’s deciding it won't rain after all, a raindrop lands on her shoulder. 

It’s camp protocol to get everyone out of the water if it rains in case of lightning and flooding, so Willa gets her whistle out ready to evacuate. When she blows the whistle the campers around her obediently follow the direction and head back to shore, they’ve got plenty of rainy day activities planned as a backup. 

Willa has just started rowing back to shore when she hears splashes behind her. There’s a camper, one of the younger ones, struggling to balance her canoe. She watches as the boat capsizes and the girl screams as she falls into the water. Willa sets her canoe paddle down and dives in without a second thought, swimming over to where the girl had capsized. 

The camper is wearing a life vest and managing to tread water, but in her panic she’s unable to get back to shore. Willa grabs the girl in a rescue hold, hauling her back towards the dock. As she swims closer to shore, the water becomes more shallow than it looks and Willa runs into a submerged log, hitting her knee hard on the bark. She hisses in pain and tries to maintain her grasp on the camper whose panicked thrashing is pulling her down. 

Willa is considering using her whistle to call for help when a big splash sounds from her left and suddenly Muriel is there, swimming towards her as fast as he can. 

“Here, let me get her.” Muriel grabs the camper’s arm and pulls her back the rest of the way to the shore. Willa exhales in relief then takes a deep, shaky breath as she starts back. Her knee still aches from the impact with the tree and she struggles a bit as she slowly makes her way back.

Muriel sees the camper safely discharged into Nadia’s care and jumps back in to pull the two discarded canoes to shore. He ties them safely to the dock and watches as Willa emerges from the water. She takes a seat on the edge of the dock, wincing as she takes in her bleeding knee. She’d scraped it pretty badly, and she needs to remember to tell Nadia about it so they can have the log removed before anyone else gets hurt.

“Thanks for your help,” Willa says, trying for a cheery tone.

“Are you alright?” Muriel kneels down next to her, peering down at her leg.

His face is very close to hers and Willa can’t help but stare at him. Her eyes flit down to his lips, and when she looks back up a moment later she notices that his eyes are staring down at her lips. There's a moment of tense silence as they look at each other, and Willa leans forward just a little. She wonders if he notices the energy between them that has been so distracting for the last few days, the pull she feels towards him though she’s only known him a short while. 

Muriel pulls back at her proximity, his eyes snapping back up to hers. “Willa?” he asks again, pulling her attention back to his question. 

“It’s just a cut, I’ll be fine. There was a log under the water in the shallows,” she explains, reaching up to wring water out of her hair.

“You should go see the doctor,” Muriel says, grabbing a towel from the nearby rack for her. She accepts it gladly, wrapping it around her shoulders. He leans down to offer her a hand to help her up and as she takes it she notices again how warm his hand is. 

“I’ve got to make sure all the campers are out.” Willa turns back towards the lake, scanning the water for campers. She stands there for a few minutes just in case, her eyes trained to the water as she fights off shivers from the pouring rain. 

“It’s raining pretty hard, you should get inside,” Muriel says, and Willa turns to look at him, her towel falling down a bit. Muriel reaches forward to pull the towel back over Willa’s shoulder, his hand resting on her for a moment before he hurriedly moves away to grab his own towel. 

For a moment their eyes find each other again, the air between them charged as it had been before. He has to feel this too, Willa thinks, taking a step towards him. She’s unsure what exactly it is she’s planning to do, whether she might risk everything and lean towards him again, whether he would even want to be near her like this, to kiss her. He’s still looking at her, his eyes focused on hers, and for once when she leans in he doesn't move away. 

Just as she's wondering whether she should say close the distance between them, a roll of thunder booms in the distance, closer than before. The sound shocks them apart and Muriel nearly jumps back when he realizes how close they are. Willa sighs and pulls the towel closer to her as she turns back towards camp. “I guess we’d better get back, I’m sure they need my help with the campers.” 

“You need to go see the doctor.” 

“I’m fine,” Willa argues.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” Muriel frowns at her, “I’ll carry you there if you don’t start walking.” 

Part of her wants him to do just that, and she blushes as she continues to stare him down, not wanting to give in to his suggestion. Finally, she looks down at her knee which is still bleeding, and heaves another sigh. “Fine. But I’m walking there myself.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s go then.” Willa walks off towards first aid, wondering if he’ll follow her. He stares after her for a minute, shaking his head as he watches her stalk off. 

When Willa arrives at the first aid cabin she pulls the door open without a backward glance. She doesn’t want to know if Muriel is following her. And she really doesn’t want to know if he isn’t. 

“Julian?” Willa calls, wincing as she notices how much water she’s dripping on the floors. 

The red-haired doctor emerges from a door in the back, taken aback by her bedraggled appearance. “Woah, Willa, what happened?”

Willa explains the canoe rescue, and Muriel’s part in it, as Julian patches up her knee. “But really, I’m fine. It’s just a scrape.” 

“You don’t need stitches or anything, but it’s a good thing Muriel was there to help. It sounds like you could’ve been in trouble with that big of a storm coming,” Julian says, turning to rummage in a drawer for the right sized bandage.

“It’s lucky he was there,” Willa agrees, looking out the window at the pouring rain. She needs to thank Muriel again, he’s basically saved her life twice now. Julian puts the bandage on her knee, all evidence of her scuffle with the log hidden safely behind a pink Hello Kitty bandaid.

“I thought you’d like that more than a Spiderman one,” Julian laughs as Willa inspects the bandaid curiously. 

“Are you kidding? Spiderman is much cooler, the campers are totally gonna make fun of me for this,” Willa scoffs. “Come on Julian, don’t you know what the kids like these days?”

“I’m sorry, do you want me to change it?” Julian’s eyebrows furrow together and he turns to look in the drawer again.

“Julian, stop, I was kidding,” Willa laughs, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Julian’s face relaxes and he chuckles along with her. 

“Give me one of those lollipops and we’ll call it even.” Willa points to the bowl of candy on Julian’s desk, usually reserved for the more squeamish campers who need the incentive to behave. 

Julian laughs again and Willa watches his face light up, taken over by his smile. It’s easy to see what Asra likes about him, though he swears they’re “ancient history”. Julian is a genuinely kind person, someone who feels like a friend right away. He’s great at his job, compassionate, and more gentle than one would assume from his large stature. Though she knows his sister better, Willa hopes she’ll get a chance to become Julian’s friend too by the end of the summer.

Julian hands her the bowl of candy, breaking her out of her thoughts. “I’d say you earned candy.”  

“Thanks, Julian. You saved me, I thought we might have to amputate my leg,” Willa jokes as she unwraps the lollipop, blue raspberry flavor. 

“It was looking pretty rough back there,” Julian plays along, “I thought we’d need the bone saw.”

“Not the bone saw!” Willa puts her hand to her forehead dramatically, leaning backward on the table as if she’s about to swoon. They both laugh, the sound a burst of sunshine cutting through the sound of rain on the roof. 

“I think it would be best to avoid logs from now on.” Julian holds the door open for her, ushering her out of the cabin. 

Willa frowns as she steps out into the rain. “The log started it.

“Well next time you better finish it, show that log who’s boss,” he grins. 

“Bye, Julian.” Willa waves as she walks away. When she turns the corner she’s surprised to find Muriel leaning against the wall of the first aid cabin.

“Willa.” He sounds relieved to see her. 

Willa takes in his appearance, hair and clothes still dripping water from the lake and the rain. “Muriel! You didn't have to wait for me, you must be freezing in those wet clothes.”

“I’m fine. How’s your leg?” 

“It’s fine, just a scrape!” she smiles, popping the lollipop into her mouth. When she pulls it out to speak again, her tongue is blue. “The doctor even gave me a lollipop for being a good patient.” 

“It’s very blue,” Muriel comments, trying not to stare at her blue colored lips.

“It’s blue raspberry, want to try it?” Willa holds the lollipop out to him but he shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“More for me then.” Wills starts to walk away towards the counselor cabin, and this time she’s sure he’ll follow her. “Thanks for rescuing me again, you’re very good at that.”

Muriel’s eyes stay glued to the dirt path as he speaks, “It was nothing.” 

“It wasn’t nothing, I’m glad you were there.” They walk in silence for a minute as Willa’s brain races to think of something else to say. Finally, she can’t take it anymore, “Why have you been avoiding me?” 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Muriel says, finally looking up to meet her eyes. 

Willa’s eyes narrow as she looks at him. “I’ve barely seen you for days!” 

“I have work to do.” 

“So do I, but I would’ve made time to see you.” 

“Why would you want to see me?” Muriel asks as they reach the safety of the counselor's cabin porch.

“I... like talking to you,” Willa admits, and now it’s her turn to stare down at the dirt. 

“Oh.” 

She shushes the inner voice in her head which screams at her to stop talking and looks up at him. “Do you like talking to me?” “Yes.” Muriel answers without hesitation this time.

“Then we should talk more! We should hang out,” Willa suggests, unsure of how he’ll react to that statement.

“Ok.” 

“Ok?” 

“I’ll go to the bonfire later,” Muriel says, looking a bit uncertain as he says the words.

“There might not be a bonfire if the rain keeps up,” she says. “But we'll be having a movie night here instead, you’re welcome to join us!” 

“You’ll be there?” he asks.

“I’ll be there,” she confirms, nodding her head in affirmation.

“Ok.” Muriel almost smiles at her, the corner of his lips tugging up.

Willa opens the door to the cabin, taking a step inside. “I’ll see you tonight then.” 

“Alright.”

“Alright!” Willa grins, and this time Muriel really does smile at her. 

The rain keeps up all afternoon and well into the evening, and by the time dinner is done it’s clear the bonfire is cancelled. The campers retire to their cabins and the counselors retire to their movie night. It’s a camp tradition, one that usually involves alcohol and quite a lot of snacks.

Willa is just pulling a tray of her signature chocolate chunk cookies out of the oven when there's a knock on the front door. Since everyone else in attendance lives there, Willa assumes it’s Muriel. She rushes over to get the door, but Asra beats her to it.

“Muriel! We’re so glad you could make it!” Asra says warmly, gesturing for Muriel to come in. Muriel makes no move to enter until he sees Willa appear over Asra’s shoulder.

“Hey!” she grins, pulling Muriel inside and into a hug. It’s how she greets all of her friends, but Muriel stands there stiffly and she almost pulls away, worried she’s made a mistake. She’s relieved when Muriel relaxes into it a minute later, patting her back once. When she pulls away they’re both smiling. 

“I’ll uh, leave you two to get settled then,” Asra smirks as he watches them. “Movie starts in ten minutes!” 

“So, have you been here before?” Willa asks, leading Muriel into the kitchen. 

“Once or twice, but I’ve never stayed long.” Muriel looks around the kitchen, his eyes landing on the cork board next to the fridge. It’s covered in polaroid pictures of the camp staff from over the years. Most of the pictures are selfies with Asra and Portia in them, but the newer ones include pictures of Willa. He reaches out to touch one of them, it’s a candid photo of Willa laughing and covered in flour. “What happened here?” 

“Asra thought it would be funny to turn the mixer on high right as I added the flour. We were trying to bake a birthday cake for Nadia but as you can see, it didn’t go well,” Willa laughs. She finishes taking the cookies off of the cooling rack, transferring them over to a plate. “Would you like a cookie?” “Sure.” Muriel reaches out to take a cookie off of the plate and Willa watches attentively as he takes a bite. He perks up at the taste, he takes slow bites, savoring the cookie. Willa grins triumphantly, pleased at her guess that he enjoys sweets.

Portia enters the kitchen then, opening the fridge to pull out a beer. “Hi, Muriel!” 

“Hi.” Muriel nods at her.

“Nice apron, Willa,” Portia snickers as she heads back to the living room. Willa looks down, blushing as she realizes she’s still wearing a cheesy apron that says “kiss the cook” on it.

“This is Portia’s apron, she let me borrow it so I wouldn’t have a repeat of the flour fiasco,” Willa explains, hurriedly pulling off the apron. Muriel doesn’t comment, he’s too busy staring at the plate of cookies. “Do you want another? We’ve got plenty, go for it!” 

“They’re good.” Muriel carefully grabs another cookie, wasting no time in digging in. Willa laughs and picks up the plate so she can carry it into the living room. 

“Come on, let’s go get a seat before all the couch spots are taken,” Willa heads out the kitchen door and he follows. They’re just a minute too late, and Hestion takes the last seat on the couch next to Portia. “Fine, we’ll take the beanbags then.” 

Willa plops onto one of the fluffy cushions, gesturing for Muriel to take the other. He sinks into the beanbag, his legs stretching out in front of him. He watches cautiously as the other staff members chat and pass around drinks and various bowls of chips and popcorn. As the lights get turned off and the movie starts Muriel relaxes a bit, his shoulder resting against Willa’s. 

It was Portia’s turn to choose the movie, and she chose a horror movie set at a cabin in the woods. The movie hits a little too close to home, and only minutes into the movie Willa is too scared to look. She buries her head in Muriel’s shoulder, and he tentatively puts his arm around her. She peers out from his arm occasionally, screaming at all the jump scares. Muriel winces at the scares too, it’s clear he’s not enjoying the movie much but he stays anyway. 

As the movie goes on they move closer to each other, Muriel’s arm stays around her and she presses closer into his side until no space remains between them. Up close, Muriel smells like myrrh and soap, fresh like the forest after it’s rained. If she’s being honest, Willa isn’t that scared of the movie, but being this close to Muriel is nice. By the time the credits roll nearly two hours later, Muriel’s arm is sore from keeping it around Willa but he doesn’t complain. Neither one of them wants to move until Asra turns the lights on, and then they realize there’s an audience of gossiping camp staffers watching them. 

“I should go.” Muriel stands up abruptly, and Willa follows him out of the room.

“I’m glad you came,” Willa says once they’re alone by the door. She gathers her courage and leans up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Muriel stares at her in surprise, his hand reaches up to touch his cheek and Willa takes a step back. 

“What was that for?” he asks.

“I just… felt like it?” Willa looks down at her feet, internally cursing herself for always doing things without thinking them through first. 

“Ok…” Muriel looks like he wants to say something else but instead he leans down to kiss her cheek, so quickly his lips barely touch her. She stares at him, her cheeks flushed as red as her hair.

“And what was that for?” Willa teases, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Goodnight, Willa.” Muriel opens the door, turning to look back at her once more before he shuts it behind him. Willa leans back against the door, giddy and grinning as she reaches up to touch her cheek as Muriel had done.

“SPILL!” Portia calls as she walks into the front hallway, Asra follows right behind her and the two of them corner Willa. 

“Tell us everything!” Asra says, poking Willa’s arm playfully. 

Willa just laughs and shakes her head, “I’m not sure what just happened.” 

“He likes youuu,” Portia says in a sing-songy voice.

“Maybe,” Willa smiles, a nervous laugh slipping out as she thinks again of his lips pressed to her cheek.

“Definitely,” Asra argues, “He was watching you instead of the movie.”

“How would you know? You were too busy watching Julian,” Willa teases, and Asra scoffs.

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at you, Willa,” Portia says. “He totally likes you.”

Willa takes a step over to the window, the porch light just illuminates the retreating figure of Muriel as he walks towards the ranger station. She lets out another nervous, giddy laugh as she turns back to her friends. “We’ll see.”

✧

[rickybowensfever]

Sicktember - Zach has a headache

Another @sicktember post! Today’s story is with my oc’s Kylie and Zach. 

Prompts: 

Blankets

Medicine

Missing Out 

Headache 

Fever

 Zach and Kylie are in the last week of summer before their senior year of high school and want to make every minute count. So, when Zach arrives at Kylie’s family’s End of the Summer BBQ looking flushed and develops a headache, Kylie drops everything to take care of him. 

Zach swings by the kitchen where his sister, Emily is garnishing her avocado toast — a sprinkle of paprika, an egg over easy — before taking the right Instagram photo to share with her friends.

“‘Morning!” Zach croaks, startled by the sound of his voice. Must just be my morning voice he tries to convince himself. 

He grabs a glass from the wooden cabinet nearest to the refrigerator and pours a glass of orange juice for himself before finding a quick breakfast. 

His eyes grow wide when he sees a white plate with four pieces of bacon lying on it. He quickly takes piece by piece until only one remains on the plate. 

 “Zach!!” Emily exclaimed, her eyes raised and face scrunched in annoyance. 

“Those were for Mom!” she explains, holding a hand on her hip. 

“Sorry…” he mutters, “That would’ve been nice to know before, you know” he gestures his hands to the plate of bacon, pouting his lip. 

“Ugh, it’s fine. I can just make more” 

“Sorry, I have to be at Kylie’s soon for their barbeque and I totally woke up late,” he says trying to justify his actions. 

 “Oh, nice! I’m going to try and stop by later with Kara”  she half-smiles. Emily has been seeing a girl named Kara for over a month now since they met at her summer job as a school nurse at a summer day camp. Emily’s first job since she graduated from Med School. 

 Zach touched his Home screen button to reveal the time, 12:48 PM with five unread messages from Kylie probably asking him where he was. 

 “Fuck. I better go” Zach said, panicked. He had been up late watching Netflix aimlessly and his throat was sore. He had tried everything: tea and honey, gargling with salt water, and honey-flavored cough drops. Nothing was curing the aching in his throat. 

Finally, around 2 am, he was able to fall asleep thanks to some NyQuil. 

But, he was deeply regretting his decisions when he woke up at 11:45 am after Kylie told him to get to her house at 12. 

Luckily, the pain in his throat had hindered. Please, don’t do this to me again, he said into his mirror as he pulled on a blue t-shirt and khaki shorts. 

 Zach pulled into the Daniels’ driveway which was beginning to pack up with cars. As he parked his car, Kylie’s brother, Blake ran over to him waving his arms around in excitement. 

Blake was a year younger than Kylie and Zach, playing in a band with some of his high school friends. 

“Yo! You playing tonight?” Zach asked as he got out of the car to greet him with a handshake. 

Blake laughed, “Nah. I got out of that tonight. One of my bandmates is taking their brother to college,” he said. 

Blake escorted Zach to the back gate where their ingrown pool was fenced in and the party was brewing. Kylie waved to her boyfriend the minute she saw him. She wore an ombre purple bikini top with denim shorts and flip-flops, pulling out pool noodles for the kids to play with. 

Zach smiled, walking over to her, greeting her younger cousins. He pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek.

“Do you have any water?” he asked feeling dehydrated. 

Kylie perked up, turning her head toward him. 

“Yeah! Right in the blue cooler”, she mentioned, throwing a couple of pool noodles into the pool at the kids. The kids screamed with excitement, one laying on their stomach and the others blowing water out the trunk of the noodle. Kylie giggled. 

Zach pulled a cold water bottle out of the cooler and sighed out of relief. Suddenly, he felt light-headed and super thirsty. He chugged the water bottle until only drops of water remained. 

“Let’s go inside. My mom still needs help getting everything set up” she mentioned. 

Zach nodded, following her lead. 

Kylie closed the gate over and started heading into the house. 

When they walked into the Daniels’ home, Zach was immediately greeted by her family members. 

“Zach! Nice to see ya,” Uncle Tim said. Zach nodded waving at him. “I’ll be right back, you chat” Kylie whispered in his ear. 

Zach shrugged. “Ready for senior year? Do you have any colleges picked out?” Aunt Michelle (Tim’s wife) asked. 

Zach dreaded this question. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. 

“Uh, I’m going to community college, actually,” he said, confidently. 

“Oh,” they said in unison. Zach was so used to hearing the disappointment in their voices when he told any adult he wasn’t going the “traditional” route for college. 

Why was it so bad that he’d rather save money and figure out what he actually wanted to do instead of contributing to being in crippling debt from student loans? His sister had done the same thing and now, she landed a job as a school nurse. When he figured out whatever the hell he wanted to do in life, he would be successful, too. 

“Yeah! Trying to save money” he said smiling at them. This was his cue to walk away. He walked over to the sectional in the living room across from the kitchen where the TV was playing a re-run of a Food Network competition. 

Once the winner was revealed and another episode started, Zach looked around for his girlfriend. The chatter of Kylie’s loud relatives made his head start to hurt and fatigue set in. 

His eyes lit up when he saw a hint of purple and his girlfriend bringing in a folded chair for an elderly woman to sit in. He ran over to Kylie as soon as he saw her. 

 “Hey. Can I go lay down in your room? I have a headache” he said, talking low so no one could hear him. 

“Sure. Do you want some Advil?” she asked, pouting her lip with concern, “You look a little flushed” she mentioned. 

Zach nodded, “Yeah, that’d be great” and jogged up the stairs turning a corner in the hallway to enter her room. 

The noise died down as he closed the door. Now only hints of loud voices were in the distance. Zach grabbed a fuzzy blanket from a wicker basket and lied on top of her dark purple comforter, closing his eyes as his head pounded. 

Then, the door opened. 

Kylie rubbed his back saying, “Hey, I brought some water and Advil” 

Zach opened his eyes and grabbed the two pink tablets from her hand, chasing them with the water. 

“A nap might help? You look exhausted” she said brushing her hand through his soft brown hair. 

He nodded, “Thanks” and curled back into his position. A shiver went through his body. Making Kylie now more concerned. 

“Do you feel okay? Besides the headache?” she asked quietly. 

“Mhmm” Zach mumbled. “Alright, I’ll check in later, or come and get me if you’re feeling better,” she said, closing her door over. 

 Zach woke up an hour later, feeling cold, his throat burning, and his head pounding more than earlier. He groaned. He could just go home and rest, but driving felt impossible. 

He laid in the bed trying to muster up some strength to send Kylie a text. He waited, counted to five in his head, and slowly picked his body up. 

Z: come here pls i need u 

K: coming! 

He threw his phone down and curled back up in his position. Shivering under the one blanket from earlier. 

The door opened and Kylie quietly walked. 

“Hey, everything okay?” she asked, calmly. 

Zach opened his eyes seeing she changed into a Lakewood University shirt - the college she was most eager to attend. 

“Need to go home. Can’t drive” he muttered. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” she asked, worried.

“Everything,” he said, his voice raspy. “I just need to go” 

Zach groaned. “Babe, you can stay here. I don’t mind. I know you don’t feel well” she offered. 

He was silent. 

Kylie held in a laugh, resting the back of her hand on his forehead. “I think you have a fever,” she said frowning. 

“Why don’t you stay here until you’re feeling a little better? Then, I’ll drive you home” she suggested. “Your sister and your mom are already here, so I don’t think anyone would even be at your house”

“Okay,” he mumbled.

 “Let me get you some medicine and see if you have a fever,” she said, running out to the hallway closet where the Daniel’s stored their medicine. 

Kylie returned to the room with a bottle of Tylenol and a digital thermometer. 

“I’m sorry, but I need you to get up. Please” 

Zach slowly, painfully got up and looked at his girlfriend. 

Kylie frowned at his glassy eyes and pink cheeks. 

“This should help relieve your symptoms for a bit,” she said gesturing to the pink bottle.

Zach just looked at her. He looked exhausted, she thought. 

She poured the liquid into a plastic measuring cup and handed it over to him. Zach took a big gulp of the medicine, wincing from the taste. 

“It’ll make you feel so much better. I promise” she said smiling softly, then grabbing the digital thermometer. 

“Next,” she said holding the thermometer in the air. Zach opened his mouth, letting the instrument rest under his tongue. 

“I’ll get some more blankets while we wait,” she said softly. 

Even though he felt like utter shit, Zach was so grateful for Kylie. She would drop anything for him, even their family’s annual barbeque. Even before they made things official, as just friends, she was still always there for him. 

Beep. Finally, the thermometer beeped as she held two blankets in her arms. 

She placed the blankets on the bed as Zach lied on his back with the blanket she gave him earlier. 

Kylie took the instrument out of her boyfriend’s mouth and read it. “Okay, you probably just have a bad cold. Nothing we can’t fix! And, you have a little fever, but the medicine should help with that ” she explained. 

Zach grabbed the blankets at the end of the bed, ignoring whatever she was saying. 

“Zach? Are you listening to me?” she asked noticing her boyfriend’s extra blanket. 

He placed the blanket on top of the other and sighed out of relief. 

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked. 

Kylie sighed. “I said, you have a little fever. But I think you just have a bad cold. Nothing we can’t fix” 

Zach nodded, feeling warmth under the blankets. “Sorry. I really was looking forward to today” he muttered. 

“Oh, don’t even worry! We had a great summer, anyway. Now, let’s get you better” she said kissing him on the forehead. 

See more of Zach and Kylie! 

LOVE SICK 

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

His Blood Runs Gold I

Percy is a God: Part I

Masterlist for the next part and more of my stuff

Y’all already know what this is!!!!!!!! But if you don’t then click this to find out. And i hope you enjoy Percy as a god cause i definitely do ;) *shivers*

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

We were warm and shivering,

and young and ancient,

and alive.

-We Were Liars, E. Lockhart

Time is non-existent anymore. Percy should be twenty this year but now that he has ichor flowing through his veins, he can be 102 or 5. He has done things Homer would write epic poems about. If he were around at the dawn of time Ovid would have happily dedicated the Metamorphoses to him. But today Percy Jackson has been a god for three years and he has never felt more mortal in his life.

“Percy my boy, what are you doing here?”

“Hello Father, Camp Half-Blood is throwing a campfire in my honour and I thought it’d be rude not to show my face.”

“Very noble of you son. I remember back in my day the Greeks–“

Percy zoned out, tired of hearing how people bowed down to all these stuffy Olympians. The camp threw a celebration every year on the day he got immortalized and in return he reinforced the borders and blessed every demigod before they leave at the end of summer. He doesn’t know if he’s doing a good job, he doesn’t even know if what he does is making a difference, but he doesn’t know how else to give back to the camp and the people that saved his life again and again; who loved him and fought next to him and oh gods followed him into battle.

He’s never had the chance to talk to Chiron, who’s always busy with this demi-god and that satyr, and this nymph. He barely gets the chance to talk to all his old friends– between the new campers wanting to hear his stories and the general chaos of end of summer camp-life. He thanked the powers that be–what a jarring thought that he was one of those powers now– that he managed to find days in-between to see Annabeth and Grover.

He smiled to himself as he remembered the last time he saw Annabeth. She had been moving into her own apartment to start her third year at the University of New Rome. To his unsurprised delight she had chosen archaeology as her major but somehow slipped Latin and Ancient Histories into her schedule. He had helped carry bags and bags filled with books up to her room and they spent the day setting her up and making sure everything was in its place before she started the year.

Their relationship had progressed so softly, so slowly, Percy sometimes felt like he had imagined the year they had as a romantic couple. After he became a god they managed to go on a few dates, some interrupted by hothead immortals and revengeful monsters, and some blissfully alone. But once Annabeth started university and Percy was called again and again to help with this problem and that, it became a hassle to set up dates and figure out when to meet. They didn’t grow apart, so much as grow between. And although he missed the softness of Annabeth, he had gained a friend who knew him more deeply than any being alive– he was eternally grateful for that, and he couldn’t hate what they lost out on.

“Son, are you listening?” Poseidon pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yes father, it really was a great time for you. I have to go now, but Iris message if you need me.” And without waiting for a reply Percy strode out of Olympus and into the streets below.

He considered snagging a car but decided against it, since you couldn’t very well drive into Camp Half-Blood. Instead he walked into the ocean and let the current take him all the way to Long-Island, till he could smell the strawberries on the ocean wind and hear the echoes of camp games and reedpipes.

He stepped onto the beach, loving the soft sinking impressions he made in the sand. After his blood turned gold he realized he could walk on the sand and make no footprints whatsoever. The idea scared him so much he sunk under water and cried for three hours. How could he leave nothing behind? How could he have no imprint? It was Tyson, riding on his rainbow hippocampi who found him and showed him how to balance his weight; showed him how to step into the sand and not on it. When his footprints reappeared once more, he hugged his brother so hard if Tyson weren’t a cyclops his ribs might have cracked.

So Percy walked up the beach and through the strawberry fields, taking the time to breathe in the forest air, the fruit breezes, and ah the smell of chaos.

“JACKSON!” Connor Stoll yelled.

And with that single announcement Percy was home.

The day was spent in good spirits: racing with various campers up the wall and avoiding every deadly thing it spat at you– even if he couldn’t really die; then eating in the dining hall and getting to travel between tables without getting glares from various houses or Chiron; laughing as all the food turned blue just for him.

When it was time Percy walked with some of his friends; Clarisse who grew to be a steady, if raging fire, by his side, and Connor Stoll who is now the oldest of the Hermes kids since Travis left for college, and of course Will who above everyone reserves the right to make sure his friends were protected.

In a moment of vulnerability, he broke down on Percy’s immortal shoulder and wept. I don’t want to bury anymore of my friends Percy. I don’t want to be tending to them as they die in my infirmary. I can’t do it anymore. For him, Percy double, sometimes in moments of obsessiveness, triple checked his border defenses.

Now the little group walks around the perimeter of the camp and talks softly and contentedly as Percy knocks against the shimmering force, leaking power into the hollow spots.

“How is everyone at camp?” He asked.

“Fine, nothing has changed much. Ever since the Giant War it feels as if everything has calmed down to a lull. I’m wary it’s the eye before the storm but gods-dammit we deserve a break.” Connor answered.

Percy hid the rage of that truth but let the ache of those words settle in his bones. He simply nodded at Connor and turned to Clarisse.

“Are there any new campers who need to be protected?”

“Only a few, a lot have moved to New Rome over the last years.” There was a bitter edge to her words, caused by the sting of loss.

“You cannot blame them for wanting a life that is not concentrated to three months of safety.”

“I know,” Her nostrils flared, she kicked the rock in front of her. “I know. It just sucks that there’s so few of us now.”

“Maybe we can see about hosting annual games at each camp over the summer?” He suggested, careful to not step where the cracks spidered underneath him– even if the labyrinth had collapsed there was still the chance something tunneled beneath.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Will piped up, “Maybe then I can convince Nico to stay for more than one week.” He rolled his eyes, but the glimmer of happiness in them gave away his annoyed pretense.

“I will talk to the Praetors over there and let you know.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

They turned to face him.

He stared at them for a moment, studying their faces. Even now, all these years later it was jarring to see the signs of growth in their make-ups. He couldn’t say aging, they were barely hitting their twenties, gods Will was still a teenager, albeit not for much longer; but it was weird to watch as they grew up, watch as time changed their features, changed them.

Clarisse, who used to be a spitfire of rage and fierce protectiveness was now, more a well-kept hearth. She was still full of flame, but it was contained, and her fierce was warm instead of scorching.

And Connor, who had been attached to his brother at the hip, was all grown up. Travis was three years into a degree and Connor, although a prospective honours student, had forfeited college until he could figure out what he wanted to do. He was the sole head of the Hermes cabin, but somehow, he kept up the mischief as if the two were still together. The shenanigans are some of Percy’s favourites to hear around the campfire.

And Will, who is dating Nico di Angelo. The two were often running between the camps, though Nico more than the child of Apollo. It was Will, Percy thought, who brought the camp together, more than anyone. And Will, who in the process had lost the most. For him, Percy would continue to be here every year, would continue to help if they called when they were in trouble. Because he too was tired of seeing his friends die. Tired of seeing his friends mourn.

“It’s almost time for me to go but I wanted to say,” He fought to choke back the rising wave of emotions, “I wanted to say thank you. For keeping my home safe. And thank you for being my friends.”

Their hug lasted many moments, ribbons of friendship passing between them. And when Percy walked back into the sea, he was glad no-one could tell the difference between tears and ocean.

Friends, the word echoed in his head. So few and far between since he became a God. It was not that people feared him, they just became… wary. They fell into that space in-between, where one wrong move could plunge them into fear. When he first turned divine, he counted on his fingers how many friends he had, and if he didn’t have enough digits, he deemed it a good day. Now he can count with aching clarity all the people who loved him, and still have fingers to spare.

Annabeth asked him once if he regretted taking up Zeus’ offer, if he regretted turning his red blood gold.

He hadn’t answered her till three weeks later, over a three am phone call.

I don’t regret it, he had said, because I know I can help this way. I know I can protect my family and friends better this way. And when the phone had gone dark, he had whispered into the void of his room– an alcove of coral far, far, far underwater– I don’t regret it, but I’m so lonely. The tears at that admission did not stop flowing for many hours.

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

Tags (If you want to be added to the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@thepersonyourparentswishyouwere

@lesbian-peanuts

How are you feeling?? Cause i got 6K words for this fic and i don’t see myself stopping any time soon. Give me your thoughts young ones!!!!

[lonelyreputation]

Beach Tagger

A/N:  Hi hi!! Switching up from my usual angst and writing a bit of fluff ☺️ I love reading whatever you all have to say––it brightens up my day! Let me know if you have any requests or just want to chat! I loooooveeee making new friends💗 

I’m trying to build up my masterlist so please if you have anything you want to request, my inbox is wide open!!

(come request or chat if you’d like)

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 4.6K

“And I’m telling you,” you took your bike out of the garage and put the kick stand in place before turning around to face Shawn, “It’ll be less crowded on second street.”

Shawn took hold of the handlebars of your brother’s bike and rolled it out, “But you said that there weren’t any shops or restaurants down that end.”

Once Shawn was out of the garage, you walked over to the electric security pad that had control to open and close the doors.  You dialed in the digits of your grandma and grandpa’s birthday and watched the pad light up green as the garage doors began coming down.

“Do you want to get noticed?”

Shawn stood quietly for a few moments.  It was day three of your five day mini-vacation visiting your grandma at her beach house and Shawn had yet to be spotted.  The two of you were granted privacy with the house being located on the back bay.  During the days you could swim, kayak, and paddle board without anyone bothering the two of you––besides your cousins and family.

It was all very serene; lounging around the family bay house, with your boyfriend, that you had spent every summer at.  You had given Shawn a tour on the first day of all the essential places you spent most of your time as a kid.  You took him by the best pizza shop in town, best ice-cream parlor, the soccer field you had camp at when you were ten, the alley way you turned down when you broke your wrist, and where you had your first job selling popcorn on the boardwalk.

The beach town was something straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, a tiny quaint town where everyone knew each other’s business, but that didn’t stop the reality of Shawn’s persona.  The first few days of the week were fine, you were able to take Shawn out to the boardwalk without anyone noticing him with his sunglasses and hat, but now it was the weekend.  And the weekend meant that everyone from the mainland and bordering states would make the two hour drive down to the beach for a little getaway.

The beach town would be crawling with girls who would no doubt spend every minute of their weekend hunting for Shawn.

Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, “I guess you’re right.”

You didn’t like the dejected tone of his voice.  So you left you bike and walked over to him.  He was toying with the gear shift on the bike when you placed your hand on top of his, “If we get hungry we can bike down––or even walk––it’s not that far, promise.”

A small smile made its way onto his face as he flipped his hand over to squeeze your hand, “Sounds good.”

“Good,” you smiled as you removed your hand and went back to your bike.  You kicked the kick stand up and lifted yourself up on the bike, “It’s like a 3 mile ride––“ Shawn’s jaw dropped, “––It’s all on flat ground!” You defended the mileage and gave him a once over, “And besides, you’re in shape, you can handle it.”

Shawn smirked as he slightly lowered his black sunglasses, “Checking me out, y/n?”

Even though Shawn was your boyfriend, you still blushed profusely, “I––Well, yeah.  Yeah, I was.”

Shawn laughed and swung his leg over to the other side of the bike, “Good.”  He then lifted himself up and peddled out of your cobblestone driveway and down the street, “Lead the way!”

You rolled your eyes and started peddling fast to catch up to Shawn.  It was a little harder for you to speed up than him because you had a cruiser while he had your brother’s mountain bike.  And while it was flat land you would be biking on, it was hot out.

Conversation was kept to a minimum biking down the main road, but when you led Shawn down the bike road, you were able to ride side by side and not worry about speeding cars.  The bike road was the street over from the main shopping district of the town, so you were able to hear the chatting of people instead of the ocean waves.  

Even though you and Shawn were riding in tandem, the conversation was still nonexistent.  Shawn would occasionally ask you about certain areas you two had passed and if they had any significance in your childhood.  Most of the time you always had a story for a place.

You had soon made it down to second street and just had to ride up the street in order to get to the beach.  Waiting at traffic lights annoyed you, so you and Shawn would play “what are the odds” whenever you were stuck at a red light.  

Shawn lost a round right when you pulled up to the boardwalk path that led to the beach.  He was supposed to drink out of the spicket that beachgoers used to rinse off their sandy shoes.  

“Please don’t,” you pleaded with him as you chained both of your bikes to the railing, “I don’t want Andrew calling me up asking me how you got dysentery on your vacation with me.”

Shawn shrugged and placed the two beach chairs on the sidewalk as he hovered over the spicket with a scrunched up nose, “When you lose odds, you lose odds, and if there’s nothing I stand by more it’s the rules to that game.”

You snorted, “That makes me feel confident tin our relationship.”

Shawn whipped his head up with a smile, “Odds are a way of life.”

With a roll of your eyes, you plucked your backpack out of the wicker basket attached to your bike and slung it over your shoulders, “C’mon, we’re wasting time and it’s a stupid game please don’t––Shawn!  That is disgusting!”

He was only hunched over for less than a second before he turned the water off and wiped the water on his mouth off with the back of his hand, “That was pure salt water.”

“No shit,” you walked up to him and smacked him in the middle of his chest, “We’re next to the beach.”

With no response to his stupidity, Shawn took hold of your hand as he bent down to grab the handles of the beach chairs you would be using.  The two of you walked up the sandy boardwalk ramp and you were prepared to see a beach tagger sitting in a chair at the bottom fo the ramp.  

You were expecting to see a beach tagger that you knew.  One of your friends who lives in the beach town year round had worked the second street beach location for the past year and a half.  But he wasn’t sitting in the navy blue chair designated for beach taggers.  There was a teenage girl who looked to be sixteen.

Immediately your hands began to sweat and Shawn looked down at you curiously.  You chalked it up to being hot from the bike ride and just needing to get in the water.  He seemed to believe it.

It felt like walking to the beach tagger took ages, but in reality it was a ten second walk down the ramp.  She was reading a book and didn’t pay attention to you two at all, “Do you need to buy a day tag?”

You shook your head, “Uh––No.  We have season passes––here,” you brought up the strings of your back pack where you had two beach tags pinned.  

The girl dog eared her book and looked up at you before looking at the passes, “You’re good to––“ her abrupt stop to her sentence made you wince.  You knew she looked up again at you.  And you knew that she looked up at your boyfriend, not expecting to see Shawn Mendes, “…Go.” She cautiously finished up her sentence.

“Cool, right, yeah––Thanks.”  You took off down the dunes and dragged Shawn along.  

“What are you––Slow down,” Shawn whined as he kicked up some sand.  You slowed down a bit, but as you did, you turned your head over your shoulder and saw the teenage beach tagger not engrossed in her book like she had been before.  She was rapidly typing on her phone.

You knew she was telling someone she saw Shawn when she turned her head and made eye contact with you.  Her smile was giddy, and you couldn’t blame her.  Working as a beach tagger was literally sitting and do nothing for hours.  It was boring.  And now she had just seen Shawn, a musical performer that you assumed she liked, and it had probably made her entire summer.

“She noticed you,” You muttered under your breath as you and Shawn found a good place to set up your chairs. 

Shawn unfolded a chair and pushed it into the sand,“Hm?”

“The beach tagger,” you nudged your head over in the direction you had just come from as you unbuttoned your shorts and flung the t-shirt over your head.  You took the sun tan lotion out of your backpack, “She noticed you and she’s telling people she saw you.”

Shawn rolled his eyes as he got the second chair in place and took the sun tan lotion from you, “So what?”

“So,” you stressed as Shawn began rubbing the lotion in on your back, “People will find out that you’re here and mob you.”  Your eyes involuntarily closed as you felt Shawn’s hands work deep on your shoulder blades, “We did so well the past few days.”

Shawn laughed as he brought his hands on your shoulders, lifting your bikini straps so he could get sun tan lotion under them, “We were cooped up in your house for three days.”

“We still went out and did stuff!”  You exclaimed as Shawn glided his arms down your arms to wipe away any excess sun tan lotion.  Your breath grew shallower as he slid his hands slowly down to your hands and played with your fingers.  He intertwined your hands and pulled your back into his chest.  

Shawn then crossed your tangled arms over your stomach as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder, “I don’t care,” he kissed your cheek, “I like being in public with you.”

His breath was hot as he hung over your ear for a split second before untangling one of his hands and trailing it up the front of your stomach, “Although…If she hadn’t seen us maybe we could’ve been a bit more…” he let his sentence trail off and your eyes widened when you felt Shawn’s fingertips lightly graze under your bikini top.

“I think your mother would absolutely cut your head off if she saw any pictures like that in any publication.”

Shawn let out an overdramatic sigh as he removed his fingers the under part of your top piece and hooked his arm around your waist, “I know,” he squeezed you tight, “Such a shame.”

You laughed and untangled yourself from him.  You picked up the sunscreen and squirted some lotion into your hand, “Now, if there’s one thing Andrew will call me up about, it’ll be because of how burnt you got.”

With no response, because Shawn knew you were right on that one, he turned around and bent his knees so you could lather up his back.  You took longer than necessary, wanting to spend more than necessary feeling every crevice of his back.  By the time you had applied three coats to him and told him almost done for the seventh time, you knew it was time to stop.

The next few minutes the two of you applied sunscreen to your face, arms, legs, and Shawn insisted he get your stomach.  Can’t ever be too prepared for the sun, he said, you could always miss a spot.

And you never denied having Shawn’s hands roam your body.

It was just after twelve, with the sun being at its hottest point during the day, and all you wanted to do was jump in the ocean.  The smell of the salt water and squawk of the seagulls mocked you for not being allowed in.

“You have to let it soak in,” Shawn berated you, “You grew up on the water, don’t you know that?”

“I do,” you grumbled as you leaned back into your chair, “I just feel really sticky from the sun tan lotion.”

Shawn muttered something about you being needy and you kicked sand his way.  After a few more moments of sitting down, Shawn stood up and held his hands out for you to take, “Up.” 

You didn’t question his simple command and reached your hands out to grasp onto him.  When your hands connected you couldn’t ignore the jolt of electricity that still zipped through your veins like the first time you had ever touched him.

He dropped one of your hands, but kept the other hand held tight in his.  Just like you had told him, there was barley anyone on the second street beach.  It was more residential up this way of the town and all of the weekenders went to the main strip of the boardwalk to have easy access to food, bathrooms, and mini golf.

You meandered down toward the ocean and walked up to where the ocean waves just met the shore line.  The two of you just stood there, watching the tide bring in little broken shells and then take them back out to the ocean.  After a few moments, Shawn squeezed your hand and the two fo you began walking along the shallow part of the water.

“Thought we had to wait to get wet,” You chuckled as the waves barely covered your feet for ten seconds.

Shawn kicked some water, “Needed to cool off, plus, I think our feet are fine.”

You hummed in response, not knowing what else to say.  

Conversation was never pressured in your relationship.  The two of you prided yourselves on enjoying each others company more than anything else.  But there was something off with this offbeat silence of ocean waves.

“Talk to me,” You nudged his shoulder with yours and looked up at him.  He looked down at you with a fond smile, “Something’s up.”

Shawn nudged your shoulder back and chuckled, “I’m fine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Did you really just pull the I’m fine card with me?”  Your tone was light hearted, but when Shawn’s unnerving silence carried on, you changed your tone to one more of concern, “Are you nervous for tour?”

“Will you miss me at all?”

Shawn didn’t miss a beat with his response.  It was as if he had the question echoing around his head all day and was just waiting for the right time to bring it up.  The point of the mini-vacation was to spend as much time with Shawn before he jetted off to Europe to embark on a summer tour.  He had already completed his rehearsals so right after this weekend was done, he would be flying to New York City to meet up with Andrew and the rest of his crew, and then flying over to Amsterdam.

You had met Shawn through a mutual friend at university when he happened to show up at one of the house parties.  And since then, the two of you were constantly together; whether it be on FaceTime, phone calls, texting–literally anything.  Right from the start Shawn had expressed interest in you and wanted to skip the whole friends first phase.

He was impatient, but it was a decision that you agreed with.  His personality was infectious and his laugh was addicting.  You didn’t want to waste any time pretending like you weren’t interested in him.  

That was October and it was now the first week of June.  The only time you experienced Shawn on tour was for his Jingle Bell tour run in December.  And while he was just in the United States, it was still complicated to keep up with his schedule and tour demands.  It was early on in your relationship that you had to learn to adapt to his lifestyle.  He thought it made him undesirable, but it made you appreciate being in his presence and seeing his smile a million times more.

But a European tour was different.  This was day after day for months on end with an intense time zone difference.  It was going to be difficult, you didn’t lie to yourself about that, but you were confident enough in your relationship that it wouldn’t change anything. 

So when Shawn instantly asked you––will you miss me at all––at all––In the least confident voice you had ever heard come from his mouth, you felt your heart get carried away with the tide.

“I––Of course I’ll miss you,” you spoke in a strained voice, not liking whenever this topic was brought up, “I––I’ll miss you everyday, Shawn, but you’re going to have so much fun.” You squeezed his hand.

He sighed and ran a hand through his curls.  One of them bouncing back in place, “I know…I know…I just––I don’t know.”

“Hey,” you stopped walking.  It took Shawn a few seconds before he was pulled back since he was continuing walking down the beach and you came to a standstill.  You squeezed his hand and spoke softly, “We have a plan, we’ve talked about this.”

Shawn kept his eyes trained out toward the ocean’s horizon, a far off look in his eyes; pain. 

“I know––I don’t even know why I said that––Just, forget it.  It’s not important.”  He went to start walking, but again, he was pulled back by your hands still being connected and you standing still, “Y/n…” 

You tugged on his hand again until he stood next to you.  Both of you were now looking out into the unknown ocean, “It’ll be hard,” you gulped and Shawn responded with a monotone yeah, “But we can do it.  It’ll be hard, but we’ve done some distance before, this is just a bit…longer,” you realized that what you were saying wasn’t really helping the situation.

You sighed, “I’ll always pick up your calls.”

“What if you’re at your internship?” He fired back.

“Then I might not answer it,” you answered honestly, “But––I’ll say I have take a bathroom break and then I’m all yours for fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” It was the first time Shawn broke concentration with the ocean and stared at you with wide eyes, “That’s a fucking long bathroom break.”

You shrugged and offered him a soft closed lipped smile, “I’ll just say it was a terrible shit.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter.  His eyes were shut tight and his mouth let out a laugh so pleasing that you wished to be the only one to hear it for the rest of time, “They’ll never let you go to the bathroom again––Or––Or they’ll have you clean it up.”

Again, you shrugged and smiled up at him, “Worth it if I get to talk to you.”

“Even if I have to hang up like thirty seconds later?”  Shawn’s voice returned to its anxious state, “Even if you call back like right after I call and I don’t pick up––“

“It’s all worth it,” you leaned into his side and brought a hand around his waist.  He slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, “Even if I get your voicemail.”

“I’ll miss you,” Shawn spoke lowly.  The raw tone of passion and honesty that he held in his voice sent chills down your spine that made you want to wrap yourself in a blanket in the middle of summer, “I’ve––I don’t think I’ve missed anymore more than you before and I haven’t even left yet.”

You never felt a smile overtake your face just like the one you had plastered on your face right now, “Good,”  you were sure your smile was blinding the sun, “Because I love you too much for you not to miss–––“

You cut yourself off faster than the thought left your lips.  I love you too much.  You had been in a relationship for around eight months––close to a year––and the two of you knew that you loved each other, but it’s just never been spoke out loud before.  Shawn knew your reservations with that word and respected it.  It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in love, or had a bad history with an ex-partner, but it was the commitment that the word brought out.  It was commitment that this relationship had potential to be something more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.  

Love was the closet thing that the world had to magic; it seemed too dangerous to throw around something so magnificent in power.

Your mouth went dry, “I––Well, you––You’re gonna be gone for so long and I––You better not miss Brian more than me or we’ll have a serious issue––But like, I get he’s your best friend, but I’m your girlfriend––Eh––Hold on, that sounded really possessive and weird because like––I like Brian and I like your friends––Your whole world shouldn’t revolve around me––“

“I love you, too.”

“Because if it revolved around me, then we wouldn’t have a healthy relationship and––What?”

Shawn tilted his head and shifted your body so that you were in front of him, eyes locked, “I love you.”

“You––What?”  It was the second time Shawn spoke those words to you, but you still couldn’t process the information.

“I love–––“

Your eyes closed as your heart opened up, waiting for Shawn to kiss you after telling you he loved you again.  His lips softly touched yours before he was interrupted from finishing the sentence you wanted to hear from him and only him for the rest of your life.

“Are––Are you Shawn Mendes?”

It was a bit of an awkward situation.  Shawn had his hands on your waist and your hands were flat against his muscular chest.  His lips were still hovering yours and he let out an annoyed sigh as he continued rubbing his thumb softly over your hip.  

Reluctantly, he pulled away and plastered on a smile that you knew was a bit forced.

“Hey, yeah––I’m Shawn,” He introduced himself as he still kept an arm thrown over your shoulder, “And what are your names?”

The three teenage girls all looked at each other silently screaming about how they couldn’t believe they had run into Shawn Mendes in their tiny beach town.  You always enjoyed being present when fans met Shawn.  You loved how they looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky, but you were pretty sure you looked at him the same way too.

Shawn conversed with the fans for a few minutes, asking their recommendations for places to go in town, where their favorite mini golf was, and telling them all what he had done the past few days in town.  Of course they brought up the dreaded topic of tour and you felt Shawn tense up as he sputtered out his media trained response; it’s my favorite part of the job, I can’t wait to get back out and see everyone again.  While that statement was true, you knew that he was more apprehensive about this tour and what leaving you behind meant.  

You took their pictures individually with Shawn and then a group picture of the four of them.  One of them asked for a picture with you, which you politely declined. 

“It was really nice meeting you girls,” Shawn flashed his signature smile, “But could you hold off on posting those for a few days? I’m really trying to stay low key and relax before tour.”

They all nodded their head vigorously––Of course, Shawn–––We wouldn’t want to invade your privacy, Shawn––We’re just so thankful you took time to talk to us, Shawn––We totally get that you want to spend time with Y/n, Shawn.

Their last statement made you smile.

The girls walked off holding onto each other’s wrist whispering––Did that really just happen?! Shawn Mendes?! Here?!––and you grinned up at Shawn who was already beaming down at you.

“You just made their day.”

“Ah,” Shawn tsked, “You just made my day.”

You rolled your eyes and shrugged his arm off your shoulder and began to walk away in embarrassment.  Of course you were going to talk about what had slipped through your lips just moments ago, you wanted to talk about it, but you didn’t want any teasing from Shawn. 

“Hey,” Shawn whined as he managed to grab your hand before you were too far away.  He pulled you back into him and resumed the position you found yourselves in before the polite fans not-so-politely interrupted your moment.

His hands felt soothing on your roasting hot skin, “I love you.”

His nose brushed yours softly as you let your eyes flutter close and let out a content sigh, “I love you, too.”  

And just like that, you felt as if everything aligned perfectly in the world.  Everything in your world felt complete.  The sun shinned with a new meaning, the salt water air smelled sweeter, and the thumping of your heart beat with a new purpose.

You loved Shawn Mendes.

His lips touched yours lightly, no more than they did just before the girls interrupted, admittedly, you expected more of a kiss for saying I love you for the first time to each other.  

“Remember; you told me you loved me five seconds ago,” Shawn rushed out in a whisper.

You opened your eyes, “Wha––“ but before you could register anything, you felt Shawn grab your waist as he hoisted you over his shoulder.  You felt his shoulder collide with your stomach and your vision of his face was replaced with his swim trunks.  You weren’t that upset about that part.

But as soon as stereotypical thoughts of your partner’s butt came into mind, you felt the cold ocean water hit the back of your calves.  You managed to lean up slightly and hook your legs around Shawn’s torso.  His musical laugh rang through your ears once more as he adjusted his hands to grip the bottom of your thighs that clung to him for dear life.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him as you nuzzled your face into his neck and shrieked, “Shawn!  Don’t you––“ 

Before you could finish your sentence, Shawn let both of you be consumed by the salty ocean water.  The temperature of the water didn’t feel remotely as bad as it had before now that your whole body had been in the water, but it was still not a pleasant surprise.

Once Shawn lifted both of you up for air, you smacked his shoulder, “Why did you do that?!”

Shawn shrugged, “I don’t know,” he offered you a guilty smile, “But you love me, so it’s alright.”

You opened your mouth, but couldn’t find anything to rebuttal that statement.  You loved the way his eyes glistened under the sun.  You loved the way his wet hair stuck to the sides of his face.  You loved the way he listened to the nonessential details of your life.  You loved the way Shawn put his best work forth in music, family, life, and with you.

So, yeah, you couldn’t be mad at him.  You weren’t mad at him.  

You loved him quite a lot.

[comebeonetwothree]

Blog #1: The Beginning

05/25/2021

Welcome to my, I have no clue what I’m doing so bare with me, travel blog!! For these next few weeks, I will be driving across the country and back, hitting around 19 states in 8-weeks. 

Post grad life is a strange in between stage of: YES I DID IT and oh fuck I think I’m supposed to be an adult now. That comes with the constant question circling like a gnat on a hot summer day... So what’s next? 

Honestly Grandma, Aunt Karen, Uncle John and Kyle’s mom’s lesbian partner, I have no fucking clue so please stop asking!!!! 

But my actions are an answer to that question. I chose to postpone that whole adult career thing for a little longer. So I’m traveling for two months and I will avoid that question “What’s Next?”

COVID-19 really messed up the picture perfect ending of college, nevertheless, I still managed to have a blast every night in a “socially distant” manner ;) 

Traveling has always been a dream of mine, and I always assumed it would be there when I was ready and I would be ready when it got here.  Sheeshhh was I wrong... who would have imagined a pandemic closing down not only our borders to other countries, but state borders as well. 

It’s now been over a year since I have left New York State, and quite frankly, I am ready to explore. So naturally I got home from college a week ago and now I am off...

 Who

Who cares... 

Three girls, one car... How bad could it be? No, really, if we come back with bruises and cuts all over, I didn’t “fall down the stairs” or “walk into a door”...it’s official, our cycles have linked and we have gone mad. 

The goal is to meet new people along the way, people that touch our lives and make this trip more spectacular. And maybe we will touch some lives as well.

I can only imagine that who we are now will change and evolve throughout our journey, having only started this trip with hopes and dreams. When reality sets in, things will change, and discoveries about ourselves will begin to happen. 

Self-discovery is such an important aspect of this trip for all three of us. Personally, by not having any clue what I want to do for the rest of my life, I  hope the open mindedness of my current state will help me find joy in the simple life and give me insight into my future. 

 What

Whatever man...

Eight weeks of sight seeing, connecting to ourselves and trying new hobbies.

I hate jumping the gun and announcing any new hobbies because, 10 out of 10 times, I do one for a week and give up on that bullshit.

And sorry in advance if this blog takes a back seat... My plan is to prioritize life's natural beauties and learning. 

I’ve always wanted to start writing but was never inspired, and fiction isn't up my ally... I have the imagination of a 12-year-old boy, so go about that as you please :)

While trying to disconnect myself to the social world as best as I can, this new digital age is not going anywhere and as a Communications major, I am not escaping its black hole effect anytime soon. 

Blogging makes this feel less Gen Z and more “intellectual” if you will. 

I hope to keep this blog updated once at the end of every week, including the stops made within the week and the Who, What, Where, When, Why, and How’s of that weeks adventures. With some room for special surprises:) 

Overtime this blog will hopefully shape into what it needs to be. I researched many ways to blog and nothing caught my attention, so why would it catch yours? Here I am trying out my own version of this, so feedback is greatly appreciated in finding new fun ways to keep y’all entertained!

 Where

Where are we...

Give or take, there will be 19 states we will stay in. Starting in New York, we will slowly move down south and wrap back around. I won’t be revealing the locations until the following week's blogs, or on my Instagram and Facebook. 

We have secured 75% of the locations we will be staying at, and the rest is a fuck it. Hopefully finding some first come first serve campgrounds, or we’ll just sleep in the car. 

When in these locations, we will either be camping or staying in motels/hotels in cities. Trying to do this the cheapest way we can think of, my glizzy art might just have to make a reappearance (If you don’t know what glizzy is, hop off this blog right now and go to Urban Dictionary. And if you are not familiar with my glizzy art, well you probably should have followed me on snapchat during the last month of college in a pandemic). 

When

When in Rome...

Tomorrow people, it’s happening...

 If you are reading this today, its tomorrow!!! If you are reading this tomorrow it’s today!!! And if you are reading this a week from today, go fuck yourself, now you have to catch up... don’t be late again mister!

Why

Why the fuck not...

There is some serious independence when it comes to taking off for two months in a car with friends. 

I still remember when my mom had to drive me to my friends houses, and would talk to their parents to make sure I was safe. 

Going away to college was a leap in the direction of being an independent young woman. But I also went to a small town college and had roommates, making it a great step to the adult world of being fully responsible for my own actions. 

Next level right now.  I will be living out of a car, buying my own food and supplies, and not having the security of my family being a simple three hour drive away... not that I ever took advantage of that (sorry mom). 

Why the blogging... 

Not knowing what I am good at is quite frustrating, four years of college later... so I am going to just try new things until I find my passion. And this blog is a great place to reflect.

Spending two months out of the job force is already a weird concept to me. I've had a job for the majority of college waitressing at a local joint (shout out to Sloan’s NY Grill!). I worked all throughout high school as well. 

Not having any job obligation now seems strange, so let's hope this becomes  self-discovery into multiple opportunities or it will be the most publicly awkward diary ever:/ 

 How

How did you make it this far...

This came about one night drunk at a bar... simply expressing how weird it is COVID can take almost everything away from us so quickly. 

Maya and Mary both have a direction in their life as to “What’s Next.” Both having spent their last semesters of college pursuing opportunities for their future, they have become idols to me. 

I was lucky enough to bring this idea up before they left me for their full adult lives... getting an opportunity to travel with my two best friends. 

Mary is pursuing a teaching degree and spent her last semester as a student teach back home. Maya spent the last few months doing an in-person internship in the city to further her connections in the fashion industry. 

They both have this responsible adult thing going on, and I’m over here saying some dumb shit like “Hey let's take two months off of life and travel!” Weirdly enough, alcohol might have had an influential factor here, but they said hell yessss!! 

The next morning, waking up with a classic hangover, we all texted each other and reiterated the idea of this whole cross country, two-month excursion. 

And now look where we are :) 

 Bottom Line

Sooooo, this is a temporary blog that may or may not last. Don’t get your hopes up too high! I want to share this experience with everyone who has supported us through this crazy idea, and give a shout out to everyone who has reached out and wished us the best!

I am fully winging this and hope it's not too illiterate for you smarty pants out there... I’m just trying to have fun with it. This is not meant to be a job, but a start to finding the answer to everyone's question...

What’s Next?

[stahlop]

Making a Memory (3/?)

Once again, a big thanks to my betas @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite. This chapter was a bitch to write.

And thanks again to @gingerchangeling for her amazing artwork above!

Chapter 1 2

Ao3

The next two days felt like torture for both Hope and Alice. They had been told by the directors that they were lucky to be allowed to go into town and that they’d better behave themselves as they were representing the camp, to which Hope and Alice solemnly nodded. Henry had sent a text through Lori’s phone (another extra dollar to deliver the message) to meet at a coffee house in town at 11:00 to which Hope replied that she and Alice would be there (another dollar to text back).

 Hope had told Alice that Henry had confirmed they were sisters but nothing else, citing that this wasn’t something he could tell them over the phone. 

 “Maybe they both got amnesia and only remembered the last relationship they’d been in and that’s why they think our other parent is different?” Alice had suggested. Hope had thought that could be a possibility but then…

 “But what about the fire? Or is that where the amnesia came from?” 

 “Could be?” Alice said. “Maybe they both got amnesia from the fire and forgot the other and we just went with whichever one saved us.”

 “But that doesn’t explain Henry.” Hope said, which was also the fly in the ointment to every theory they came up with. Henry was the outlier. The only thing that didn’t make sense. As far as Hope knew, she and Henry both had the same father and Henry had never said anything different. Why would he lie to her for so many years about having a sister and potentially a different father?

 “I definitely think their memories have been altered or erased in some way.” Alice said. “My gut usually tells me if a person is lying, and Papa hasn’t lied to me once about thinking Milah was my Mama.” She frowned at the prospect that her gut could have been wrong about her Papa all these years.

 “Is it always right?” Hope asked. “I mean, you told me that it seemed to hate me on sight when we first got here, but it’s calmed down now, right?” Alice nodded. “Wait! Did you say it mainly tells you if someone is lying or not?” Hope asked, realizing what else Alice had said. Alice nodded. “My mom has that same thing. She can tell when someone is lying. I’ve always chalked it up to being able to read people well, but maybe it’s something you’ve inherited from her!” Hope got really excited about that prospect. Another piece of the puzzle being put together.

 “What was it like growing up with a brother?” Alice asked, changing the subject. Her whole world had been turned upside down and hearing about things she may have inherited from a mother she never knew existed still felt a little weird.

 “It…” Hope paused looking for the right words to describe it. “It was different. He’s 15 years older than me so we weren’t close. I mean, we were close, but not the close that two siblings would have if they were only a few years apart. I know he tried to help out mom with me as best he could. He lived at home during college when he could have lived at the dorms, and he lived at home until I was around 10 before mom kicked him out. He only lives a few blocks from us and he’s been real busy with the book writing lately. But he always makes time for me when I need to get away from mom for a little bit. In fact, he paid for me to go to camp this summer because I’ve wanted to go for forever.”

 There was a bit of silence after that. Neither one knowing what to talk about next. They’d exhausted their theories and both of them were a little leery about learning about the other one’s parent without finding out why they’d been separated and potentially lied to for their whole lives.

 Hope spent the next day reading through Henry’s novel, as if it might hold potential clues for her, even though it was a work of fiction. Alice spent them drawing pictures of various things, everything from characters in the book to things that had happened around camp. Hope was a little jealous at how good Alice was. 

 Finally, the day to go into town arrived. Alice and Hope had woken up early and were the first ones on the bus. They’d be getting into town around 10:00 so they’d have a little time to shop around before meeting Henry. They were both so antsy the entire trip there. As they got off the bus, Mrs. Hatfield remarked about how well they were getting along with a knowing look. If she only knew her initial assumption of them being sisters had been spot on, and that was the reason they were getting along, not because of the stupid Get Along Cabin.

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

 Henry had not been all together surprised when he had received the phone call from Hope. He had been expecting it after all, just not so early. He’d thought he’d have another 4 weeks, once camp had ended to figure out how to explain the situation they had all found themselves in. It wasn’t every day, after all, that one meets their long lost twin sister that they never even knew existed (although Disney would have people believing it, but they messed up most of their retellings of fairy tales, why would this be any different). But here he was, with only two days to figure out what he was going to tell his sisters, one of whom he hadn’t seen since she was two.

 He knew the situation was a mess.  It had been a mess since the twins were born. It wasn’t as if any of them had wanted this situation to happen, but it had and they’d been living with it for the past, almost twelve years. Well, Henry had, anyway, it wasn’t as if anyone else involved in this knew what the hell was going on besides him.

 The whole situation was bittersweet. He had checked up on Killian and Alice over the years, not that they knew that. He’d been discreet. Just happening to be in the same park as them even though it was nowhere near where he lived; jogging near Alice’s school as she grew up to be able to see her during recess. It had pained him to see her playing by herself in a trove of trees near the back of the playground away from everyone else. As she got older, she had the drawing pad, and he was happy that she had something she enjoyed doing. Henry had even gone to a few of her art shows and seen just how much like Killian she was in the drawing department.

 It was a lot harder to check up on Killian, as he worked at the docks and it wasn’t like Henry could just hang around the docks for no reason. He’d thought about getting a job there when he was old enough, but his mother would’ve thrown a fit. She would have given him a talking to about wasting the scholarship money he’d been given for his fancy Creative Writing Bachelors to go work, what she would have considered, a dead-end job at the docks. He had to make it part of his morning run, except that when Killian moved into management, he couldn’t get a look at him at all.

 Deciding to go into Creative Writing in college was a no-brainer. He knew he needed to get his story out, but he needed to do it in sections. Become one of those writers that had a book series instead of just one book. He wouldn’t have been able to get everything into one book as it was. The problem that he hadn’t anticipated was that no one wanted to publish it. He thought the alternative fairy tale genre would have still been a big seller, but it seemed that book publishers were more into dystopian societies again (a resurgence from when he had been a kid). It had taken him a lot longer to get Once Upon a Time out to the masses than he’d intended. The sequel would just barely be released before Hope and Alice’s fourteenth birthday and that was cutting it really close for what needed to happen.

 Henry had done the best he could in helping his mother raise Hope. He knew it was not the life she had imagined when she’d found herself pregnant. He still remembered with distinct clarity when she’d come rushing out of the bathroom waving around the pregnancy test. Explaining to Killian what the two lines meant, and then forcing Henry to go buy her a digital test just to make sure the cheap ones she’d bought over the internet weren’t faulty.  They’d been so excited to start their family together. And when they found out they were having twins, well Killian had practically spun Emma around in excitement (a little hard because they didn’t find out about the twins part until she was almost five months along and she was already huge. Alice had apparently been shy even in the womb as she was hiding behind Hope in the ultrasounds; their heartbeats always perfectly in sync with each other). And then...everything happened.

 Maybe it would be better if Henry tried to write what he wanted to say down. He’d always done better with an outline, a plan, an operation. Operation Gemini was on!

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

 The girls were already waiting at a table in the coffee shop when Henry arrived; three hot chocolates set at each place, all with whipped cream and cinnamon Henry noticed. As soon as Hope noticed him, she immediately stood up and ran to give him a fierce hug. 

 They stood there, hugging at the entrance, for what seemed a long while. Had it really only been two weeks since she’d gone off to camp? It felt almost like a lifetime. Even though Henry had moved out of the apartment, he still came by to see his mom and Hope every day. It was just the kind of family they had. Very close. 

 Henry had moved them off to the side so as to not block the entranceway, and he felt Hope shuddering in his arms. She was silently crying Henry realized as he stroked soothing circles on her back, something that always calmed her down as a little girl. He looked over to the table and noticed Alice sitting at the table waiting for her world to drastically change and all she looked like she was feeling awkward while she waited for them to finish their emotional reunion.

 “I don’t even know why I’m crying.” Hope wailed softly. “I just have so many questions and emotions from discovering that I have a sister, and it has finally hit me now that you’re here, Henry.” He was making this all real. And no matter the answer, no matter what he told her, Hope and Alice had to keep an open mind, because Henry knew the reality of this situation was going to change things forever.

 “It’s okay, Hope.” Henry whispered into her hair, something else he’d always done when she was younger. “I promise, everything is going to be okay.” He kissed the top of her head for reassurance. Hope seemed to snap out of it, and she broke away from Henry and dried her eyes on the back of her hands. Henry pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and gave it to her.

 “Always a gentleman.” Hope said as they walked over to the table. Alice, who had watched the whole exchange, looked at Henry with wide eyes. Henry wasn’t sure how either of them were going to handle what he was about to tell them, but Alice, despite the wide eyes, seemed overly calm about the whole situation. 

 “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.” Alice said, putting her hand out for him to shake it as he sat down at the table. Henry could tell she wasn’t quite sure what else to say. He could only imagine how she must feel, having grown up an only child and now she supposedly had a twin sister and an older brother.

 “We’ve met before.” Henry said sadly, taking a good look at her while he and Hope took their seats. It was like looking at a punk rock version of Hope and it was a little strange. “But I haven’t seen you since you were two and mom and Killian were still dressing you in matching outfits.” He laughed, remembering how their mother, of all people, liked dressing them the same and Killian absolutely hated it. They’re individuals, Swan, not dress up dolls! Everyone nervously took a sip of their hot chocolate.

 “Can we just cut to the chase.” Hope said. Henry chuckled at how much like their mother she was. Besides looking like her, just with a fuller face that he chalked up to still being a child, she had inherited her personality, and was always straight down to business. No pleasantries, no small talk, just get straight to the point.

 Operation Gemini hadn’t made it much past the notes phase when Henry tried to figure out how to explain things to them. Giving a speech was not the way to go. This wasn’t a book that he could plot out an outline and hope that everything went the way he wanted it to (at least not yet). And he knew these two girls were much too smart to not ask questions about everything he presented to them. He needed to know what they knew or had hypothesized for themselves before figuring out what and how to tell them about their pasts.

 Alice,” Henry said turning to her, “tell me what you’ve been told about your mother.” 

 “Uh,” Alice had not expected to be put on the spot, “her name was Milah.” Henry nodded in agreement, since he already knew that was who she thought was her mother. “She and Papa were together for about five years before they got married and had me. I’m named for my Papa’s mother. She died in an apartment fire when I was two which is also how Papa lost his hand. We…” Alice’s voice drifted off when Henry took out a notebook and started writing everything she told him down. He wrote at a very alarming rate, and it would look as if the words were magically appearing on the page, or at least, it would look like that to Alice, if she believed. 

 ‘H..how are you doing that?” Alice asked, fascinated. The pen he was using looked like an old fountain pen, the kind that required ink. Alice looked around but she saw no ink. He saw her look closer at the notebook which was an old, leather bound notebook with parchment inside. Henry held his breath. Could she see? Henry looked at Hope who was looking at Henry intently the same way Alice was, but he could tell that all Hope saw was a normal pen and notebook.

 Henry looked up at Alice with a quizzical look on his face. “How am I doing what, Alice? What exactly do you see?” From his tone, he hoped that Alice could see he truly wanted an honest answer. She looked hesitant for a moment, took another gulp of her hot chocolate, but then drew a deep breath before telling him exactly what she saw.

 “You have an old fashioned fountain pen, but it seems to not need any ink. And it’s putting the words on the parchment for you.” Alice gulped. Henry knew that what she had said would sound crazy to anyone else, but not to him. She looked over at Hope who was looking between Alice and the pen and notebook. She definitely was looking at Alice as if she just said the craziest thing ever. A wide smile crept over Henry’s face and tears sprang to his eyes. He wanted, more than ever, to just wrap Alice up in his arms like he had when she was a baby, and give her the biggest hug imaginable. He put the fountain pen and notebook aside.

 “Alice,” Henry said as he took both her hands into his, “I need to ask you something, and please answer honestly. No false modesty for my sake, please.” Alice nodded. “Now, I know Hope hasn’t read my book because she says it’s not her style,” Hope rolled her eyes at this statement, crossed her arms and mumbled “I've read some of it,” Henry gave a small laugh at that and focused back on Alice, “but have you read it?” Alice nodded, unsure of where Henry was going with this. “And tell me, my dear Alice, what did you think of it?” He continued.

 Henry watched Alice closely as she tried to figure out where to begin.  

 “It felt like I was reading about people I’d imagined my whole life. Like they’d been living in my head with no way out and then, bam! There they were on the page in front of me. And then I started drawing. Oh, I’d drawn mostly landscapes, places that were right in front of me, but I’d had these images in my head for so long of people, that about a year before your book came out, I’d started drawing them as well. And then there they were in your book. I have sketches of Snow White and Red from before your book even hit the shelves, and at first it scared me, because Papa has always said I might be psychic, just knowing little things here and there, but there it was for me to see. These people who I’d been imaging. I’d never known their story, and here it was laid out for me in the pages of your book.” She took her hands away from Henry’s and put them in her lap as a few tears, Henry couldn’t tell if they were happy or scared tears, slipped down her cheeks. Henry was still staring at her intently, his smile even wider if that were possible. He watched her put her one of her hands under her hair and rub the back of her neck, just like Killian always did.

 “Why did you ask her that?” Hope asked breaking the silence that had enveloped them after Alice had finished her revelation. Alice almost looked embarrassed about Hope asking. She’d just bared her soul about all the thoughts that had been in her head, probably for years, and how Henry’s book had opened the floodgates, and Hope’s only response had been to ask why Henry had asked that particular question? Of course Hope would be the non-believer. Like mother, like daughter.

 “That’s actually a very good question, Hope.” Henry said, his smile never fading. He beamed something that he hoped conveyed pride at Alice before looking over at his sister. 

 “I was going to start out telling you something different. I went over this in so many different ways the past two days, but I think I’m going to have to start with the storybook.” Henry said as he went to grab something out of his satchel. Hope rolled her eyes and scoffed.

 “Henry, you cannot tell us we are sisters and then just go off about your fairy tale book. I get that she’s a fan, but there are more important things going on here besides your book.” Hope said, exasperated. Henry paid her no mind. He placed two books on the table. One was a much bigger, much older looking copy of his book, made from what looked like real leather and gold leaf. Like something the publisher might sell as a collector’s edition. The other looked like his current book, only it was white with a picture of an apple tree on it in a golden frame. It also said Once Upon a Time, but not as ornately as the last book. The O was in red while the rest of the letters were in brown. Underneath the title read the words: Emma’s Story.

 “Is...is that the new book?” Alice squeaked out. Henry’s smile grew even wider if that was possible.

 “It sure is, Alice.” He said quite happily. “And, actually, Hope, these books will tell you everything you need to know about your past.” Both Hope and Alice looked at him. Hope’s expression was one of disbelief. She’d always held their mother’s belief in the practical, everything had a logical explanation, even if lightbulbs tended to pop when one of them were angry, or they’d find random candles lit without any explanation for it when they really needed to relax. Alice’s eyebrows were practically in her hairline for how high she had raised them. Henry could see that she was more open to what he was trying to tell her.

 “They’re all true?” Was all that Alice could get out.

 “Yes, Alice,” Henry nodded, “they’re all true.” Alice smiled with tears starting to form in her eyes. 

 Hope looked from Henry to Alice completely confused. He could see she was trying to comprehend what he was trying to tell her, that the fairy tales he had written about were supposed to be real, but her brain did not compute that. Fairy tales weren’t real. They lived in the real world and magical things simply did not happen. And now Hope was getting angry, because Henry still hadn’t provided any explanation to how she and Alice had become separated and why they had been told lies their whole lives about who their parents were.

 Henry sighed. “Look,” he said, running his fingers through his hair nervously, “this book here,” he pulled out the larger copy of his book and placed it on the center of the table, careful not to knock over any of their half drunk mugs, “is not just some fiction I made up.” He couldn’t believe he was in this situation where he had to explain this all over again. “Every story in this book actually happened. It’s the story of our grandparents and what they went through to eventually end up in this world.” Alice took in a breath of air while Hope looked at Henry like he was insane.

 “Henry,” Hope started, “fairy tales aren’t real. What you’re saying is ludicrous, and you’re beginning to really scare me.”

 “So, the Emma at the end of the book,” Alice said in barely a whisper, “she’s your mom? She’s actually the real daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and the savior destined to break the Evil Queen’s curse?” Henry knew it was a lot to take in, he knew it sounded insane, but he could also see that Alice believed every word that Henry was telling her. Hope just stared at both of them with a look that said she felt like she was the only sane person at their table. 

 “She did break the curse!” he said excitedly. “That’s what’s in this book. How our mother broke the curse and the various things that happened afterwards until she came to the Final Battle. And then….” Henry took a breath trying to stave off the catch that was starting to form in his throat. “We were separated. That’s how this book ends. With our separation.” He grabbed the almost empty mug in front of him and drained the last dregs of hot cocoa that were in there, grimacing at the grainy texture of the chocolate that had coagulated at the bottom. When he looked back at his sisters (he had never been so happy to add that extra ‘s’) he could see that Alice was thoroughly convinced that he spoke the truth, but Hope was still looking at him with a mix of incredulousness and a slight hint of murder. He could see her wanting to object again but cut her off when he continued with what he had to say. 

 “The final book. The final book of my series has not been written. I have no idea how it will end. Both of you need to help me write it because it’s about us, all of us. You two, me, mom, and Killian. It’s about what happened to us and a terrible danger that we will have to face.” Hope’s face immediately tensed at the word danger; Alice’s face lit up intrigued. He continued. “It won’t be easy. I am putting us all in jeopardy, but I don’t have a choice. This is something that we’ve known about since you two were born and I’m the one who has had to carry the burden of it for the past almost 12 years.” Tears were falling from his eyes and Alice handed him a napkin as Hope had never given him back his handkerchief from earlier. Alice also had tears falling as she had listened to what he had told him. Hope just looked frustrated.

 “Henry,” Hope said, breaking in again, “are we ever going to get any answers, or are you just going to parade your books around to Alice and let her fangirl over them. We’ve been here,” she checked her watch,” for an hour and you’ve given us nothing but fairy tales. Not even that, you’ve just given us the books to decipher an answer out of! We have to meet back on the bus to camp in an hour. Are you going to be able to tell us everything we need to know by then?” She gave Henry the look, the look he’d seen too many times on his mother that showed that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth and she was getting tired of it. If she’d been standing, Henry was sure she’d be stomping her foot like the tantrums she used to throw when she was younger.

 Henry thought for a minute. There was no way he could tell them everything he needed to in an hour. Hell, would they even be able to function at camp after everything he needed to tell them? Would they even believe him? Alice definitely seemed open to it, but Hope, she was so stubborn. It was like trying to convince their mother all over again. And that’s when he made the decision.

 “Look, Alice, do you trust me?” He asked, holding out his hand to her. She didn’t even hesitate, she took his hand and answered yes. “Hope, Alice, you are sisters. I am your half brother. Emma and Killian love each other very much, they just don’t remember, and I need your help to bring our family back together. But to do that, you’re going to have to leave camp and come with me. Can you do that?” 

 Alice nodded with no hesitation. Henry probably should have been a little more concerned that Alice seemed so willing to leave camp and go off with a perfect stranger who had just told her that he was her brother with no other explanation except that fairy tales were real and she needed to somehow get their family back together, a family that didn’t even know they were broken, but he saw the belief in her eyes and the trust she had toward him and Hope, and he looked past that concern. Besides, he was her brother, just because she didn’t remember him didn’t mean they weren’t blood. Both he and Alice looked over at Hope who was still looking at them like they were the craziest people she had ever met. Henry was about to apologize for ruining her camp experience when she finally spoke.

 “Well, I guess you two don’t really leave me a choice. I gotta make sure you crazy, and yes, I mean the literal meaning of crazy, people don’t get into too much trouble. Someone has to make sure that when mom and Alice’s dad, ...our dad, whoever he is, find us that we have a sane person to explain we went willingly and Henry doesn’t get arrested for kidnapping or whatever.” Hope flipped her ponytail behind her shoulder as if she didn’t really care either way if they got in trouble or not, but Henry knew better. He knew she was coming along on this crazy ride to make sure Henry didn’t do something stupid and to be there for Alice.

 Henry held out his hand for Hope since he was still holding Alice’s from earlier. She hesitated only a moment before grabbing it. Alice and Hope both gave a slight jolt, something most people would not have noticed or thought they had just had a shiver run through them at the same time, but Henry knew, he knew that was the sign that everything was starting. It was the sign that their family was coming back together.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx  @qualitycoffeethings​

[fizzingwizard]

We got episode 3 “Into the Digital World”! And the good news is we are still Very Much at it with the Taishiro lol

This pic pretty much sums up the whole episode for me:

❤️!

Spoilers under the cut...

So let’s knock the most important thing off right away, at the end of the ep they DO go to a real digital world!

And it looks like a child’s fantasy... a beautiful natural world full of amazing creatures. I have no idea how similar it’s gonna be to the world we know, though! So far everything’s different, even things that seem the same. Keeps me guessing.

The landscape is pretty intriguing. Looks like a planet/moon on the horizon? And I’m sure that interesting island’s gotta mean something...

But back to the beginning.

So last week, I was all boggled because they introduced Omegamon and Jogress so early. It was easy to think that since they’d started this hype wave, they were gonna keep riding it out, especially with Hikari and Takeru seeming to receive magic feathers and all. Well, that’s not really how it goes down.

The battle is very quiet, with few words - none at all from Taichi or Yamato until Koushirou gets their attention. I am not 100% sure about this, but from the way Taichi looks to the side when an attack comes his way and Omegamon then takes it out, I think it might mean Taichi and Yamato have some mental work of their own to do to help Omegamon fight and that’s why they’re so quiet. But that’s just a thought. I do love the idea that the kids’ ties to their Digimon have more of an affect on their ability to battle than just their evolutions.

One thing a Jogress does is make you glow. Yeah yeah, we glowed before too. No, I mean GLOW.

Like, nonstop.

Also, I have figured out that Taichi and Yamato must have suction cups on their shoes and that’s how they don’t fall off Omegamon while he’s hurtling all over the place

Cue awesome rock version of the theme song battle music!! Omegamon kills nu!Diaboromon the same way he kills him in Our War Game, with a STAB. But that doesn’t stop the missile. Here I thought would be Koushirou’s turn to shine, but aside from continuing to keep tabs on things, he doesn’t get to join in the fight this time.

Omegamon is somehow able to detect missiles, I guess?

And lock on to the infected one, which conveniently shows an actual lock, is red, and even has the monster’s eyeball symbol. We also see a bunch of Digi code before this.

He absorbs the powers of all the Crests into his sword (!!) ...

(notice they’re still glowing!)

... and stabs it. Because in Digimon, stabbing is always the answer.

BOOM shakalaka

People of Tokyo: Wow that’s bright! I should probably avert my eyes or put on sunglasses. But first, to Instagram!

Thanks, Kouushirou’s computer.

The missle blows up way up high and no one gets hurt. They also don’t seem to care all that much about what this is either! Seconds later everyone’s devices lose power, including Koushirou’s computer. He is very distressed, but the outage doesn’t last long.

Yamato and Taichi’s suction cups finally lose their grip and they fall away into a bright light...

Omegamon became a butterfly!!

It is now certain, Taichi didn’t pull a Kouichi xD He’s perfectly fine. That’s the RIGHT way to get in and out of the digital world at a train station. Take notes, kids.

OK before we move on I must take a second to appreciate these text messages Koushirou receives from someone named Mr.Unknown (gee I’m sure we’ll never hear from him again!)

OMG my life is

WHAT KIND OF REACTION IS THAT TO YOUR IMMINENT DEATH!?!?

“Someone stop it!” Suddenly Japanese (also from Mr.Unkown)

Twenty bucks says this guy is Gennai? Ryou? Wallace? KEN?!

no don’t bet against me please, I have no money.

Have an adorable Hikari, who didn’t get to do anything with the feather in the end. Who knows if she even really has it. She DOES seem to totally know what happened with her brother though. Takeru might know also? But Hikari definitely does. Our little oracle is back.

So Taichi is fine, Koushirou is fine, Yamato is fine. They all get back to the human world safely. Taichi and Koushirou head home, wondering if all that really happened, talking about what could happen next. More importantly, the Taishiro power returns at full throttle.

Koushirou: Do you know about this? This? This?

Taichi: Hmm... hmmm... hmmm.. thinking makes my head hurt...

(Like I rag on Taichi for not thinking but tbh he’s quite the thinker and planner... maybe more so in this season than in the original.)

Gloves returned to pocket. Goggles still at the ready.

Then Taichi reaches out his hand... Koushirou stares at it like he’s not quite sure what to do with it. And Taichi’s like, “Thank you so much, for everything, you were a huge help!”

Koushirou: “But I didn’t do anything.”

Taichi: “You helped so much by doing all that research! You’re awesome!”

Koushirou: :D “Y-Yeah!!”

He agrees that he’s awesome!! My baby!!

They shake hands! They’re such good friends now!

... Then Taichi walks backwards out of the elevator with his hand still outstretched, staring at Koushirou

WHAT

WHAT THE HECK IS THIS!?!?

This show producers aren’t even TRYING to hide their bias hahaha okay that’s the Taishiro fan in me but HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO READ THIS SCENE CMON LIKE!?

So Taichi’s about to go home, and at this point I’m thinking “I guess Koushirou’s never gonna ask that question about camp...!”

Then Taichi is like, “Oh yeah, didn’t you have a question about camp?”

Fricking. TAICHI.

I am absolutely stunned that it’s him who brings up Koushirou’s original errand xD Koushirou himself has completely forgotten about it! (Too busy basking in the glow of being called awesome about twenty times in what this episode establishes is less than an hour!)

Seriously Taichi is SUCH A DAD!? His mom comes home and tells him about her day. Hikari comes over and he pats her on the head and tells her she was brave and did a good job. All he needs is a newspaper and a tie to reach peak Dad-ness.

Hikari: “Thanks big brother!”

Taichi: “...? For?”

So about Yamato... on the elevator Taichi realizes he never found out where Yamato lives...

... It’s Shimane. Grandma’s house in Shimane! Well I mean, they could make it somewhere else, but the point is it’s super inaka countryside. Yamato has a call with Takeru which makes it seem like they indeed don’t live together, as Takeru shyly asks Yamato if he’ll come visit since it’s summer break, and Yamato says he does intend to go to Tokyo and see him. Not sure yet who Yamato’s living with, if it’s still his dad or he lives with his grandparents in this version, or there’s some other reason he’s not in Tokyo...

Yamato also asks if Takeru’s okay, and Takeru replies he was inside all day so he’s fine. That’s what makes me think Takeru knows about Yamato going to the digital world. He might not, but I like the idea that he does. My guess would be he knows because he’s seen Yamato do it or something, whereas Hikari just knows because she’s psychic :P

Then guess what! WE GO TO CAMP!

Only for like, two minutes, though. That was a bummer for me. Camp is just a vehicle to introduce a couple other characters, then they go home. Well, we don’t need two of the exact same show I guess... I’ll just appreciate this as a nod to the original.

First we see Jou! He’s hancho again and trying to tell other kids how to use a knife. He immediately cuts his finger. Good ole Jou I can’t wait to have him back.

Taichi and Koushirou are walking around camp and Koushirou trips due to Jou yelling and basically throws his laptop straight into the air

Laptop: “FREEEEEDOM!”

Mr Superior Reflexes AKA Taichi quickly grabs Koushirou and prevents him from smashing face first into the dirt. GOSH THEY JUST WILL NOT STOP WITH THE TAISHIRO. I CANNOT.

Koushirou: “H-H-Human c-c-contact?!?!?! Is this SKINSHIP”

Like y’all know this isnt my fault right? I wouldn’t have to say these things if the show didn’t make it so durn easy. Bahahahaha.

Guess who catches the laptop! Soooooraaaaa!

My girl is back! She’s got butterflies!

Koushirou says he knows who she is because the girls in his class always talk about how she’s so cooooool!

This episode establishes that Sora is 1) popular 2) well-liked 3) responsible 4) quick-thinking 5) athletic 6) Taichi’s old friend 7) coooooool in like, thirty seconds.

Taichi and Koushirou continue to spend aaaaaall their time together. My one complaint here is that all they do is talk about the digital world. And while I know it’s no surprise, the one thing I always loved about old Adventure was that to a certain extent, the kids got to act like kids. Of course they had uncanny adult wisdom and ability to sit still, lol. I understand that. So far in this show, they’re not really acting like children even a little bit. It’s all superheroing. That’s how I feel at the moment though - the only one I expect to really act like a child is Takeru, and probably Mimi, I’d guess. I do hope we get to see a larger range of personality from all of them in the future. It is only episode three.

Koushirou’s icon is a pineapple <3

So there’s a new threat but it’s not as obvious as the old one. Another power outage happens but they don’t know how important it is right away. Then both Taichi and Koushirou’s digivices start to glow! Taichi runs out, and here we finally got some new personality from him, something beyond friendliness and bravery: He really, really wants to see Agumon again. He’s already feeling the depth of that bond and it’s really been weighing on him that they parted so abruptly. He has so many questions. I would say, Koushirou talked about the digital world non stop because he finds it interesting, but Taichi talked about it because he misses Agumon. (Koushirou after all hasn’t met Tentomon yet.)

Before he can run out, Taichi runs into Hikari in the living room. She’s worried, and she clearly knows what he’s up to, but all she says is “Itterasshai.” I super appreciate that the set up and lighting is the same as these scenes between the two of them in original Adventure! It’s a total throwback to that hallmark ep of Adventure, episode 21.

Unable to think about anything but seeing Agumon again, Taichi runs outside to the train station where Koushirou is (I wonder if the train station is going to become like their base point or something). He doesn’t even notice Sora, but she notices him...

... and in true Sora fashion, immediately turns around and starts chasing after Taichi without a word xD

ugh I will always hate how PINK she is in this

Sora: “Taichi’s running somewhere awful fast... he has that look on his face... he’s going to get into trouble ugh I just know it”

The digivices glow and both Taichi and Koushirou disappear into the digital world. As they go through the vortex, we see a bunch of colored lights...

So this one is clearly Taichi and Koushirou, and Sora as well. My guess is she gets swallowed up as a result of following Taichi.

However, over here we have Yamato, Jou, and Mimi, but why would they all be together? Yamato’s fine, but how are the other two getting in?

It doesn’t seem like Takeru’s joining this time, which is interesting. But I might be wrong - only episode 4 will tell.

Taichi wakes up in the real Digital World and is finally reunited with Agumon. End episode 3 <3

I’m really curious about what’s coming next! I’m still pretty shocked that a Jogress happened so early, but I’m gonna guess now that we might not see it again for a good long while. My prediction is that Yamato’s gonna be more like the lone wolves of other seasons (Ken, Ruki, Kouji, etc) who don’t want to join the main team right away, then suddenly just do. Everyone loves a rogue hero. I am super excited for the whole team to be together though so we can see all those personality dynamics grow! I really want them to not go home for a while and have to live by their wits, but I don’t think that’s the way this show wants to go, it wants the drama of going back and forth between lives... OTOH, we now know for sure that it IS summer break, so I suppose they don’t really have a NEED to go home. Maybe we’ll get a bit of both - they usually go home after, but sometimes end up on a longer stay?

I think what I need most from this show is the rest of the team before it will really feel like Digimon Adventure to me. So looking forward to episode 4!

eta: I totally forgot about the pics I took of the trailer for next week!

Look how awesome this is! This is exactly what I am hoping sticks around for a good long time! We need the partners to bond and we need to live up to the name of “Adventure”!

Since the trailer only shows Taichi and Sora, I wonder if that means everyone’s split up. Koushirou’s light seemed a bit distant from the other two in that screencap up there, so maybe he lands somewhere else and they all have to find each other. Makes sense, really. I’d expected that for the other three but figured Koushirou would be with Taichi... but it’ll be awesome if he has to try to get by on his own in the beginning. Also, so excited for Birdramon!

Bonus: I found a vid on youtube that claimed to have English subs and I clicked out of curiosity... this is what it wrote when Taichi says “Koushirou”:

X’D Koushirou has so many nicknames now. DJ Wiseman, Kou the Bro, Awesome, Taichi’s New God, Godzilla... I love Youtube.

[monstersandmaw]

Male hermit crab mer x reader (nsfw). Mermay story #3

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Eep, sorry it's a bit later than I wanted, and it's technically not May any more, but I got sick, and I'm still writing those last few hand-written stories for you.

This story got a great reaction from my Patreon supporters, and he’s been a subject of discussion over on my Patreon discord server too! I’m really excited to introduce him to you folks now too!

***

To say that you’d needed money was an understatement.

You’d quit your job at the supermarket because of your arsehole manager, and your bank account was down to single digits as the start of the summer rolled by. You realised you had to do something before you starved to death and couldn’t make your rent. As if by divine providence, your eye caught an advertisement in the window of the local newsagent’s as you went to buy a pint of milk on evening.

Yours was one of the parts of the city that was less populated by humans and more by non-humans, and as such, you’d become a familiar face to the minotaur who ran the shop. With a soft smile, he watched you staring wistfully at the advert on the back of the door, and when you’d not moved for a good few minutes, he said in his big, deep, gentle voice, “You thinking of doing it?”

“Hmm? Oh…” you said, startling and glancing round at him before letting your eyes return to the poster.

With a picture of a wide sandy beach, the “Starfall Springs’ Summer Kids’ Activities Camp” was advertised in bold colours, promising ‘activities and games for all abilities, treasure hunts, learn to swim, surf, snorkel, and even ride, play a variety of games, music, and take part in story telling, basic survival and outdoor education courses, and art classes’.

“I’m not a kid,” you snorted playfully, and the minotaur laughed.

He flicked his white ear and said, “If you’re looking to get involved though, my cousin is running one of the outdoor classes and he’s one of the organisers. He said they’re kind of understaffed this year.”

“Oh man,” you groaned. “I could use the money, for sure, but I can’t teach swimming or bug hunting or whatever…”

“You could take the art classes, or just help out with some of the other activities?” he suggested. “I actually did it a couple of years ago, and it was really fun. They focus a lot on breaking down barriers between the species, and trying to get everyone involved. I think you’d be great at it. Let me give you my cousin’s number…”

He scribbled down a phone number and the name ‘Dane’, and handed it to you on a scrap of paper.

“Thanks,” you said, gratitude swelling inside you, and no small degree of hope.

With the final pay cheque that came in from your former job just in time, you payed your rent for the month and bought a ticket to Starfall Springs. You’d negotiated free accommodation in conversation with Dane, by agreeing to take on two more activities than would be normally expected of an employee. He actually agreed to pay you for the additional activities, so you were more than willing to do it. Dane seemed like a nice guy too, and he said he’d meet you at the train station and drive you over to the camp.

When you got there, you found a huge, white minotaur with a traditional ring through his black nose, wearing a baggy t-shirt and baggy football shorts, his massive hooves clopping noisily on the concrete of the station as he stepped forward to help you with your bag.

“Here, let me,” he grinned, holding out his other hand for you to shake it. “I’m Dane,” he added.

You introduced yourself and thanked him for his help.

“No problem!” he laughed, shouldering your massive sports bag as if it weighed nothing at all, and leading you out towards the station exit where a huge pickup truck waited in the sunny parking lot beyond. He set your bag down in the bed of the truck and opened the passenger door for you to climb in. “I need to do some food shopping on our way back; I hope you don’t mind? I thought maybe you could pick some stuff up for the week too…”

You nodded and settled in as he fired up the truck and drove from the station on the outskirts of the old town towards the centre. He explained where things were and pointed out some landmarks, and before you knew it, he’d pulled to a halt in the little car park at the back of the grocery store in the centre.

You followed the massive minotaur inside, his shock of thick, ice-white hair gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun, and the moment the quaint little bell above the door dinged at your entrance, he waved merrily at the gnoll behind the counter.

“Hiya, Sorrel,” he called and she beamed him a toothy grin. To your surprise, he introduced you as well, and added, “We managed to get ourselves another helper down at the beach camp.”

“Oh brilliant!” she said. “I’ll be bringing Ginger over for her first day tomorrow. She can’t wait to get involved in the sports, and honestly, the little scamp is climbing up the walls… I can’t wait for you lot to tire her out for me!”

You chuckled awkwardly, feeling a little knot of apprehension starting to form in your gut. You'd never done anything quite like this before, but you were pretty confident you would do alright. How hard could it be after all?

You knew that the camp provided lunch every day, but you’d have to get your own breakfast and supper, so you stocked up, and when you were both done, you and Dane headed over to the coast.

A gasp of awe and surprise left you as the pickup rumbled down the track and turned the corner to reveal the wide, sandy beach stretching out for miles before the softly lapping waves just kissed it at the shore. The tide was out, and wading birds dabbled at the far off tide line.

“Holy…” you breathed, and Dane chuckled.

The camp’s headquarters were set back from the beach itself, and it appeared to have been the old coastguards’ station before it had been converted into the activity centre. Not far off was a ramshackle old beach hut, rather larger than you were used to and painted in faded pastel colours which looked like the paint had seen one too many winters before being refreshed.

Outside the hut was the most remarkable merfolk creature you’d ever seen.

With a large, vivid orange shell that shimmered like mother of pearl, was what appeared to be ostensibly a hermit crab, except that he had the torso of a human man. His skin was pale, his body slim, and his hair was a brilliant, flaming red, tied up in a scruffy bun with sections flopping about in the stiff breeze that blew in off the distant sea. He seemed absorbed in the humble task of hanging shirts up to dry on a little washing line which was attached at one end to his wooden shack and at the other to a small pole driven into the sand a short distance away.

“Ah!” the white minotaur chuckled as he parked up and saw you staring at the hermit crab mer with astonishment written clear across your face. “That’d be Leo. He’s the camp organiser, and the one who started it all off five years ago.” Dane continued to watch your face and laughed again. “Never seen an arthropodal mer, I take it,” he snorted.

“No,” you said. “I haven’t. I didn’t even know that they existed… I mean… that’s really cool?”

“I’ll tell him you think he’s cool,” Dane said as he hopped out and closed the door. “He’ll love that.”

“Oh god, don’t embarrass me on my first day here…”

Dane’s booming laughter made the merman look up and tilt his head curiously to one side.

You saw as he turned that he had two pairs of rather chunky, armoured, articulated legs which supported most of the weight of his shell, and two larger, clawed legs which he used to propel himself forward. In the same way that a drider’s upper body began at the hips, so the ‘arthropodal’ crab-like mer’s human torso rose from the hips to reveal a lean upper body that made you want to bite your lip and look away. Or maybe just keep staring.

He waved and a broad, almost goofy grin split across his face. “Hey!” he called towards the pair of you.

“Alright?” Dane bellowed at him across the distance.

Leo nodded and then turned his gaze to you.

“You wanna go meet him now while I take the stuff into the house?” Dane asked, already with his huge hands around the handles of about six grocery bags.

“Um… sure?” you said.

Trotting down the little boardwalk path through the narrow, grassy dune, you felt a bit silly, but the movement burned off most of the adrenaline and by the time you’d reached him, you felt pretty confident. “Hi,” you said as he turned to face you, and you realised as he did that actually he was quite tall.

He stuck out his hand and grinned, revealing little dimples in his pale, immensely freckled cheeks, and, craning your neck up, you shook his hand. “I’m Leo,” he said. “You must be the extra helper that Dane said he’d managed to rustle up from the city?”

“Yeah,” you said, awkwardly tacking your name on the end.

Leo released his grip on you, and at that moment, his hair came loose from the bun and blew right across his face. The hair-tie fell to the sand a little way away, and as he swept his hair back off his sharply handsome face, you both bent to pick it up at the same time.

And inevitably, you cracked heads.

At the impact, you toppled backwards onto the hard sand, and he yipped in embarrassment, darting forwards. “Oh gosh!” he gasped. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Here…” and he held out his hand to you again. “I’m sorry,” he said.

As you laughed it off, rubbing your forehead, you looked up at him and saw that his pale skin had flushed a dark red, and that his rich brown eyes were shining almost to the point of tears. “It’s fine,” you said. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Let’s hope I’m less clumsy tomorrow,” he said. “I wouldn’t count on it though,” he added. “Ugh. Anyway, I should let you get settled in and stuff… you know.” The blush darkened even further, and you had to chuckle.

“Sure, ok. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, deciding to cut the poor guy some slack. For what was essentially an armoured tank on legs, he seemed surprisingly awkward and shy.

He nodded and as you walked away and turned to glance back once you hit the sand dune, you saw him smack his own forehead with the palm of his hand and shake his head, muttering, “Idiot!”

You pursed your lips and suppressed a good-hearted snicker, heading into the former coastguards’ headquarters to unpack and start thinking about some supper.

Next day saw the arrival of the first groups of children, and before they got there, all the staff for the camp assembled over breakfast to talk through the last minute details which required attention.

You would be helping in the first week of activities with the children who wanted to learn to ride, and the four centaurs who had volunteered their services for the project told you what they’d need from you. As it turned out, they wouldn’t need much, just help with tacking them up and getting the kids sorted at the start and end of the hour long lesson. You’d be needed to put out cones and poles for them to walk around or over, but other than that, you got to sit on the side and watch for a while.

After that, you would be heading over to help Leo with some of the treasure hunt and beach activities.

Your first morning passed in a whirl of activity, but luckily none of the children fell off the centaurs, and you made a particular friendship with a very cheeky and very tiny Shetland centaur named Sinnavo. She pushed her bushy blonde hair out of her face at the end of the class, once her rider had dismounted and headed over to her next session, and hissed, “Bloody hell; that human was a right little shit!”

“So much for improving inter-species relations…” you muttered out of the corner of your mouth and she snorted in delight, pawing the ground.

“Yeah, right? Anyway, that’s me done for the day. Enjoy your afternoon, my lovely! And do me a favour?”

“Sure?”

“Count how many times Crabcakes over there blushes, will you?”

“‘Crabcakes?’” you asked, eyebrows skyrocketing as you followed her gaze to the hermit crab mer who was currently corralling children of all races and species into a tight bunch so he could explain the rules of the treasure hunt.

The tiny, sassy little centaur grinned. “Well, it was that or ‘Leonardo da Pinchy, but he really hates that one.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, stifling laughter behind your hand as Leo looked up at you, a clipboard in his hands and a suddenly suspicious look on his handsome face.

As you said your goodbyes to her and headed over, he pouted. “She called me Crabcakes, didn’t she?”

“Maybe?”

Blush one.

He rolled his beautiful eyes. “She knows I hate that, but I call her ‘Haystack Hair’, so I guess we’re even.”

“Does none of the species here get along?” you asked, only half joking, and he laughed.

“She’s been helping out with the Summer Camp since the very beginning, and she’s one of my dearest friends. Don’t worry. It’s… It’s just this ongoing thing we have. Ignore it. And… please don’t call me Crabcakes.”

You crossed your fingers over your heart, and the grin you got from him in response was enough to stall its regular rhythm.

The more time you spent with him, the more fun you seemed to have.

As he worked with the much younger children, he became bubbly and animated, and all his awkward nerves seemed to melt away. It was a delight to watch him working with them, encouraging them, emboldening them, and making them laugh with his silly expressions and goofy behaviour. He was always supportive and attentive, but he brooked no nonsense either. The group you had towards the end of the week had a gnoll with cerebral palsy and a young lizardfolk child who needed a special beach wheelchair, but he made sure they were included in every activity, and from the looks on their faces as he took his time with them, you knew they were having the time of their lives.

Human children and half-bloods, avians and felines, orcs and werewolves, disabled or not, were all allowed to be themselves, and for the most part, everyone got along. It was amazing, and you’d never seen or heard of the likes back in the city, and it gave you a thrill that seemed to set the marrow of your bones alight every time you woke in the morning and got ready for a new day.

You had Friday afternoon off, and as the last of the children left, one writhing and screaming and begging to be allowed to stay for the next week, you saw Leo stagger slightly where he stood on the beach.

Frowning, you stood and went down to meet him. “You ok?” you asked.

He laughed nervously. His cheeks were now a little sunburnt, and you'd lost count of the blushes by Tuesday morning, but you thought he looked a little pale underneath the pinkish tinge. “I… I feel a bit squiffy, that’s all… I’m good. I think… I think I might need to eat something though. Or drink.”

“Too much sun? Maybe drink first then eat?” you suggested. “You stay put and I’ll grab you a lemonade and one of those seaweed and fish snacks.”

His answering smile was so sweet that you almost reached up and kissed him, but you stopped yourself in time. You didn’t know him all that well, despite hanging out almost every lunchtime. At the end of the day he was always the last one packing up and the last one to go home, but when he did, that was it. He seemed intensely private and quiet, valuing his alone time as much as the time he spent entertaining the kids in the Summer Camp.

And you admired that about him. He knew when he had reached his limits and, shy and retiring though he was, he was not afraid to say that he needed to head off and recharge. To your relief, the other camp staff respected that too, and wished him a goodnight, but you secretly wished each time that he’d stay for just a little longer, so that you could see him out of the context of the camp’s structure.

Returning with the drink and snack, you found that he’d made his way a little further down the sandy beach towards the shore, his shell leaving a deep furrow in the hard sand as it dragged behind him. You wondered suddenly if it was particularly burdensome for him.

“Leo?” you called and he stopped, just with his pointed, crablike toes dipped in the shallowest of the calm waves.

He turned, the wind tugging playfully at his auburn hair, and your feet faltered. He was beautiful, in an androgynous, fairytale kind of way. “Thank you,” he said, taking the bottle from you and draining half of it in one go. He looked at the snack and said in a slightly vague voice, “My favourite…”

You grinned. “I noticed you always pick them at lunch time,” you admitted.

He smiled and said, “Thank you. I’m… I’m…” and then he tailed off with a sigh, turning to look back at the sea without finishing his sentence.

“Leo?” you asked after a long pause.

With his crab legs as they were at the moment, he towered over you at maybe seven or even eight feet tall, and the only part of him that you could reach was the ‘shoulder’ of his crab’s body where it joined his human torso. He was wearing a plain red t-shirt that day and the breeze made it ripple softly, revealing the pale skin of his upper half every now and again.

As you touched him, he jumped slightly, and then laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m… I’m not very good with people…”

“I think you’re amazing,” you blurted. “I mean, you’re so good with all the kids and stuff, and they all loved the activities you organise…”

His smile was sad this time, and it made something crack inside you to see it on his handsome face which, until the end of the week’s activities, had so frequently been illuminated with his brilliant, happy laugh.

Leo swallowed nervously, turning the wrapped snack over in his hands without opening it, toying with it as if maybe you’d forget about him if he stayed like that long enough. Eventually, however, he huffed a shy laugh and said, “I mean… outside of that. I ‘get’ kids. I know how to make them happy. I know what to say to them. They’re simple. It’s the adults I don’t understand. I get…” he tucked his long hair behind his freckled ear and flushed. “I get nervous. I say stupid things…” He shot you a look and added, “I crack heads with them…”

You had to laugh, and at the sound of it, the nerves seemed to dissipate a little. “I think you’re doing just fine, Leo. And you get me, anyway. Although I’ve always been told I’m a bit of a child still…” you added playfully.

He laughed. “Thank you.”

“Listen, I know you tend to keep to yourself in the evenings, but are you coming to the barbecue tonight? Dane said it’s gonna be on the beach…”

Leo looked at you and licked his lips. “Are you going?”

You nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll come for a bit.”

Impulsively, you reached and took his hand, giving his fingers a squeeze before letting go and turning away. “Looking forward to it then,” you said as you left him in the waves to recharge a bit.

The torches which Dane had stuck into the sand flickered and blazed in the wind, and the tide, which had crept up the beach as the evening had slunk in, formed a beautiful backdrop to the party. The other camp staff were all there, from the centaurs to the drider and werewolf who had taken the outdoor and wildlife activities, to the naga who had led the more arty classes, and, lastly, Leo arrived just as the food was deemed ready.

He snuck in at the edge of the group and touched your shoulder lightly.

“Hey, you made it!” you grinned, and he nodded bashfully.

“Leo!” the naga yelled, raising his beer over the flickering flames in the pit at the centre of the ring of eclectic stools and stumps for sitting on.

“Hey,” Leo mumbled, and then to you he hissed, “Any second now, someone is going to make a ‘coming out of his shell’ comment, I bet you.”

“What do you bet me?” you countered playfully, and Leo blinked.

“What?”

“What are the stakes?”

“Uh…”

You chuckled and said quickly, “Ok, if someone says it, I’ll come for a walk with you along the beach to get you away from everyone. How does that sound?”

Before he could respond, the werewolf on the far side howled, “Look who's come out of his shell for the evening!”

And you and Leo burst out laughing, much to everyone’s surprise.

“You’re on,” Leo said. “Let me grab some food first, ok?”

You watched the strange way he moved, his heavy claws tugging his body and shell forwards, and a million questions burned in your mind: what did his body look like inside the shell? Did he ever leave his shell? Did he spend more time in the sea than on land normally? Did he have gills to breathe like other mer, or could he hold his breath like a selkie for ages? Where did he get a shell that big from?

You were still pondering your questions when he returned with a fish finger sandwich in one hand, and he cocked his head curiously in the way that he had which reminded you of a little puppy. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“I…” you faltered, and now it was your turn to be awkward. “I was just thinking, I guess…”

He snorted, the gesture accompanied by a lopsided smirk, and he said, “You’ll have to share some of those thoughts on our little walk, I suppose. Do you want to go now?”

“You don’t mind eating and walking at the same time?”

“Nope,” he said.

And without really excusing yourself from the milling group of other camp staff, the two of you headed down the beach together.

“So…” he said after a little while of walking in silence while he ate. “What got you so curious?”

“Oh…” you said. “I… I guess… I mean… I’ve lived in the city most of my life and while my two best friends are actually non-human, I… I’ve never actually met a merfolk before this week.”

He looked down at you and shrugged. “Makes sense. And you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yeah…” you muttered. “But I don’t know what’s, like, rude to ask or not.”

To your surprise, he barked a laugh, tossing his head back so that his long red hair fell down his back and caught in the wind. “Ask away. You can’t be more awkward than me, or even some of the kids for that matter. Unless it’s about my junk, I’ve probably heard it before from the kids.”

“Oh my god,” you blushed. “No, it’s not… I mean… I hadn’t thought about…” But you definitely had…

He raised an eyebrow at you, and in that moment you saw a whole new side to him. Mercifully, however, he let it lie.

You began your tirade of questions, and it turned out that his body under the shell was soft. Since his kind used the shells as protection, he had no need for armour plating like he had on his legs. Sometimes he did leave the shell, but mostly he had no need to.

When it came to asking about time spent on land or in the sea, he smiled wistfully. “I love the land,” he said. “Well, I mean, I love the beach. I’ve never actually been into town or anything.”

“Really?”

He grinned. “You try dragging this shell up the cliff path and see how far you get… and I’m not going without it…”

“Naked, you mean,” you laughed, and despite the way the moonlight washed most of the colour away, you could see the blush very clearly.

You paused, nearing a pile of rocks at the furthest end of the crescent shaped beach, and picked up a tiny cockle shell, rinsing the sand out in the water. Leo watched you and when you turned to look up at him, he frowned slightly, curiously.

“Where do you get your shells from?” you asked, turning the tiny shell over in your hand. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen one like yours before…”

He smiled. “There are some big creatures out there,” he said, staring at the blackness of the water, the tips of the waves silvered by moonlight.

“Yours matches your hair and your legs,” you said, eyeing the orange of his armour plating.

Leo’s flush was so deep that you almost felt the heat of it radiating out from his cheeks, and he turned away.

“What?” you said.

“It’s… Nothing…” he mumbled.

“No, go on,” you insisted. “If I said something wrong, you should tell me…”

“You didn’t,” he said, still looking away, the curtain of his hair half hiding his face. “It’s…”

“It’s what? Is it super personal to comment on someone’s shell? Is that it?”

He nodded.

“Ah. Well,” you breezed, “I do like it. I can’t hide that I think it’s beautiful, and it suits you, so… yeah.”

Leo turned back to face you and you saw something glinting in his eyes. “I’ve never met a human quite like you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. “Good. Well, it’s bad for me because it makes me even more of a klutz, and I… oh dammit,” he hissed as his cheeks continued to blaze.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching for his hand as it hung limply at his side. “I like that you’re so easy to read. Your reactions are honest, and that’s… refreshing, you know? There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He brought his other hand up to his face and rubbed briefly at his eyes.

“What’s really bothering you?” you asked after a moment.

Again, he chuffed an awkward laugh and dropped his hand and turned to look at you, eyes gleaming. “I don’t… I don’t know how wise this is.”

“‘This’?”

He tilted his head knowingly, and your stomach lurched.

“I like you. A lot,” he said, voice thick. “And I’m scared that it’s not appropriate or something. And… I don’t have a clue what I'm doing. My kind are rare enough, so I hardly see someone of my own species to interact with on this level, let alone a human. I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You squeezed the hand that you were still holding and said, “It’s ok.” Plunging guilt and disappointment filled your chest though. You’d not realised quite how much you’d come to like him in this first week until then, and the Summer Camp still went on for another two. “Why don’t we just… hang out over the next couple of weeks? And at the end, if we want to take it somewhere, maybe we can explore that then. But if we decide not to, then we don’t have to. I can go back to the city, and that’ll be that.”

You didn’t miss the way his fingers clenched suddenly at that, but he nodded.

The next two weeks were honestly torture. By the middle of that second week of the three that made up the entirety of the summer camp, you were convinced that you really, really liked him. He kept looking at you after the classes were over; he came to almost every evening meal now; and he found every excuse to touch you - even just the briefest and most chaste of touches - whenever he could.

Dane didn't miss a trick either, and he hauled you off to one side at the end of the second week of camp and gave you what was probably your first ‘Talk’ ever. “Look,” he said. “I don’t mean to be a dick, but Leo is one of my best friends. If you fuck around with him and hurt him, I swear to god, it will not end well for you.”

“Whoa,” you said, taking a step back away from the enormous minotaur. “Dane…”

He stared you down, but seemed to realise he’d overstepped. He let out a puffing breath and sighed. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t actually, you know, hurt you. It’s just that Leo is… he’s kind of innocent, you know? He’s never had a partner that I know of. This summer camp is literally his whole life, and what he does in the winter months is a mystery. He just disappears and comes back with the spring.”

“Really?”

Dane nodded.

“He must be so lonely.” You looked into the minotaur’s dark eyes and said, “Dane, the last thing I want to do is hurt him. We talked about it on that first Friday actually, and we decided to put our feelings - whatever they are - on hold til the end of camp. Then we’ll see how things are.”

Dane nodded slowly, and the matter seemed closed, though he still kept an eye on the pair of you from a distance.

The celebration of the end of the first of the summer camp sessions - there was a week’s gap in between the first and the second one to let the staff recover, restock on things and prepare for the next session - saw you and Leo seated by the fire, closer than any other folks were.

His shell was huge, and it made for the perfect leaning post. You rested your weight against it, and sighed happily, drinking deeply from the little plastic tumbler in your hand.

“You alright?” he asked, looking down at you. His long, red hair slid over his pale shoulders and he looked even more beautiful than ever as he gazed down at you.

“More than,” you grinned. “You?”

The handsome merman sighed, and you caught a distinct tinge of sadness in his warm eyes.

“Leo?”

He sighed expansively. “I… uh… Do you want to go for a walk?”

You pouted thoughtfully. “Sure,” you said, smiling and began levering yourself upright with the help of his curling shell. “I need to walk some of that amazing food down.”

He smiled in agreement and held his hand out to help you up. His skin was cool and his palm smooth. You tried not to take too much notice.

No one really commented on your leaving together, but Dane cast you a severe look that was definitely a warning shot across the bows, but you smiled and nodded sagely, and he backed off with a shy and apologetic smile. You tried to take it as a good sign that Leo had such good friends looking out for him.

The two of you made your way down the beach, Leo dragging his shell behind him, and eventually you blurted, “Isn’t that heavy?”

“Hmm?”

“Your shell?”

“Oh,” he blushed. “I mean… I actually found a pretty light one…”

“Do you ever leave it?”

“Rarely,” he hedged. “Why?”

“Just curious,” you smiled pointedly, and he blushed. “Have I asked something very personal again?”

With a playful smile, he nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Leo paused, the hiss and breath of the water on the sand beyond forming a quiet backdrop to your conversation. “As I told you before, you can ask me anything at all. I don’t mind.”

“Alright then,” you said, feeling uncharacteristically bold. “Since we’re technically not working tonight, and there are no more activities til next week, can I kiss you now?”

His breath caught and his chest heaved once. He was only wearing the loose-fitting t-shirt of the summer camp uniform, and it hung baggily over his shoulders, revealing the chiselled lines of his pale, freckled collarbones. “Yes,” he breathed, adding hastily, “But not here.”

He took you by the hand and led you towards the rocks that formed a breakwater not far from the retreating tide. Showing his strength in a way he’d not yet done, he put his hands on your waist and heaved you up onto a smooth, dry boulder so that you were at the same height as him. He kissed you then, with all the reverence and hesitation you’d expected from the shy merman.

His hands found their way to your hair, while your own landed at his waist and his body inched closer to yours. After a few moments, he pulled back, breathless, eyes glinting in the dark, and he rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve never… I mean… not for a human… gods…”

“Leo?” you asked, risking a glance down his body.

A moment or two later, he abandoned his shell in one swift movement, revealing a slender, curling tail and a bright red, ridged cock that was already weeping and fully erect. “I want you…” he rasped.

You nodded, and he exhaled in relief, shuddering violently as your nails raked eager, red lines down his pale torso. He gently removed your clothes, reverence still in every touch, until you were lying naked on the smooth boulder, and he parted his lips and stared hungrily at your bare, beautiful body. His hands traced the contours of your sides and hips, working their way up your torso, pinching your pebbling nipples until you arched your back and groaned with pleasure.

A sudden pressure around your ankles made you gasp, and you opened your eyes to find his crab’s claws closing around the ankle joint, locking you in place as he reared up and brought his cock between your thighs. The slick heat of it made you buck wildly, and he moaned as he began to fuck the space between your legs. His head bowed forwards, his long red hair trailing along your torso in tantalisingly soft tendrils, and his breath began to come in ragged draws the faster he worked his hips.

He lost himself in the feel of your body against his own.

“You’re perfect,” he gasped, grabbing you by the shoulders and hoisting you into the air.

He supported you all the while he continued to thrust upwards between your thighs, thick and hot and slick, and you gasped and cried out at the sensation. His claws were still clamped like cuffs around your ankles, keeping your legs tightly together as he rutted into you, thrust after thrust, gaining momentum until he began to shiver and pant wildly.

“I’m…” he warned before suddenly his whole body tensed and he began to spasm, thick ropes of come spilling between your thighs, slicking your skin with hot release as he came over you, his body rearing up with pleasure and his arms holding you tightly to his chest.

“Leo…” you gasped as his wild, clenching orgasm began to recede and he lowered you down onto the rock with shaky arms.

You leaned back and he followed you as if drawn by a magnet, draping himself along your aching body as the aftershocks of his release shook him to the core. His cock wept and drooled still across your thighs, twitching and spasming, and your legs were covered in him.

Eventually he looked up at you and pressed his hands against your hips to push himself unsteadily upright. “Are you ok?” he rasped, his legs spreading wide, struggling to hold himself upright.

“Yeah…” you said, looking ostentatiously between your legs. “But you’re now one ahead of me…”

Catching his breath, Leo smiled. “Can’t have that,” he said, and he licked his lips before lowering his face between your legs. “Here…”

And the moment the heat of his mouth closed over you, you were lost to the sensations of him; the sounds, the feel, the pleasure of him.

It wasn’t long before you too were howling your release to the empty night sky above.

---

I really hope you enjoyed this one! I’m working really hard on finishing the rest of my Mermay stories. Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a reblogging it!

And definitely don’t forget to check out some incredibly gorgeous artwork of Leo by the immensely talented @ilustrariane

---

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

___________________________

| Masterlist | Patreon | Ko-fi | Writing Commissions |

[taylorlearnsjapanese]

How did/do I learn vocabulary?

How did/do I learn vocabulary?

This is a question I’m asked quite often and I usually have a different answer each time. The reason is because I have no set way I learn vocabulary. This post will focus entirely on my experience and journey with vocabulary. Grammar will be a topic for another day. ;)

In my opinion, there is no set way to learn vocabulary. I can’t stare at lists and lists of words and suddenly they’re memorized, but I have! I can’t use flash cards because they take too much time, but I have! Kind of see where I’m going with this? I’m the perfect example of an informal or unstructured learner/studier. 

I am a lazy learner. THE LAZIEST. I’m all for fast and easy ways to learn without so much as lifting a finger. Insane, right? Totally. Extremely insane for a beginner like I was. Butttttt, I did it though. Was it smart? Probably not. Did it work? Well… kinda?

I also want to point out that I’ve never studied Japanese in a classroom setting nor have I had tutors to teach me. 

Okay, what I did:

I started learning Japanese on June 11, 2018. I’m going to list the resources I’ve done roughly up to this point in time that this is posted. 

Please don’t take my views on the apps and resources listed as final say. Everyone learns differently and I suggest you try all of these resources out! Things that don’t work for me, may work for you and vice versa.

DuoLingo. It was the only app I really knew of that was credible. I drilled the crap out of that app! That’s how I got my foundations in kana, my first words, and first kanji! 

DuoLingo is good in some ways, but bad in others. It’s perfect for repetition and getting you to think about those words over and over. But that’s also why it’s bad. Each step makes you go through like, what?, four or five tiers or whatever they’re called? By the time you reach that fourth of fifth tier, it’s just annoying to do that pattern over and over again before you can move on. This is just my opinion though, some people thrive off of that. Don’t knock it till you try it, ‘kay? I’ve heard the app has changed some since summer of 2018, so I’ll have to check it out again. 

LingoDeer. Gosh, I love LingoDeer. I really need to use it more. It is the best app ever to introduce you to grammar when you have no idea where to start. 

Workbooks. I got my first workbooks (not textbooks) at the end of June 2018 (I had been learning for roughly 3 weeks by that time). It was Learning Japanese Hiragana and Katakana and Learning Japanese Kanji Volumes 1 and 2, all published by Tuttle. As I worked through the kana book I managed to learn many vocabulary terms from the exercises in the back with the writing exercises (all spelled in hiragana and katakana, there is no kanji in that workbook). I tried and dabbled lightly in the Kanji Vol 1 book, but I wasn’t ready for that just yet back then.

I ONLY used those resources until the end of August 2018 and added Memrise too my list of apps during that time. I gained A LOT of vocabulary knowledge (and some basic grammar but that’s a post for another day) just from using three apps and a kana workbook over two and a half months. 

It was nothing fancy like some people tend to think? I didn’t somehow learn all these words over night.

Textbooks. Genki 1 and it’s workbook was my first ever textbook. This is one of the most widely known textbooks out there for learning Japanese from scratch. Most people know how vocabulary works for that resource. Each chapter introduces vocab and you learn it as you study the grammar and do the exercises.

Um, so, I’m gonna be honest for a second. I HATE TEXTBOOKS. I hate them with a fiery passion. *clenches fist* I stopped using Genki after completing half of the book because I felt like I learned nothing. It just wasn’t the resource for me.

At this point you’re staring hard at your phone, tablet, or computer like WHAT? Yeah… I didn’t hate them at first!! But because of my laziness and informal learning style, I grew to haaaate them. Textbooks are too “cookie cutter” in my opinion. But Taylor, don’t you use one right now? Yes, and let me explainnnnnn. I find that textbooks don’t give you freedom to expand! 

Remember when I asked on Instagram what were some things you’d like me to discuss or talk more about? One user messaged me and wrote,

“How [do] you apply grammar and vocabulary? Because I try to come up with sentences on my own then look up examples of its usage but I continuously use the same type of examples. But when I look at other example there is so much vocab and other grammar structures that go into play that I don’t understand, so it’s hard for me to find a balance that will make me push myself but also know that I can decently understand…”

That’s EXACTLY what I struggled with, with Genki! Textbooks only provide examples for that lesson and the grammar it teaches at that point. So you only know those words (and grammar) in those contexts only. You try to make your own sentences but you end up only using those words and those grammar points over and over. 

There’s simply no opportunity to expand.

Then when you look up other examples you see other new words (and grammar) and it freaks you out because suddenly you don’t feel like you’ve learned anything! This is the e x a c t reason I hate textbooks. 

My answer? For me, I don’t depend on textbooks anymore for vocabulary. They’re amazing for referencing vocabulary and pulling grammar structures, but textbooks only give a limited amount of vocabulary and if that’s all your rely on when learning grammar, it’s going to be rough. It stagnated my learning when I did that. 

When I make my own sentences now, I pull vocab I've been learning from apps, social media, reading, etc. I could go on and on about this, but that’s not the point of this post. I’ll discuss my more of my hatred for textbooks later. Same with grammar and how I make my examples and such. I’ve already gone off on a tangent long enough, hehe. (I hope that answered the above question though! If not, I hope future posts will! Or just message me, lol.) 

Other textbooks I have used after Genki for vocabulary gain is Basic Japanese by Tuttle and the にほんご90日 series.

YouTube. Japanese Ammo with Misa is my love. I love her videos and her personality. Her teaching style is relaxed, but she gets the job done. She has a wide variety of grammar videos along with lots of other videos related to Japanese and Japan.

After my downfall with Genki 1 and some discouragement that led to a nearly three months hiatus of studying, I started using her videos to get the grammar knowledge I needed in January 2019 (I have been learning (counting the hiatus) for about 6 months at this point). 

It’s the perfect things for a lazy learner like me, hehe. I could sit down at my desk and watch one of her videos (they can be anywhere from 8 to 40 minutes long) and watch, pause, and rewind as much as I wanted to write notes with ease. I was learning the grammar I needed to know and learned SO MUCH VOCABULARY. 

She uses common words you find in textbooks, but she also throws in culturally relevant words. She references Pokemon, manga, TV/anime, music, etc, vocabulary all the time! She even teaches the informal/casual variations of words along with formal/polite variations and that’s where I gain so, so, so much vocab! I still use and reference those videos to this day!

PRESENT DAY:

Okay, I just explained what I did to start learning vocabulary from the beginning to about ~5 months ago. I rambled a lot, I know… But did you kind of see the point I was hoping to make? I did not stick to one resource for learning vocabulary (and kanji). 

I didn’t not, nor do I still, learn vocabulary in a “traditional” way. There is no one way to learn everything you need to know. Over that course of time I learn about ~35-40% of my current vocabulary knowledge. Wait… Taylor… You learned ~35-40% of your vocabulary over the course of 10 months, but you’ve learned the other ~60-65% in less than 5 months? Yes, and I’ll explain below~~~

What I mainly use now, app wise, to gain vocabulary knowledge is Memrise, Quizlet (rarely though), Kanji Tree, and LingoDeer. I even use Instagram to learn new vocab too! I follow users who teach vocabulary (and grammar) with their posts. Yes, you will see lots of repeated terms but that’s exposure and review! 

Here are some profiles I really like for introducing vocabulary (new or review): boxofmanga, japanesepod101 (Instagram infographics only), japanese_language_mlc, j_aipon, blue_aoi, and _urabanashi_. 

I also suggest you find native Japanese Instagram users. Not just celebrities or idols. I mean average natives who use Instagram the same way we use our private accounts. I follow larger profiles (500+ followers) for the fact that I don’t want to be a creep and follow someone who only has like 100 or 200 followers. So, I follow some “mommy blog” Instagram's because they tend to use simpler vocabulary when referring to their kids. I also follow some book reviewers, writers, and one guy who loves camping! You get to see lots of natural Japanese this way and it shows common words that are used. I don’t understand a lot of it, but I’m being exposed to the language!

And by now you’re asking, “Okay, but how do you learn vocabulary NOW?” I’m going into N4 if you’re going to look at this from a JLPT stand point, but I don’t only learn strictly N5, N4, N3, etc level material. (That’ll be another post too, lol. Pssst… it’s another “cookie cutter” issue with me.)

Well, those apps mentioned above, obviously, but those only make up about ~30% of my vocabulary gain now. I use my textbook にほんご９０日 Vol 1 as a reference and gain some vocabulary there and I have a couple JLPT related vocab/kanji lists I use too, so that’s like another ~5% of where I get my vocab. 

I get the other ~65% from reading. Yup. Reading. Literally that’s it. I read all the time. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to learn Japanese! 

I have a short story digital bundle I read often from TheJapanShop.com and it’s aimed at beginners and becomes “harder” as you move to the next book and so on. I read through them and when my brain sees a word I know I’m like, “Cool.” But when I don’t know a word I see, I either look it up quick and write it in the margin or I continue on. I learn a lot through context clues. 

Here’s an example sentence from Story Two in Book One of the Japanese Reader Collection offered from TheJapanShop.com. 

「この傘は、雨が降るといつのまにか傘が開き、晴れると傘が閉じている…」

Roughly translated to “This umbrella opened unnoticed when it began raining and upon it becoming sunny the umbrella closed…”

When I read that sentence, I knew all the vocabulary except いつのまにか. The stories have lovely vocabulary guides, so when I looked it up, it said that it meant “before one knows; while unaware” and I took what I knew from the rest of the sentence and managed to learn that new word as a result! This is the best way I could explain how I use reading to expand my vocabulary… ^_^” Just taking what you know and expanding on it over time. I use this same method for grammar, but that’s saved for another post, lol.

I also use NHK New Web Easy to read articles about current events in Japan. It’s set up for native elementary and middle school students so they can read within the kanji and vocabulary they’ve learned so far in life. Guess what? That’s PERFECT for a language learner who has an okay-ish foundation with vocabulary. I learn so much everyday vocabulary that way.

Lastly, I read books and manga. Yup, manga. I don’t use these resources much right now because they’re bigger and more intimidating. I haven’t “officially” started a book but I’ve opened and read passages quite often to sort of test myself. Manga is simpler since there are fewer words than a novel, but they’re bigger than a short story or a news article. You’ve seen on Instagram that I’ve begun reading よつばと！ and so far I’m having a blast! I’ll talk about specific things I’m reading later.

Sooooo…. That’s basically it.

Most of my vocabulary gain now is through exposure to Japanese through social media (bless the internet), reading, and some usage of apps like Memrise and LingoDeer. I use no formal education or study plans or any structure at all. 

My word retention grew to be nearly double these last ~5 months because I built on what I knew and it grew easier and easier for me to learn and retain those words over these last few months. I never believed it, but there is definitely a language hump. Once you crawl over that, things simply become easier. It just takes A LOT of time and effort (and tears) to get over that hump. But, I believe anyone can do it, you just have to be determined and eager enough.

One tip I like to give is to learn through context. Don’t just learn lists of words and kanji. What’s the point? You can recite them, but can you USE them?

Oh, quick thing, I want to point out about how I personally learn vocabulary. I failed to realize this right away when I started learning Japanese, but quickly caught on and now hold onto this belief firmly.

I learn vocabulary and kanji together. 

I do not separate the two. I do not have a separate notebooks for vocabulary and kanji. I don’t even have a notebook at all actually for them, lol. When I post on Instagram that I’m focusing on kanji today, it means I’m just learning vocabulary or reviewing it. The 1026字の正しい書き方 book I use that teaches “kanji” is mainly for vocabulary expansion and how to write those kanji (stroke order). I don’t study the individual meanings of the kanji character, I study the example words it lists. That’s one way on how I’ve been expanding my vocabulary so rapidly.

Kanji is vocabulary. 

Kanji should be treated the exact same way that hiragana and katakana are treated in my opinion. Jokingly, kanji is just fancy kana. ;)

If you “fear” kanji, you’ll have a bad time. I joke and say now when I see an insane kanji or a difficult one, “Damn, that’s some angry squiggles right there.” and it makes learning it that much more enjoyable. :)

For example, 食 means “eat, food.” Okay, cool that kanji has a food related meaning. But I’m not going to do that for thousands of kanji especially since each kanji has multiple readings depending on how it’s used. It’s simply impossible! I found I personally learn better when I learn the kanji in it’s “true” form, aka, in WORDS. 

食べる - to eat / 食べ物 - food / 食事 - meal / 朝食 - breakfast / etc.

Holy crap, not only did I learn the kanji 食 effectively, I learned four words and THREE other kanji! (I’m over dramatic, I know, lol.)

Vocabulary is all interconnected. You can’t learn one thing without stumbling and learning other things by accident. Learning through exposure is the best in my opinion. It’ll be tough to begin with when you don’t know much and it will cause you to doubt yourself and your ability to learn this language. But, just be patient. Learning five, three, or even one word a day is progress.

Small progress eventually builds up to big progress as Yuta says. ;)

Words are meant to be strung together and form sentences for you to read, enjoy, and react to. That’s why books exist. You read those words and sentences and they make you feel warm and fuzzy or cry or laugh. Don’t keep them at an arm's length and treat it like it’s some delicate flower. Language is a not just lists of words, kanji, and grammar points. It’s a culture and way of life for people. Treat it like an old friend and play with it (or go get a beer with it, ya know, whatever gets this point across, lol)!

I tend to treat language learning like I’m a curious five year old. I’m constantly asking questions and discovering new things and it just sparks that fire that makes you want to explore more and more. 

I don’t take it seriously (from an academic view) and that’s why I find some stuff so easy. It only becomes difficult if you make it difficult. Everyone learns differently. There is no one way to learn Japanese and there is no one way to learn specific parts of Japanese. Also, don’t compare yourself! It only ends in self doubt and discouragement. 

Explore and try out all sorts of things. Try out the free apps, read articles online, watch YouTube videos, just do SOMETHING. Don’t look for the “perfect” resource or routine. Just. STUDY. You’ll find in time what works for you and what doesn’t.

Language learning is no race. There is no ribbon or trophy at the end for becoming fluent overnight. Take your time and enjoy the process, you’ll be learning your whole life, ‘kay?

I’ll talk further on how I review it in another post. :)

[danbensen]

August-2030

The sun is hot on my back, and my thighs burn with the effort of holding this position. My back doesn’t hurt, though. Those stretches work.

My face is full of leaves. They come in triplets, saw-edged, each the size of the space between my thumb and forefinger. Hard, unripe berries tap against my glasses. Somewhere too close, a yellow-jacket buzzes.

I put one hand down and reach with the other into the shadows, scattering leaf-hoppers. The sweat sticks to the inside of the glove as I squeeze the handles of the garden sheers. A growing resistance, then a dull snap, and a brown, prickly cane shudders behind the leaves.

The dead cane tears away from the bush like velcro, exposing a patch of soil, the wall of my parents’ house, and a small volume of empty space, dangling with raspberries.

I grab one and put it in my mouth. It tastes like the dirt and leather on my glove, ash from the recent forest fires, and decades of piled summers.

Raspberry canes take a year to grow up from the root, another to produce fruit, and then they die in the third. My job is to clear out the dead canes of last year to make room for next year’s shoots. I’m also exposing more of this year’s berries to my daughters and their cousins.

I wanted to do this in my garden, which is just old enough to have its own raspberries. They’re planted in rows away from the house, just the way my grandpa had them. And I have already done the chore of cutting out that patch’s first crop of dead canes. But my kids were firm: if we were going relive someone’s childhood today, it would be theirs.

I decide that my back is hurting after all and slowly stand.

My parents’ garden hasn’t changed much since Julia was a nine months old and pooping in the wading pool. The lilacs have grown thicker, the apple tree has died. The bird bath is now at our summer house three valleys south of here. Julia manipulated my parents into giving it to her.

But there’s still the enormous rhubarb plant next to the compost. To the east, beyond the rhubarb, the hill slopes down to the Interstate, the web of aerial traffic, and the houses, condos, restaurants, business incubators, network hubs, and micro-factories of Lolo, Montana.

Julia and Mikhaela move through the garden like a hummingbird and a lawnmower, respectively, with the other teenagers strung between them. Some are talking or doing incomprehensible things with their key-rings and charm-bracelets, but an impressive amount of berry-picking is still getting done. Mikhaela said she wanted to make a pie for the party, and they already have enough for two.

I glance to my right, where my younger daughter is methodically mowing her way down the raspberries. I can’t tell whether she’s listening to an audiobook or sharing her POV with some other kid in Saudi Arabia or just thinking her thoughts.

I remember my grandpa when he drove me home from the airport one summer. I had wanted to read a fantasy book, but he wouldn’t let me. He kept me talking that whole drive.

“What did you learn in drama camp today?” I ask her.

“Diegesis,” she says.

There’s a conversation starter! But my attempt at a follow-up question is interrupted by a delivery drone descending onto our lawn. Its brown plastic carapace is emblazoned with the logo of the nearest hub, which means only that this isn’t a delivery from a Lolo caterer or micro-factory. The kids could have ordered something from Seattle or New Zealand, and it would still get routed through the local hub. My guess, though, is that it comes from Sofia, Bulgaria.

“What did you forget to pack, Yooli?” I shout at my older daughter, Julia, as she runs toward the drone, waving her wallet-key.

Last summer, Julia packed almost nothing for our trip to the US. She told us she thought it would be easier to just mail herself stuff when she remembered she needed it. When we saw the international shipping bill, we got her her own bank account and wallet-key, which might have been the whole point of the exercise.

The drone sees her key, releases the box it was clutching, and zips back into the smoky air to join the sky-traffic.

“I didn’t forget anything.” Julia shakes her hair out of her face and lets go of her key-ring, which zips back to her belt on its recoil line. The belt is bright pink, with green and blue Kazakh embroidery patterns. Each key on the ring is a different color and pattern, for a different digital purpose. “This is for our party.”

She pulls open the self-storage box, revealing an irregularly-shaped pink crystal the size of a melon. It’s a salt-lamp.

Generational cycles are funny things. Growing up means doing whatever your parents didn’t do, but we all have a soft spot for our grandparents. I want to be firm and practical like my grandpa, Mikhaela wants to be strong-minded like my mom. My older daughter Julia, for her part, cultivates a free romantic spirit like my mother-in-law. This, for me, is an endless opportunity for spiritual growth.

“Your salt-lamp.” I repeat. “Why do you need a salt-lamp for a party? Why do you need your salt lamp? You could have ordered a brand new one and it would have been a lot cheaper.”

I know what she’ll say next: “it’s my money. You‘re the one who told me to get a job and now I have eighty.” I open my mouth to tell her that she still ought to save her money for something important. And what is it exactly that she’s doing in these eighty jobs anyway?

But Julia hoists the salt-lamp and says, “it has to be this one. My friends and I licked it into just the right shape.”

I have no idea how to respond to that. I close my mouth and process data while my daughter skips away, tongue-sculpted lamp cradled in her arms. I’ve been out-maneuvered again.

I strip off my gloves and hat and go to find my wife.

Pavlina is on the balcony, sipping chilled white wine with her brother and sister-in-law. They’ve lived in California since the early 2010s, and in some ways they’re more American than me.

“I need to go to the teenager party,” I tell Pavlina.

“Zashto? Ti li si tineidjar?” Why? Are you a teenager?

Pavlina’s brother lifts a bottle of beer in my direction. “Ne trevozhi, bre. Veche si imam pushkata.” This is an in-joke.

According to Bulgarian tradition, Julia’s and Mikhaela’s first teenager party means we adults are all exiled here, to my parents’ house. We’re supposed to have a party, too, but I suspect it will be more like a military command center. Lots of tense pacing while we try to imagine what chaos is unfolding on the front lines.

“What are you talking about?” My dad appears from the kitchen with a tray of cheese and the tactical situation becomes more complicated. Neither of my parents approve of the teenager party, and we’ve been tip-toeing around the topic all week.

“We could be in the attic,” I tell Pavlina. “Or the basement.”

“That is where I’ll lock you when you go insane, yes,” she says.

Pavlina’s brother cackles and my dad says “What?” in a tone that means “I am playing the doddering cyborg grandpa, but I really am angry that you’re talking over my head.”

“It’s the teenager party.” I look out over the balcony, where our kids are doing incomprehensible and scary things in the yard below us. “I mean, what if something happens?”

My dad doesn’t say, “exactly! We have to cancel this whole barbaric ritual.” He says, “I’m worried too.”

“Yooli and Mishi will take care of it,” Pavlina says. “That’s what they’re learning to do.”

“What if someone brings dope?”

“They’ll tell him to smoke it outside.”

I check to make sure my mom isn’t in earshot. “What if things get…physical?”

“Zdravko and Boris are big. They’ll beat him up.” These are Julia and Mikhaela’s cousins, who seem to be engaged in some a virtual sword-fight right now. Mikahela is directing it.

“Now you say, ‘there can be only one sun, one moon, and one great khan!'”

I look around for support, but even my dad is nodding. “You don’t need to worry about boys,” he says.

I pick up a piece of cheese. “Well, at least I got them to pick raspberries with me. Mishi’ll make a pie.”

Pavlina looks serenely out at the Sapphire Mountains. “Sore wa kokuteiru no tame da to itta yo.”

‘She told me they were for cocktails,’ in Japanese, a language which nobody within earshot speaks but me and my wife.

I try to slow my breathing.

It isn’t just the underage drinking. It’s the social situation. My kids keeping secrets from me. Me keeping secrets from my dad. I reach down inside of myself for that still, small, voice. It says “be honest.”

“Mikhaela is making cocktails?” I say.

Everyone stiffens.

The US and Bulgaria have very different ideas about what constitutes proper behavior for teenagers and police officers. My dad, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law now all agree that the teenager party is a terrible idea.

Pavlina, meanwhile, looks steadily at me, letting me know that I have now become her opportunity for spiritual growth.

I put my cheese down on the balcony railing. “I’m just worried. Our kids are going to be alone in the summer house, which we just finished. They’re going to be drinking and smoking and licking salt-lamps.”

“Huh?” says my brother in law.

“What’s going to happen? What are we going to do when something does happen?”

“You’ll deal with it.” Pavlina declares, standing. “Nali si moyat mesten vodach?” Aren’t you my native guide? Another in-joke.

She pats me on the shoulder. “In the mean time, meditate on trusting your children, or at least trusting God to watch over them.”

“The God of fools and children,” I mutter. But that still, small voice speaks to me. “Go pick some more raspberries,” it says.

[inkyardpress]

Excerpt: Don’t Read the Comments by Eric Smith + Giveaway!

Divya

“Mom. We’ve been over this. Don’t read the comments,” I say, sighing as my mother stares at me with her fretful deep-set eyes. They’re dark green, just like mine, and stand out against her soft brown skin. Wrinkle lines trail out from the corners like thin tree branches, grown over a lifetime of worrying.

I wish I could wash away all of her worries, but I only seem to be causing her more lately.

“I’m just not comfortable with it anymore,” my mom counters. “I appreciate what you’re doing with…you know, your earnings or however that sponsor stuff works, but I can’t stand seeing what they’re saying about you on the internet.”

“So don’t read the comments!” I exclaim, reaching out and taking her hands in mine. Her palms are weathered, like the pages of the books she moves around at the library, and I can feel the creases in her skin as my fingers run over them. Bundles of multicolored bangles dangle from both of her wrists, clinking about lightly.

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asks, giving my hands a squeeze. “You’re my daughter. And they say such awful things. They don’t even know you. Breaks my heart.”

“What did I just say?” I ask, letting go of her hands, trying to give her my warmest it’s-going-to-be-okay smile. I know she only reads the blogs, the articles covering this and that, so she just sees the replies there, the sprawling comments—and not what people say on social media. Not what the trolls say about her. Because moms are the easiest target for those online monsters.

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that sign in your room with your slogan regarding comments,” Mom scoffs, shaking her head and getting to her feet. She groans a little as she pushes herself off the tiny sofa, which sinks in too much. Not in the comfortable way a squishy couch might, but in a this-piece-of-furniture-needs-to-be-thrown-away-because-it’s-probably-doing-irreversible-damage-to-my-back-and-internal-organs kind of way. She stretches her back, one hand on her waist, and I make a mental note to check online for furniture sales at Target or Ikea once she heads to work.

“Oof, I must have slept on it wrong,” Mom mutters, turning to look at me. But I know better. She’s saying that for my benefit. The air mattress on her bed frame—in lieu of an actual mattress—isn’t doing her back any favors.

I’d better add a cheap mattress to my list of things to search for later. Anything is better than her sleeping on what our family used to go camping with.

Still, I force myself to nod and say, “Probably.” If Mom knew how easily I saw through this dance of ours, the way we pretend that things are okay while everything is falling apart around us, she’d only worry more.

Maybe she does know. Maybe that’s part of the dance.

I avert my gaze from hers and glance down at my watch. It’s the latest in smartwatch tech from Samsung, a beautiful little thing that connects to my phone and computer, controls the streaming box on our television… Hell, if we could afford smart lights in our apartment, it could handle those, too. It’s nearly 8:00 p.m., which means my Glitch subscribers will be tuning in for my scheduled gaming stream of Reclaim the Sun at any minute. A couple social media notifications start lighting up the edges of the little screen, but it isn’t the unread messages or the time that taunt me.

It’s the date.

The end of June is only a few days away, which means the rent is due. How can my mom stand here and talk about me getting rid of my Glitch channel when it’s bringing in just enough revenue to help cover the rent? To pay for groceries? When the products I’m sent to review or sponsored to wear—and then consequently sell—have been keeping us afloat with at least a little money to walk around with?

“I’m going to start looking for a second job,” Mom says, her tone defeated.

“Wait, what?” I look away from my watch and feel my heartbeat quicken. “But if you do that—”

“I can finish these summer classes another time. Maybe next year—”

“No. No way.” I shake my head and suck air in through my gritted teeth. She’s worked so hard for this. We’ve worked so hard for this. “You only have a few more classes!”

“I can’t let you keep doing this.” She gestures toward my room, where my computer is.

“And I can’t let you work yourself to death for… What? This tiny apartment, while that asshole doesn’t do a damn thing to—”

“Divya. Language,” she scolds, but her tone is undermined by a soft grin peeking in at the corner of her mouth. “He’s still your fath—”

“I’ll do my part,” I say resolutely, stopping her from saying that word. “I can deal with it. I want to. You will not give up going to school. If you do that, he wins. Besides, I’ve…got some gadgets I can sell this month.”

“I just… I don’t want you giving up on your dreams, so I can keep chasing mine. I’m the parent. What does all this say about me?” My mom exhales, and I catch her lip quivering just a little. Then she inhales sharply, burying whatever was about to surface, and I almost smile, as weird as that sounds. It’s just our way, you know?

Take the pain in. Bury it down deep.

“We’re a team.” I reach out and grasp her hands again, and she inhales quickly once more.

It’s in these quiet moments we have together, wrestling with these challenges, that the anger I feel—the rage over this small apartment that’s replaced our home, the overdrafts in our bank accounts, all the time I’ve given up—is replaced with something else.

With how proud I am of her, for starting over the way she has.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.”

Deserve.

I feel my chest cave in a little at the word as I look again at the date on the beautiful display of this watch. I know I need to sell it. I know I do. The couch. That crappy mattress. My dwindling bank account. The upcoming bills.

The required sponsorship agreement to wear this watch in all my videos for a month, in exchange for keeping the watch, would be over in just a few days. I could easily get $500 for it on an auction site or maybe a little less at the used-electronics shop downtown. One means more money, but it also means having my address out there, which is something I avoid like the plague—though having friends like Rebekah mail the gadgets for me has proved a relatively safe way to do it. The other means less money, but the return is immediate, at least. Several of the employees there watch my stream, however, and conversations with them are often pretty awkward.

I’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, I’d get to keep this one thing. Isn’t that something I deserve? Between helping Mom with the rent while she finishes up school and pitching in for groceries and trying to put a little money aside for my own tuition in the fall at the community college… God, I’d at least earned this much, right?

The watch buzzes against my wrist, a pleasant feeling. As a text message flashes across the screen, I feel a pang of wonder and regret over how a display so small can still have a better resolution than the television in our living room.

THE GALAXY WAITS FOR NO ONE, YOU READY D1V?—COMMANDER (RE)BEKAH

I smile at the note from my producer-slash-best-friend, then look up as my mom makes her way toward the front door of our apartment, tossing a bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll be back around ten or so,” she says, sounding tired. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I always am,” I promise, walking over to give her a hug. It’s sweet, her constant reminders to be careful, to check in, especially since all I generally do while she’s gone is hang out in front of the computer. But I get it. Even the internet can be a dangerous place. The threats on social media and the emails that I get—all sent by anonymous trolls with untraceable accounts—are proof of that.

Still, as soon as the door closes, I bolt across the living room and into my small bedroom, which is basically just a bed, a tiny dresser, and my workstation. I’ve kept it simple since the move and my parents split.

The only thing that’s far from simple is my gaming rig.

When my Glitch stream hit critical mass at one hundred thousand subscribers about a year and a half ago, a gaming company was kind enough to sponsor my rig. It’s extravagant to the point of being comical, with bright neon-blue lighting pouring out the back of the system and a clear case that shows off the needless LED illumination. Like having shiny lights makes it go any faster. I never got it when dudes at my school put flashy lights on their cars, and I don’t get it any more on a computer.

But it was free, so I’m certainly not going to complain.

I shake the mouse to awaken the sleeping monster, and my widescreen LED monitor flashes to life. It’s one of those screens that bend toward the edges, the curves of the monitor bordering on sexy. I adjust my webcam, which—along with my beaten-up Ikea table that’s not even a desk—is one of the few non-sponsored things in my space. It’s an aging thing, but the resolution is still HD and flawless, so unless a free one is somehow going to drop into my lap—and it probably won’t, because you can’t show off a web camera in a digital stream or a recorded sponsored video when you’re filming with said camera—it’ll do the trick.

I navigate over to Glitch and open my streaming application. Almost immediately, Rebekah’s face pops up in a little window on the edge of my screen. I grin at the sight of her new hairstyle, her usually blonde and spiky hair now dyed a brilliant shade of blood orange, a hue as vibrant as her personality. The sides of her head are buzzed, too, and the overall effect is awesome.

Rebekah smiles and waves at me. “You ready to explore the cosmos once more?” she asks, her voice bright in my computer’s speakers. I can hear her keys clicking loudly as she types, her hands making quick work of something on the other side of the screen. I open my mouth to say something, but she jumps in before I can. “Yes, yes, I’ll be on mute once we get in, shut up.”

I laugh and glance at myself in the mirror I’ve got attached to the side of my monitor with a long metal arm—an old bike mirror that I repurposed to make sure my makeup and hair is on point in these videos. Even though the streams are all about the games, there’s nothing wrong with looking a little cute, even if it’s just for myself. I run a finger over one of my eyebrows, smoothing it out, and make a note to tweeze them just a little bit later. I’ve got my mother’s strong brows, black and rebellious. We’re frequently in battle with one another, me armed with my tweezers, my eyebrows wielding their growing-faster-than-weeds genes.

“How much time do we have?” I ask, tilting my head back and forth.

“About five minutes. And you look fine, stop it,” she grumbles. I push the mirror away, the metal arm making a squeaking noise, and I see Rebekah roll her eyes. “You could just use a compact like a normal person, you know.”

“It’s vintage,” I say, leaning in toward my computer mic. “I’m being hip.”

“You. Hip.” She chuckles. “Please save the jokes for the stream. It’s good content.”

I flash her a scowl and load up my social feeds on the desktop, my watch still illuminating with notifications. I decide to leave them unchecked on the actual device and scope them out on the computer instead, so when people are watching, they can see the watch in action. That should score me some extra goodwill with sponsors, and maybe it’ll look like I’m more popular than people think I am.

Because that’s my life. Plenty of social notifications, but zero texts or missed calls.

The feeds are surprisingly calm this evening, a bundle of people posting about how excited they are for my upcoming stream, playing Reclaim the Sun on their own, curious to see what I’m finding… Not bad. There are a few dumpster-fire comments directed at the way I look and some racist remarks by people with no avatars, cowards who won’t show their faces, but nothing out of the usual.

Ah. Lovely. Someone wants me to wear less clothing in this stream. Blocked. A link to someone promoting my upcoming appearance at New York GamesCon, nice. Retweeted. A post suggesting I wear a skimpier top, and someone agreeing. Charming. Blocked and blocked.

Why is it that the people who always leave the grossest, rudest, and occasionally sexist, racist, or religiously intolerant comments never seem to have an avatar connected to their social profiles? Hiding behind a blank profile picture? How brave. How courageous.

And never mind all the messages that I assume are supposed to be flirtatious, but are actually anything but. Real original, saying “hey” and that’s it, then spewing a bunch of foul-mouthed nonsense when they don’t get a response. Hey, anonymous bro, I’m not here to be sexualized by strangers on the Internet. It’s creepy and disgusting. Can’t I just have fun without being objectified?

“Div!” Rebekah shouts, and I jump in my seat a little.

“Yeah, hey, I’m here,” I mumble, looking around for my Bluetooth earpiece, trying to force myself into a better mood. This is why you don’t read the comments, Divya.

The earpiece is bright orange and yellow with white outlines, inscribed with the logo from the game Remember Me, a kick-ass sci-fi adventure with a lady protagonist that I adore. I don’t care if the series got canceled; I wear my earpiece to show my solidarity.

I will remember you, Nilin, you underrated heroine. You deserved better.

“You were really zoned out for a second,” Rebekah says. “Let’s go. It’s time.”

I hear her tapping a few buttons, and suddenly her little screen goes quiet, the video stream of her now bearing a circled microphone with a line through it in bright red. I can still see her, but she’s muted. She won’t appear in video on the stream, preferring to stay behind the scenes for personal reasons that belong to her.

I chuckle as she reaches off-screen and her hand comes back gripping a giant clear Starbucks cup with a huge froth of whipped cream on top, the beverage most definitely filled with pure chocolate and sugar. “Game fuel” she likes to call it.

I swivel in my chair to make sure my room’s door is closed and take a quick peek at my window. Curtain drawn—check.

We’re good to go.

For a minute, I debate breaking out my Oculus. It’s way more fun to explore the universe in Reclaim the Sun when you’re using the VR feature, but then I’d have a giant virtual reality headset covering up my face, hiding my expressions while I’m playing. And all of that, blended with the gameplay, is part of the point of this. Plus, I want to see Rebekah in her side window. Maybe I’ll plug it in later, when I’m gaming solo.

I look up at my webcam and shift around, trying to find the perfect angle for where I’m sitting, the old camera wrestling to adjust the light balance within the room. I keep my outfits on the stream simple—today I’ve got on a dark green T-shirt with a bright white Halo logo in the center, which makes my green eyes look even greener on the camera. Perfect.

I hit record.

“Hey, lovers and dreamers and streamers!” I exclaim, plastering a bright smile on my face. “It’s D1V, coming to you live from the vast universe of Reclaim the Sun. Today we’re going to be exploring the galaxy and seeing what we can find out here in the cosmos. Hopefully, as I’m out adventuring, I run into some of you! Feel free to hit me up on the Reclaim the Sun messaging network at letter ‘D,’ number ‘1,’ letter ‘V’ and join the Armada as we claim planets for our own.”

“As always, the fantastic and talented and beautiful Commander (Re)bekah is on the stream with us.”

I point at the camera. There’s an audible click, and the video stream switches to Rebekah, who gives a faux salute to the camera for just a second, and then switches back to me. Even in that quick clip, you can’t see her face. She saluted while looking down. She’s not a huge fan of the attention and prefers to stay behind the camera, even though she’s got tens of thousands of followers on her various social networks from working on this little show of ours. She mostly posts pictures of her coffee, her cat, Gipsy Danger, or books. She’s big into bookstagram, making beautifully artsy arrangements to photograph and showcase her current reads.

And no matter what game we’re playing, if there’s a customizable vehicle, she’ll name it after a book she’s really into. I’ve seen her share screenshots with authors on social media, and they always seem over the moon thrilled.

“She’ll be on deck running around with us in her brand-new vessel, the Heart of Iron, and recording our exploration from another angle to catch all the action. You can flag her ship, as well as mine, the Golden Titan, and track us as we travel the universe—and, of course, please feel free to join our fleet! Though be warned, if you fire on us, we will be forced to unleash upon you the fury of a thousand suns, as well as the fury of the thousand fans who are traveling with us. Your ship won’t survive against my darling Angst Armada.”

I glance over at Rebekah on the screen and catch her giving me a smile. She’s the one who named our quickly growing fleet, which largely consists of teenagers like us, eager to do a little exploring outside the real world we’re trapped in. And a lot of venting sure does happen on our hashtag and in the game, almost none of which has anything to do with video gaming. School. Breakups. Parents. The usual.

#AngstArmada it is.

Rebekah’s been working on getting patches and pins done up for when we make our appearance at GamesCon later in the summer. She says we can potentially make a ton of money, even if we’re only selling them for a few dollars at our table. I wince at the thought of it—not the patches or pins, which frankly sound awesome and what I’m all about, because how cool would it be to see someone randomly in the mall rocking our fleet badges? And extra revenue to put away for college and help Mom? Yes, please.

But manning the table. Being in public. Sitting in one place where people can come up and talk to me, shake my hand, take pictures. The trolls and their emails and messages… They get so brutal. And the idea of being someplace in real life as D1V and not just as me, Divya, is terrifying.

But if Rebekah can be brave enough to do it, so can I. She’s been through far worse than I have.

“Turn up the enthusiasm,” Rebekah murmurs from her little window, on mute for everyone playing with us and for the stream, but still audible to me. “You sound like you don’t want to be here today.”

She’s awfully perceptive.

“And…we’re in!” I shout, lifting my hands up in the air, fingers wide and open. I beam directly into the webcam.

“Alright, alright, dial it back there on the performance.” Rebekah snipes, and I grin, putting my hands back on the keyboard and mouse. The universe of Reclaim the Sun welcoming and beautiful on my massive screen, an expanse of sprawling black dotted with faraway stars, each a destination that’s possible to fly off to. The fact that there’s no beating this game, no end goal—that it’s just nonstop exploration—makes it all the more fun. There’s no real competition here, unless you’re looking for a fight. We’re all in this together.

I look down at the controls on my ship and take quick stock of what’s on the readouts. I’m still feeling a little bitter that I can’t have my Oculus headset on, as I have to navigate everything with my mouse instead of just physically looking at this stuff. I click on the little video window that contains Rebekah’s floating head and drag it over, placing it atop one of the more useless control screens, there mostly for decoration. Seeing her there makes me feel like she’s my real navigator and in this ship with me. And really, she is—without her, there wouldn’t be a proper show with sponsors and actual revenue or any of that. It’d just be me floundering around in front of an audience, one that wouldn’t be nearly as big as the one we have now.

Or maybe I wouldn’t be doing this at all. I’m not sure what I’d be doing right now without Rebekah’s help, what with Mom and our finances the way they are.

I give my friend’s video window an affectionate little click with my mouse and turn back to the open universe.

“It’s that time, Angst Armada! Our coordinates are as follows… Quadrant Seti Six, 51.7, 92.2, 62.7, in the Omega Expanse. We’ll wait here for approximately five minutes, and then take off and try to find an undiscovered planet. With any luck—whoa!”

The radar screen goes haywire, and Rebekah’s video screen next to it shows her looking far more excited than I’ve seen her in recent memory. A smile explodes on her face, and her voice erupts in my headset, though her video is getting choppy as she talks.

“O-Oh my God, -ere has got to be like, a thousand ships in he—” she screams in my ear, making me wince. “How’s your la-? I swear my sys- go- to cra—”

I check the latency bar, which monitors our connection, and it looks like everything is holding up okay on my end, even as vessel after vessel warps into view in front of my ship. Rebekah’s video stream cuts in and out, her voice getting garbled and then clear and then static again. Spaceships of all kinds and shapes and sizes thunder in out of warp from wherever they were before in the cosmos. Bright neon colors contrast with numerous ships with cold metallic shades, some colored so black, so dark, they practically blend in to the open space. Ships of gold and silver shimmer from the reflecting light of a nearby star, and my radar screen is full to bursting with small glowing dots, each representing a nearby player.

The Angst Armada has arrived.

Click here to read and pre-order Don’t Read the Comments.

Enter our giveaway on Goodreads before November 30, 2019 to win an ARC of Don’t Read the Comments!

FOLLOW ERIC SMITH!

Twitter

Instagram