#but its the slow burn mutual pining coming to understand each other as people and having a stronger relationship bc of it for me

[tenmissedcalls]

some writing under the cut! elias angst 🤸‍♀️

“Do you ever get… tired of it all?”

The question slips out before you can help it, and the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Your gaze stays resolutely fixed on the sky. You’re not sure if you’re scared to look at him, or if you’re scared to find him looking at you.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. 

“Where’s this coming from?”

His laughter comes easily enough, but you know him too well. You hear the catch in his breath. You know he’s watching you all too carefully.

Your mouth flattens into a line as you watch the clouds. You don’t know where it’s coming from, if you’re being honest. You hate being honest these days. It comes with the burden of emotions that you’re not sure how to unpack.

You decide to dodge the question.

“I mean, isn’t it exhausting sometimes? Being you.” Being us, is what you really mean to say, but you let that part go unsaid.

He exhales slowly. You desperately want to reach over and intertwine your fingers with his, but you don’t move a muscle.

“Yeah. But I manage,” he says nonchalantly. He must take your silence as a sign of something, because his next words come out a little rushed.

“There’s always something that keeps me going, right? There has to be. It has to be worth it.”

This time, you’re the one who laughs. “It sounds like you’re convincing yourself more than me.”

He grins, although you can’t see it. Right now, the thing that’s keeping him going is making you laugh. 

“Caught me.”

You spare him a glance and immediately look away like it burns. You hate the way he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. If anything, you’re the clouds covering the way the moon shines in his eyes. 

“I just don’t know what I’m looking for anymore,” you whisper, the words tasting like cheap, sour wine and cigarette ashes. If you stop holding back the tears, you think the night sky will start looking like the flash of cameras.

It’s half a lie, when you know everything a part of you has been looking for ever since you were eighteen is lying right next to you, all too close and all too far. But having him back in your life has you spiraling again and suddenly you’re eighteen again in all the wrong ways. Because you’re not eighteen anymore, you can’t afford to feel the way you do anymore, not in this line of work. You’re just not sure you can keep suppressing things the way you always have, not when he has your world tilting on its axis. 

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

You’ve never been cut out for any of this, no matter how adept you’ve become at playing the part. Maybe if things were different, you’d know what it was like to love him without all the strings attached. But you can’t pay the price of hypotheticals, not anymore.

He breathes out, audibly. You wish he would laugh instead. You wish he wouldn’t take you so seriously, because you can’t picture a future where the both of you end up happy. 

“Sometimes we look for the things we want to see,” he whispers. He swallows thickly. “Sometimes we end up disappointed.”

And there it is - the guilt that you think you’ll carry to your grave. It’s not his fault, none of it is, and that’s what kills you inside. Because even after everything, you’re still holding yourself back, for fear of holding him back. You love him so much you think it’s burning you up from the inside out, and you’ll never tell him, because he’s meant for bigger and better things and all you’ll ever be is a footnote in his story. That’s what you should be, even if the regret tears you apart. You don’t want to be the person he regrets. 

“I think we should talk about it,” he says, louder this time, desperately. The words get stuck in your throat, that there’s nothing to talk about, because you’re simply on different paths and this is all it’ll ever be, and that’s perfectly fine. It’s all so completely and utterly fine and if you talk about it you think something inside you will break in its entirety. 

You’ve picked up the pieces once before. You don’t think you can do it again.

“I should go,” you mutter, your voice rough from everything you’re trying to hide. You feel like you’re going to throw up. 

“Don’t do this,” he warns you, voice wavering. 

“Elias.”

You hate how it comes out - sharp and unforgiving in all the wrong places. He winces and it feels like a punch to the stomach.

And maybe that’s the worst part of it all, that being around him has you coming undone at the seams all too easily. You shouldn’t be here, stargazing on the hood of his car like you deserve any part of his life anymore. 

You don’t know which part is worse, that the both of you gave each other a second chance, or that you let yourself think things would be any different. 

“At least let me drive you home,” he says, something worse than exhaustion flattening his words out into resignation.

You’ve already pulled out your phone. “I’ll call a cab.”

He says nothing. You’re not sure if you want him to say anything, or if you prefer the silence.

When you slide off the car, feet landing on the pavement of the parking lot, you tell yourself to not look back. 

You always do, though. 

And when you look over your shoulder, for one last glance at him, you think you’ll never learn from your mistakes. 

[mochidoie]

the summer of us ☼

kim doyoung x reader wc - 8.6k genre - slow burn, fluff, slightly angsty, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining warnings - kiss scene a/n - italicized sections are written as flashbacks, while regular texts correspond with the present

You and Doyoung reunite at your high school reunion. Him, just as he has always been. You, bolder but just as beautiful. Upon meeting again, the memories of the one summer you two shared during your college years resurface, along with the same romantic feelings that never had a proper ending. Will that summer love find its way back to your present?

The only people who show up to high school reunions are those who used to be popular and lonely individuals. It’s the people who reminisce about their glory days in the tight hallways and how everyone knew their name. It’s for the people who currently have no one back in their hometown and are looking to rekindle old flames or friendships. Doyoung was neither one of these, and yet, here he is standing in the middle of his old high school gymnasium amongst his past peers and barely making out familiar faces in this mood lighting.

There were predictable appearances: Johnny was King of the Field, wore his letterman jacket nearly every day of senior year until the leather wore out and crusted off. Mina was captain of the cheerleading squad, admired by many but envied by most. Jaehyun was the campus sweetheart, confession letters and gifts would flood out of his locker on Valentine’s day. 

They are all holding onto that piece of glory, making remarks on how they wish they could go back in time to experience it all over again. Nothing in their current lives gives them that same thrill. It’s sad and for a brief moment, Doyoung genuinely pitied them. 

Some unexpected faces took him by surprise: Taeyong was his lab partner for most of his projects, his mind was always on a creative tangent at such a young age. Yuta was the underrated soccer star, he was humble in his skill, but extremely competitive in everything he did. Haechan was that underclassman that never hung out with his own grade, but he could crunch numbers faster than anyone in the school.

And you. You, who walked in with a dress that fit perfectly and painted lips that curved into a sweet smile, a smile that Doyoung found himself wanting a glimpse of throughout the night. You were quiet and so much more timid back then, always trying to blend into the background of things.

Nonetheless, Doyoung had shared the same sentiments except an unlikely friendship with Mark really gave him a leg up in high school with the popular crowd. But, Doyoung always saw you and formed a silent camaraderie between the two of you without your knowledge. 

Why would you come? He didn’t understand. If it wasn’t for Mark’s insanely theatrical pleas to attend, Doyoung would happily be on his couch watching his reality dating shows. It seemed out of character and some could say the same for him. However, Doyoung didn’t actually know you well enough to understand your reasoning. 

Mark nudges Doyoung, “hey… who is that?” Gesturing toward your figure by the makeshift bar, Doyoung tries to think how to formulate your identity to Mark. Did Mark even know of your existence prior? Doyoung thought. 

“I think it’s… y/n?” He doesn’t sound confident, in fact, there is a slight quiver when he says your name. Mark confusingly stares at Doyoung and he can read his mind before Mark even asks.

“Who?” 

Rolling his eyes, he patiently explains. “Junior year chemistry. I’m pretty sure you two sat next to each other in class.” Doyoung brings his glass to his lips. 

Mark tilts his head, an expression of great pondering on his face. Unconsciously, Doyoung’s eyes follow you at every step. He is still trying to process seeing how much you’ve changed. 

“How did you remember something like that?” Mark laughs, biting the cookie he has been rolling between his fingers. 

Doyoung shrugs nonchalantly, “I had to stare at your big head the whole period and all the posers who tried to be your best friend during class.” It isn’t a complete lie, Doyoung did pay attention to his good friend during class, but only because he had to sit a few rows behind him.

He isn’t going to reveal the silent alliance he created between the two of you. The two quiet ones, navigating the world of high school in their own way and trying to graduate without a trace of who they were during those years. That’s what Doyoung wanted for himself.

“We should catch up, what do you say?” Mark suggests to Doyoung. You’ve made your way toward the center of the draped tables, trapped between Johnny and Jaehyun. Those two idiots probably have no recollection of who you are. “You can reintroduce me.” 

Doyoung scoffs, “you don’t need an introduction. You’re literally valedictorian Mark Lee.” The two of them make their way toward you. With every step closer, Doyoung’s throat dries up. If there is any need for liquid courage, it would be now. 

The truth is that Doyoung has exchanged several small conversations with you during your adolescence, so you two are acquaintances at best. However, there was one summer between the first and second year of college where the two of you ran into each other quite frequently. It was enough to where the two of you were actually friends, one could even argue more than that.

Doyoung always hated the heat that came with summers at home. It was partially the reason why he decided to go away for college in a city without changing seasons. Beads of sweat run down the sides of his forehead as he seeks air conditioning in a crowded gelato shop.

He had just finished an intense soccer match with Yuta. It probably was one of the worst decisions to do during the highest temperatures of the year. The copious amount of sunscreen has most likely melted off of his body with the amount of sweat he was producing and all his water dried up from sitting in the sun. 

He digs in his pockets for spare change for the sweet treat, not thinking how much he would be suffering from the hot weather. 

“I can help the next person.” A voice calls and Doyoung is frantically rummaging through his pockets for more bills. When he looks up, a familiar face shares a slightly shocked expression over the fridge counters. You call his name and instantly, Doyoung feels flushed at your great memory. 

Your name tag hangs crookedly on your apron and Doyoung recognizes it immediately. “Hey! It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have expected to bump into you.” Your giddiness warms Doyoung’s chest. He had forgotten how inviting you were the moment you would speak. Your features were slightly the same, but definitely a bit older. You weren’t wearing your glasses and your hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail. 

“I just came back for the summer.” Doyoung pulls out some loose change, damp from his sweaty hands. “When did you work here?”

“I started the summer after we graduated. I come back during the breaks to help out.” Before Doyoung could respond, a voice cuts the feverish reunion and reminds him he is holding up the line for gelato. 

You chuckle timidly to yourself, “anyways, what can I get you?” 

Doyoung, now pressured by the line of impatient customers, chooses his favorite mango sorbet before he could glance at any other options. When you ring him up, he counts his change in his palm and groans. 

“Ah, I’m short two dollars. It’s okay, I won’t get it. I’m sorry to waste your time.” Doyoung pouts, ready to hide under a rock for being a complete embarrassment the first time you are seeing each other again.

You grasp his wrist quickly, “Wait, it’s on me.” Placing the cone in his hand, you fiddle with something on the register and smile sweetly at him. 

Doyoung feels the world stop and can’t find the words to express his gratitude. “Thanks.” He whispers, deer eyes wide and mouth open. 

“No problem. It was good seeing you again, Doyoung.” You’re already trying to move on to help the next available customer, while Doyoung mindlessly blinks at the cone in his hand. It was really nice seeing you and he wonders to himself if there could be another chance. 

It’s a relief when Mark saves you from the conversation with Johnny and Jaehyun. He does so happily and cluelessly at the tactics of their flirting and lack of your identity. It actually almost comes to a shock to you that Mark remembered you, not that the two of you shared any conversation between one another during class. It isn’t until your eyes fall upon the other individual behind him. 

All tall and lean, Doyoung stands before you after all this time. The memories of that one summer together flash by in a millisecond and all the feelings come rushing back like adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Then, a mixture of disappointment and sadness fill your heart, gazing upon Doyoung’s stare, it’s apologetic. With Mark’s chirpiness in the way, you try your best to pretend that you and Doyoung had no prior affairs. 

“Wow, can you believe how long it’s been? My mom still talks about your valedictorian speech, Mark.” Doyoung can see right through you. The fakeness is full in your tone, like you’re trying so hard to convince everyone that you’re fine and after all this time, alright with seeing Doyoung. 

“Yeah, that speech. I swear I blacked out because I can’t even remember it.” Mark laughs, rubbing the back of his neck in a shy manner. “But how have you been, y/n?” 

“I’ve been good. Busy with work and enjoying life at the same time.” Keeping your answer vague, you direct your attention to Doyoung. “How have you been?” 

He is taken aback by the sudden shift, despite very clearly being part of this three way conversation without any contribution other than his presence. Clearing his throat, he begins with, “good. I’ve been busy with work too.”

Mark continues, poking at Doyoung’s arm to slightly tease him. “This guy became a workaholic after we graduated college. He is the first person I knew that got a job right away and has been slaving away since.” 

Doyoung feels embarrassed as his friend describes the lamest life that he has been living. He almost speaks up to defend himself or mention how all those years of hard work has earned him a golden plaque for his loyalty with the company. 

“That’s really impressive, Doyoung.” Your breathy compliment causes his heart to skip a beat. He looks at you, noting the sadness in your eyes. “I’ve been jumping around jobs for awhile. It’s been hard figuring out what I want to do with my career, sometimes I think back on how easy life was when I was scooping gelato.”

Gelato takes Doyoung back to that summer again. All the warm nights he waited for you to close up the shop, how your clothes would smell like sweet waffle batter, and you’d always come out with a scoop of mango sorbet just for him. All the nights he wished he was brave enough to kiss you. 

“Doyoung, you don’t have to wait for me!” Your smile doesn’t leave your face upon seeing him outside the shop, hands in his pockets and head up high watching the stars. At this point, it’s routine that the boy would show up five minutes before closing time and patiently wander outside until you were ready to leave.

You thought it was a coincidence to bump into him after one of your shifts, but he kept showing up. After a few times, you began to realize that he was intentionally waiting for you. Never questioning why, Doyoung walked you home every night as you two reminisced about the moments in high school or new memories you both had made in college.

Slowly, you two got to know each other very well. Doyoung told you about his dreams and you told him about your family. He knew your closest friends and your favorite memories about them. You knew facts about his brother and their upbringing, family traditions during holidays and vacations spent at the ski lodge despite not knowing how to ski. 

Occasionally, the two of you would stop by boardwalk and walk down to the beach. Doyoung would pat off the sand to the bench for you to sit beside him. You’d keep a respectable distance, with your hands in your lap and hair blowing in the warm wind. Doyoung’s eyes would sparkle along with the street lamps and you’d both be secretly enchanted by one another. 

These were the summer nights that you wished upon the moon and stars that Doyoung would kiss you. 

“You worked at the gelato shop by the boardwalk?” Mark asked, excited and completely oblivious to the can of worms he is about to open leading with that question. 

Chuckling, you glance sly at Doyoung. “Yes, it was my summer job. My sister knew the manager that worked there, so I’d help out during the summer when I came home.”

Mark lightly slaps Doyoung on the chest and he coughs at the sudden impact, jolting and nearly spilling the drink in his hand. “Doyoung used to rave about the mango sorbet at that place, didn’t you?”

Doyoung nodded. It comes as a confirmation to you that Mark doesn’t know anything that happened between you and Doyoung that summer. You’re all laughing awkwardly, Doyoung a bit more nervously than you and Mark.

“Yeah and he’d always say how it was his favorite of all time, that nothing could compare–”

“--Okay, Mark. I think we can drop the mango sorbet debate.” Doyoung firmly pats Mark on the shoulder to get him to please shut the fuck up. He couldn’t take any more of his friend’s clueless babbling, especially not to you about all the subliminal messages.

“It’s good. They make it in house, peeled over a hundred mangoes in the back every morning.” Speaking very matter of factly, your face is full of angst. 

Mark and Doyoung blink at you in disbelief. He feels bad about all the nights you’d get him a scoop, not knowing you practically worked away your life for it. “Wait, seriously?”

“No.” You laugh and your face lightens up, “that would be actual hell if I did. We had frozen mangoes with a premade syrup.” Doyoung forgot about your humor and how much he enjoyed it. He found himself laughing along, thinking about how melodic your sounds of happiness are.  

In the midst of your chuckles, someone calls for Mark from across the auditorium. He excuses himself and hurries joyfully over to another old classmate. The air instantly becomes suffocating between you and Doyoung. Without a third party there to ignore the elephant in the room, the two of you avert eye contact and stand stiffly. 

“So..” Doyoung clears his throat, unsure how to work around the awkwardness. “Why did you decide to come? I never thought I’d see you at something as lame as this.” 

“Are you implying I’m too cool to show up here?” He got you to relax a bit, earning a small chuckle at how he phrased his question. Your shoulders drop the tension that caused it to stick by your chin. 

“Of course.” You weren’t necessarily popular back in high school, so you had no reason to come back and gloat about the past. He isn’t sure about your current social life, but surely it isn’t lonely enough to want to come back and rekindle old ones, especially with these amateurs. 

“Well, I appreciate that thought. I had a feeling you’d be here.” Your eyes wander the floor, calculating your next words very carefully. While you had no idea how Doyoung feels about you right now, you wanted to test the waters. If it comes to be bad, then you can avoid him for the rest of your life. If it turns out well, who knows? There wouldn’t be another missed chance.

“Oh god, I’m so uncool that you’d expect me to show up?” Doyoung pretends to be offended, or maybe he actually is. You aren’t sure, but he holds his hand to his chest as if he is. “I’ll have to rebrand myself going forward.”

“No, no. It’s not you. I saw Mark tag you in the comments of the announcement post.” Peering up, Doyoung lets out an exasperated sigh at the fact that Mark was the culprit. He should’ve known that Mark basically announced their attendance via social media. “So, I figured you might show up.” 

“It is a hundred percent Mark. He dressed me himself and dragged me out the door to come to this.” He rolls his eyes and finishes his drink in one big gulp. 

Doyoung scans the room one last time at all the people that came to the reunion. To his surprise, there was a decent amount of attendees and everyone looked like themselves more or less. Everyone remained recognizable to a degree, but no one made an entrance like you did. 

Then, the conversation clicks in his head. Like someone turned the lights on in his head, he understands the intent behind your responses. You didn’t come to see him, perhaps? 

It is as if you could see the gears in his mind turn in real time. You smile and close the distance between the two of you. “I came to this lame reunion because I wanted to see you again.” 

And like that, Doyoung is brought back to the world stopping feeling he felt several years ago in that gelato shop, your hand on his wrist and a cone of mango sorbet in his hand. His eyes resembled a baby deer in headlights and his mouth agape. His heart is loud in his ears and pressure in his throat. 

He isn’t sure how he should proceed. Doyoung fumbled his chances with you long ago, at least that’s what he had thought. Barely processing your confession, he stammers over his words. 

“Want to head out?” 

A wide grin spreads across your lips, lifting your cheeks high on your face. “What about Mark?”

“He’ll manage.” Doyoung doesn’t even look for his good friend in the crowd, knowing that Mark was going to leave him for a random old acquaintance sooner or later into the night. This, however, was an opportunity Doyoung didn’t know he’d ever come across again. “I’ve waited long enough to have a chance like this again.” 

Your eyes light up at his statement, like a spark to a new flame erupting inside of you. Doyoung extends his hand for you to take and softly, you accept his grip and let him guide you outside of that dreary gymnasium. 

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“Did you know that Bethany had the biggest crush on you?” Kicking your feet in the air, you’re giggling at the silly high school secrets you had always kept to yourself. Doyoung shoots up from the blanket on the sand and turns to face you, utterly horrified by the new piece of old information. 

You had an early shift today and managed to catch the sunset with Doyoung. He had brought his picnic blanket for you two to enjoy the views right on the beach. The pink and orange hues paint the sky above you, faint sounds of seagulls in the distance and of waves crashing against the shore set the mood. 

You two could talk for hours, without a care in the universe and any concept of time. Doyoung is mesmerized by your perspective and way with words. You’re astonished by the wisdom and empathy Doyoung holds. From one quiet kid to another, you two sure felt comfort in each other. 

“Blonde Beth?!” Doyoung exclaims.

You sit up with him, matching the higher level of energy. “Yes. She was so into you!”

He blinks in disbelief, never thinking someone like Bethany would have a crush on him in high school. Not that he is any better now, but he isn’t sure how well he was perceived in his adolescents. “How did you know?”

“You’re always such a skeptic.” Your eyes watch the horizon. The round, golden sun barely hits the glimmering water. “I sat at the same table as her and her friends in math class. She talked about you quite often.”

Doyoung follows your gaze toward the sunset. He contemplates long and hard. “What a strange crush.”

Scoffing, you briefly glance over at him. There, Doyoung sits with his knees hugged to his chest and a look of deep thought. The sun kisses his skin so lovingly, highlighting his sharp facial features. The light breeze blows his tousled bangs over his forehead. Doyoung looks like he was chiseled by the gods, just absolutely unreal. 

It strikes you like a chord. In the midst of this summer sunset, you were falling for Doyoung. 

When he peers over and meets your eyes, something drops in the pit of your stomach. A sudden shyness accompanies your chest and it compels you to look away, but you remain locked in and lost in his starry pupils. You find yourself breathless, mouth open to speak but words caught in your throat.

Nonetheless, you catch yourself before it becomes suspicious. “W-Why would it be strange?” Gulping, your mind is running circles at your realization. 

“Because I swear she hated me. I would always beat her by one point in our exams and there was always a rivalry between us.” Doyoung ponders, barely able to make out the memories of the girl from his classes. He never acknowledged her enough to remember. 

He hears your chuckle, snapping his attention at you. “You’re so dense. She probably had an enemies to lovers type thing going on for you.” 

“A what?” Doyoung snarls.

“Enemies to lovers… like you hated each other so much that you ended up liking them.” Your voice grows small at the ridiculous explanation. You may have revealed too much of your personal interests and hobbies to a boy who only reads textbooks and self help books.

It was Doyoung’s turn to laugh, but right in your face at the silly description. “Is that something you like reading in your literature?” 

“Perhaps. I’ve already said too much.” You fume, laying back down on the blanket. Your back hits the firm sand with a thud and you close your eyes out of embarrassment.

“I’ll confirm with you right now that I’m more of a friends to lovers type guy. I can never hate someone so much that I end up liking them. My disdain for them would linger.” The blanket shifts a bit underneath you. When you open your eyes, he is hovering over you with a kind grin.

A veiny arm is situated by either side of your head. You nearly gasp at the sudden perspective of Doyoung above you, keeping your own arms close to your chest. Your heart races quickly, anticipating his next move. 

“You’re not trying to fall asleep on the beach, right?” He laughs, his chain slipping out of his shirt and dangling from his neck. “If you’re tired, let me walk you back.”

A rush of flustered emotions cascade over your weak body. Dizziness quickly accompanies your head, like the sight of Doyoung looking dreamily above you is enough to cause you to faint. You pat your hot cheeks, giving small slaps to wake you from this embarrassing feeling you’re experiencing over a friend.

Doyoung laughs at your gesture, oblivious to why you’re just hitting yourself. “Enough, don’t want you to hurt your pretty face.” 

Like a straw to a camel’s back, that is the last thing you’ll let yourself get ruffled over. Sitting up, you’re inches from Doyoung’s lips. He blinks at your sudden proximity and immediately widens his eyes.

Gulping, your breath dances softly on his cherry red pout. “Let’s go.”

He follows your lead, grabbing his blanket in a swift motion and dusting off the sand from the fabric. Nonetheless, you don’t wait around or help him. Instead, you’re already up on the curb and recollecting everything that just happened, all the feelings that had surfaced. Confused, but excited to feel your heart bursting with the rays of the summer sun.

 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“So, this is where you live. I remember requesting a tour for one of the units when it was in its developmental phase. I’m happy to see that it lives up to the pictures and that someone I know lives here.” You walk around Doyoung’s living room aimlessly, pinching at the cover of the couch, dusting your finger on the window shades, inspecting the ceiling fixtures. 

“You’re restless. Take a seat before you spot something that will cause me to hyperfixate.” He chuckles, patting the seat next to him on the sofa and placing a glass of water for you on a cute coaster. 

For a brief moment, you hesitate sitting so close to him. It wasn’t like all the ill feelings you held simply disappeared upon seeing him. There is still a part of you that didn’t forgive him, didn’t wish to be so friendly again.

Nonetheless, Doyoung had always been attentive and observant. He catches on immediately, scooting over to another chair that had a big stuffed penguin plush. Clearing his throat, he gestures to the spot once more now that he created a comfortable distance. “Why did you decide on another place?”

“It was closer to my ex at the time.” Your casualness catches Doyoung off guard, as he watches you finally take a seat. “He kept complaining about our commute to each other and I was in need of a new apartment fast, so it just settled that way.” 

Doyoung nods, like he understands despite not fully. He can’t imagine moving closer for anyone beside himself or going without a compromise from both parties. “Then, does your ex still live near you?”

“No, I told him to move far away so that I would never have to see him again. I’m all about setting boundaries.” The person Doyoung knew you to be would never have been that bold, would not have known how to set boundaries firmly. Like an ember catching a light, a spark appears in his eyes as he takes in your physicalities again. 

Now under proper lighting, Doyoung can really see all of you. The dress did more for you than he had noticed before, bringing out your confidence and kissing your skin tone. The satin on your lips is seductive, but saccharine paired with your smile. Voluminous curls frame your face perfectly and when he finally takes a long look at your features – he is astonished all over again at how beautiful you are. 

He clears his throat, “boundaries are important.” It’s all he can say while still enamored by your newfound confidence and looks.

“What about you? Have you been in any relationships since we last saw each other?” 

Doyoung tries to piece together his response delicately, mostly because he didn’t want to sound like a complete loner and corporate loser. Truthfully, after the summer together, Doyoung could not stop thinking about you. It was an endless cycle of wanting to reach out again, but he never found it in himself to do so. When you nearly fell off the face of the digital world, he tried to put his efforts into other people. 

Failing horribly, he couldn’t find anything remotely close to what you and he had shared in a few months. A connection so powerful and genuine, a fresh breath of air that filled his lungs every time he thoughtfully inhaled. A feeling that warmed not only his skin, but his heart that he no longer despised the hot weather. Doyoung found himself looking for you in everyone he met, only to be faced with utter disappointment when they were nowhere close.

With all his withered attempts at romance, he gave up. He settled on being alone for this portion of his life and didn’t desire that fleeting feeling of romance he had once felt. Because at the end of all his days, he’d come home to this empty apartment and pretend to be content with himself when he had lost the opportunity to be with you. 

So when he begins with his calculated reply, he mentally prepares himself for your reaction. “I haven’t. I’m married to my work.” His eyes flicker at your expression, trying to make out the sympathy in your pupils and dip in your frown.

“You haven’t changed at all.” When you examine Doyoung, he is just as you remembered him that summer. With his sharp features, quick wit, quiet demeanor and all of his dedication, Kim Doyoung remains exactly like how he had left you that temperate night.

He is all the man that you had fallen for and longed for in your present. It’s a bit sad all the times you would wallow in it — the crush that became undying on a man who only smiled brighten when you were around. A man who is intelligent, trivial, and hungry for success that he is willingly to dedicate his entire life to it. Yet, he is a man who is also kind, soft, and attentive to others around him that caring for others comes second nature to him. 

With the time that has passed since you two last spoke, you had wondered if he had changed to be more cynical, withholding his heart and laughter to those who tried to grow close to him or if he had opened up and shared his kindness to someone who is worthy of it. To your countless of painted possibilities, Doyoung had done neither and a part of you finds immense comfort in him all over again. 

Doyoung isn’t sure how to interpret your statement. Greatly puzzled, he tilts his head and asks, “is that a bad thing?” Swallowing the lump of spit gathered in his throat, he anxiously overthinks your implications.

Instantly, you note his change from relaxed to tense. His jaw is clenched as he crosses his legs, neatly folding his hands together and resting them on his lap. You’ve made him uneasy, but it only makes you chuckle at how unnerved he is. 

So when you answer him, he is vastly surprised and speechless. “No, I’ve always liked you the way you are.”

He ponders and lets the adrenaline take its course of action. Without another thought or hesitation, he matches your boldness. “You’ve changed.” 

The proclamation feels sudden, so much that it genuinely catches you off guard. There is a slight whiplash you experience with how quick Doyoung’s words hit you. Although there is no accusatory tone that lingers, there is some sense of self consciousness. 

“Is that bad?” You take his same words to use against him. Instead of feeling tense and perceived, you somehow feel defensive. All the years that you two haven’t encountered one another, you’ve worked hard to be the person you love now. 

You acknowledge how quiet and hidden you were in the past. The person that never wanted to be noticed, often wanting to hide behind their hair or clothes. You used to speak just barely above a whisper, scared that any louder would draw the unwanted attention of others around. Only spoke when spoken to, only looked up when tapped, that was just the way you were. 

High school was never a comfortable time for you, but wasn’t it like that for everyone? Seemingly awkward and unrevealing to who someone truly is. It had been a feeling that troubled you greatly, that you felt fearful to be too bold, too audacious. You couldn’t wait to graduate silently and move on from that version of yourself.

“No, no. It’s not bad at all.” Doyoung puts his hands up, waving them in a worrisome manner. He settles back into his seat, sitting back against the bouncy cushion and leaning his chin on his fist.

There is a brief stiffness in the air, like Doyoung had more to say. Watching his eyelashes flutter over at you, he eats you up under his long gaze. You shift oddly in your place, heart pounding in your throat and feeling slightly flushed under his spotlight. 

He speaks with a low voice, but it is gentle and firm. “I think I see you more clearly now.” His eyes trail down to your toes and back up to the curls that frame your face. An audible gasp escapes your lips, a lack of words fallen upon you.

With every second spent with Doyoung, it has slowly eroded away at the resentment and sadness you felt prior. You wish for nothing more than to be closer to him, to feel his fingertips dance across your hot skin. This is not a foreign feeling, but one that you knew too well. 

“Funny that you only see me now when I had been right in front of you for an entire summer.” Fumbling with your purse, you peer away from his sultry stare. The air in the room suffocates you, like a sticky humid day.

“You misinterpret my statement.” He is quick to answer. “I have always seen you. The person who tried so hard to fade in the background in high school, the person who was still trying to figure themselves in college, and now, the person you fully find yourself to be.” 

There is a heaviness that fills your chest, like guilt that you had held such a tremendous grudge after so long. Wallowing in your angst, you try to process his words thoughtfully. When you don’t say anything, Doyoung’s voice continues on and his heart fills his words.

“You know, I go back to that summer every year, just recalling and regretting.” Doyoung sighs, emptying his lungs into one breath. He finally feels ready to address the elephant in the room, the words he never said. With you as beautifully before him once again, Doyoung never dared to imagine this chance because he knew he didn’t deserve it. 

“What would you have done differently?” You seldomly ask. 

And when you glimpse up at him with glossy eyes, Doyoung’s confession pours from his lips effortlessly. “I’d tell you how you made me feel – seen and whole. Because I knew you saw me too and accepted me with all my flaws. It’s like you saw my soul and understood me for the person I was. Then, I’d kiss you, I’d kiss you like the world was ending.”

“Desperately and holding onto the last glimpse of hope?” Chuckling, your heart literally feels like it could burst any second looking at him. 

Doyoung stands up, taking small steps forward and closing the distance between you two. Making room for him to sit next to you, his knee radiates heat against your own. He smiles sweetly, “desperately, yes, but as if nothing else mattered than being there with you in that moment.”

Finally face to face, it feels impossible to resist each other’s aura. “I would like that.” Your eyes flicker from his lips to his pupils. His eyebrows raise slightly and like clockwork, the gears in his head are spinning at full force until everything clicks.

Without another thought or a second to lose, Doyoung pulls you toward him by your wrist and your lips land hastily on top of his. Staining him with the color of your lipstick, you’re gliding effortlessly. Immediately, all the romantic feelings from that summer flood both of your chests’.

Doyoung kicks the sand that loosely piles the boardwalk. His hands shoved into his shorts as his attention turned to the sound of your voice. This night between the both of you feels weirdly melancholy. It was a third of the way into summer and you were the only person Doyoung wanted to be around. 

Beyond the nostalgia, the family traditions, the dreams, there was one part of each other that you two never shared. All until he hears the drip of sadness in your voice, “you want to know something?”

“Of course.” When it came to you, he wasn’t sure if he had the power to say no.

The stars hang low and the moon twinkles at the highest point of the night. The chatter from the normally busy boardwalk has been replaced by sounds of waves crashing in the distance and all the shops have gone dark. The smell of sweet waffle batter lingers from your clothes and the chilly summer breeze blows at the strands of your hair. 

“I’ve still never had my first kiss.” It had been a long kept secret, feeling embarrassed that someone at your age hadn’t experienced a simple kiss. You had thought that the moment you entered college, everything was going to change and you were going to experience it all. 

However, the romantic in you wouldn’t allow it. In all the books you read, you only hoped for a magical kiss that swept you off your feet. One that deemed itself memorable, that would have you replaying over and over in your head. A kiss so full of passion that it would destroy you to pull away from.

“It’s nothing amazing.” Doyoung dully answers, noting the pout on your face the moment he says it. He immediately feels bad for damping the mood even further. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean.” 

“How was your first kiss?” You lay that million dollar question on him so innocently. 

He genuinely couldn’t even remember how his first kiss was. All he could make out was how sweaty his palms were and how he threw up right afterwards. “It was mediocre. I think it was with someone random at a freshman welcoming party. I had too much to drink and barfed on the curb right after it happened.”

The sound of your melodic laugh causes him to follow. “Hey!” He points, the reoccuring grin appearing on his face, “don’t you dare laugh. I shared that in secrecy. It was a very vulnerable moment for me.”

You hold your stomach from the intense chuckles, tears rimming your eyes. “I appreciate the vulnerability. It made me feel a lot better.” 

Amidst the robust laughter, Doyoung found himself wanting to be the reason behind your happiness. A burning sensation spread across his chest, intense enough to where he thought he might’ve had a bad sunburn. He peers over at your giggling figure again. 

Your mouth opened in a toothy smile, your cheekbones high up on your face. Under the dimly lit boardwalk, Doyoung’s heart races at how stunning you look hunched over and just doing something as simple as laughing. Joy matches you so well and he can’t seem to look away.

It’s like the wind knocked the air out of his lungs, but he falls breathless at the realization. Underneath the stars of this summer night, Doyoung was falling for you. 

When your laughter comes to a gradual stop, Doyoung snaps out of his internal confusion of these new blossoming feelings for you. He bids you a small smile, “what I meant to say was that first kisses don’t have to be the special one. All it takes is the right person at the right time. A kiss like that would trump any first kiss.” 

“You sure say that with a lot of vindication. Do you think you’ve experienced that yet?” Curious eyes fall upon him, you watch him like a spectacle and he grows nervous under your gaze.

“Definitely not. All I’ve experienced are wrong persons and wrong times.” It is a mindless thought he let escape and he doesn’t hope you read too much between the lines. He surely did not include you in that statement whatsoever. You had to be the right person, deep down somewhere he knew that. “Those are once in a lifetime moments, that's why I think they're so special.”

“I like that perspective.” You nod knowingly. “I hope to experience something like that one day too.” Your head drops to your hands, fiddling your thumbs at the thought of something so remarkable. 

Doyoung could kiss you right here. He’d pick up your chin and dive right into you. He’d give you your first kiss and something even more special. Nonetheless, his body remains stuck on his side of the bench. It’s as if he physically cannot get himself to do it, as if rushing into it wouldn’t be a good idea. 

He doesn’t know or understand why his body stayed frozen in place. As much as the desire to kiss you stirred within the pit of his stomach, there seems to be a barrier halting him from acting on it. Almost like his mind is telling him that this isn’t the right time, not yet.

Hands in your curls, Doyoung presses his face deeper into you. Both of your hearts pulse rapidly at the long awaited kiss. Your trembling fingertips brush his cheek and his knees grow weak at every inch you touch. Your lips dance together like they’ve known the steps this whole time.

Doyoung kisses you like the world really is ending, like the only two people who exist are you and him. It’s beyond romantic– it’s feverish, transcendent, and special. Kissing him has your feelings bursting into a chaotic, wild flame that only he can put out from this moment forward.

You kiss him like you’ve known him all his life and everything has led up to now, like the right person at the right time. This has been the kiss he has been patiently waiting for, growing for, all of this time has amounted to this one beautiful moment with you. You grip his arm, holding onto him tightly and afraid that he’d let go, that if your lips parted, it would completely destroy you.

Until you’re both gasping for air and joints in pain from the awkward position you’ve made your way in, the kiss comes to an end. Doyoung blinks with round, innocent eyes and puffy stained lips, truly stuck in a daze. His hair resembles a bird's nest, sticking out at random directions and clearly disheveled. 

You pull down the part of your dress that managed to ride up on your thighs, tidying the strands of flyaways around your face. When your eyes meet and shyly part, you’re both bursting into laughter and the steamy tension in the tiny apartment dissipates instantly. This is how it should’ve been. 

Your thumb smears the remaining lipstick that painted Doyoung’s lips, doing your best to wipe away the mess. He catches your wrist in the midst of it, “I’m sorry for ever hurting you in the past.” 

With your mouth agape, you’re unsure how to respond. With a long awaited kiss, came a long awaited apology, that is something that Doyoung knew well. You deserve every ounce of his sincerity and explanation. He gulps, anticipating whatever you may throw in his direction. Despite being full fledged adults, Doyoung feels as if he is back in his early adult years and still foolish when it comes to his feelings for you.

“I just never understood why you ran away, why you had so many excuses.” Reliving that memory has been painful, but less as time passed. It had been a tremendous part of your growth, even if it wasn’t something you wanted to experience.

The end of summer finally dawned on the two of you. Doyoung had been distant the last few days, but played it off as needing to pack for his trip back to college. You respected his space, but it would be a lie if you didn’t hope to see him waiting for you after your final shifts at the gelato shop.

All the bright days and breezy nights spent together were going to stay with you for a long time moving forward. Never did you think that you and Kim Doyoung would reunite and grow so close. Along with that, you never thought that you’d grow to like him so much. 

You’ve tossed and turned long enough. Now that Doyoung is leaving, you’d feel regretful if you didn’t let your good friend know at the very least how you felt. So, on the night before he makes his way back to school, he agrees to meet you on the pier for a goodbye.   

Doyoung is already leaning over the ledge, peering out into the dark waves in deep thought. He had been so conflicted the past few weeks, coming to the realization of his romantic feelings for you. He knew that meeting you again and growing close had that possibility, but he was unable to think that far ahead. He just wished to enjoy every waking moment with you. 

This summer with you had been a dream, one that he didn’t want to wake from. Now that he had to go, he didn’t know how to proceed. He had considered a confession, but what then? In the sheer chance that you reciprocate, he couldn’t give you the relationship you wanted. He couldn’t be there waiting for you after your shifts like he did here. He was going to be miles apart and so zoned into his studies. 

The internal conflict ate him alive, avoiding to see you on the last few days of summer you two had left. It was selfish on his part, but couldn’t let his feelings grow more to the point of recklessness. Doyoung could not afford to be reckless.

You come running toward him with a gigantic smile on your face, the one that makes Doyoung naturally grin back. He loves seeing you this way and his chest burns with an aching pain at the reality that awaits him. 

“Hey! How’s packing been?” You greet him, exasperated from the light jog. 

“I managed to finish a bit ago. I realized that I should pack more of the sweaters I left behind. It’s not as warm out there as it is here.” Doyoung shoves his hands into his jean pockets, the wind picking up the ends of his shirt and blowing lightly. 

“That’s good.” It’s all you could say before mustering up the courage to speak the real reason why you’re here tonight. Your eyes drift to the waves crashing along the shore and the footprints left from earlier in the day getting washed away. Your throat nearly closes, but you knew it had to be said. 

“Doyoung, I actually came out to tell you something important.” 

He chokes up, afraid to know and unprepared for what you were going to say. Nodding, he looks at you with a blank expression. 

“I had such a fun summer with you that I found myself growing to have romantic feelings for you. Do you feel the same?” Your confession evokes a sense of excitement and joy, Doyoung could do cartwheels. Nonetheless, they soon become squashed by the impending truths of reality. As much as Doyoung wanted to confess and tell you how he felt the same, he chose not to. 

Instead, he chooses to find a way to reject you. Dragging it out would be more painful than ending things between the two of you now. He thought this had to be the best option for your happiness. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m going away tomorrow.” He can’t answer your question because then he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from revealing all the ways you make his heart race and palms sweaty. He can’t hold onto a hope for the two of you to exist, knowing that the distance and his dedication to his studies came first. He wasn’t ready. 

Your smile drops immediately, being replaced with a frown. “I know, but we can work things out. You’re not too far–”

“I can’t do the distance. I can’t sacrifice the time from my studies.” Doyoung can see your heart shatter with every word and he doesn’t know how to help. His own heart crushed in his chest and nothing, but sharp pain reveals itself. 

“You can’t or you won’t?” You’re biting back tears. You didn’t expect the confession to go like this. Not that you expected him to reciprocate, but you didn’t think he’d chew and spit out your feelings like this. All this time, all his gestures, all his smiles, were they really not meant for you?

He says the same excuses again, which only frustrates you further. It didn’t feel like he was being honest with you, but he refused to give another reason. “I thought that this summer was special to us.”

Doyoung doesn’t wish to upset you more, so he says his last words to you before running off. “Summer is not enough.” You’re whiplashed by his cruel response, left speechless as you watch his figure dash off and down the pier. 

You’re left alone and staring at his fading shadow. A hole in your chest from your heart being ripped out and trampled on the ground. As a tear runs down your cheek, you think to yourself how Kim Doyoung is a coward, but how you are a fool to think that this summer meant anything more than it was.  

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Doyoung sighs, that memory haunting him like a nightmare. “I was stupid. Not only was I a coward, but I was thoughtless. I thought that if I ended things there, you wouldn’t be hurt in the long run.”

“Did you always plan to hurt me?” 

Doyoung snaps his head over at you, a ghastly expression on his face at your question. “Absolutely not. I-” He searched for the right answer, “I knew that I wasn’t going to be a good boyfriend to you if things continued. I was so imperfect that at the point of my life I was in, I was not ready to be the person you deserved. I wanted to give you the moon and the stars, believe me, but I was a boy who couldn’t even afford a scoop of mango sorbet.” 

“Doyoung, the boy I loved was imperfect, but he managed to make sunflowers bloom in my chest and feel as if I wasas loved by the sun. I wanted nothing more than to be yours that summer.” Your hand lightly clasps onto his. 

He tightens the grip, “again, I’m so sorry I so selfishly and idiotically ruined things between us, for making you sad. I only wanted to be the reason behind your gorgeous smile. I wanted to reach out all this time, but I couldn’t get over the guilt that built up after all this time. Why would you want someone who hurt you to come back into your life?”

You lifted Doyoung’s chin, bringing his focus back on your face. The connection is electrifying, like an instant buzz that fills your system with a simple look. The way that Doyoung looks at you is like a mesmerized, starstruck fool.

“You hurt me and it took a long time for me to build that bridge and get over it. However, after all these years, you’re all I could think about. That summer is all that floods my mind when I’m alone, that summer of us.” Your gentle words remind him of a softness he had forged a long time ago. A tenderness in your touch, in your gaze, in your tone is enough to break down his walls.

“I’ve wondered about you everyday.” He feels himself so easily drawn to you, so willing to open his pages for you to read. “And everyday, I wished I could get another chance. Would you allow me that? Another chance to be with you?”

It’s like the person you were from that summer awakens inside of you, longing and yearning to be Kim Doyoung’s. This entire night had been full of pockets of nostalgia seeing him again. Remembering, feeling, forgiving. But that question really solidifies that that young kid still lives inside of you, still wanting to love their summer crush as much as they did.

“Yes, I’d give you that chance in a heartbeat.” 

Doyoung kisses you again. And again. And again. For every moment under the summer stars that he wished to do so. Your summer love has found its way to your present. 

[ragnarokhound]

kon and jason form a bond over the fact that both of them have a crush on tim and tim is oblivious about it. they still hate each other, obviously, but it's nice to get drunk with someone who understands, you know? except after nearly half a year of occasionally getting drunk and bitching about tim, they hook up. and then they keep on hooking up. but really they both want tim! which is about when tim walks in on them.

anon. anon i am taking you by the shoulders. this is beautiful to me. do you get how much I love the 'i love him not you, but he's not here and besides, you're the only other bitch around who i'd trust him with /derogatory' and how good that is for jaykon(tim)??? dO YOU??? (the mutual mutual pining. the pact between two people who both know who they're actually in love with. the potential for a True love triangle to form. slow burn in one direction, enemies to friends to lovers in another. i'm feral over this)

The first time it happened, it was completely by accident.

Neither of them could really be held accountable, so neither of them could really blame each other. No matter how much Jason would like to blame the superclone for literally everything that transpired, always and forever, it can’t be helped. There’s no one at fault but good old Jack Daniels. Jason hadn’t even known supers could get drunk, but maybe that’s Kon’s human half at work. Or maybe he laces it with kryptonite dust or neurotoxin or whatever. Jason doesn’t really give a fuck how Kon gets his kicks. He just knows that the two of them are the only motherfuckers who get it— and while that doesn’t make them friends by any means, it definitely makes them de facto drinking buddies. They are united by one thing, and one thing only: a horrific, embarrassing, deeply acute, and likely terminal attraction to one Timothy Jackson Drake. Yeah. They know. One unlikely team up on a mission gone wrong was all it took for Jason and Kon to reach an understanding.

From Tim’s disappointed scowling every time they bickered to the easy way he trusted both of them to manhandle him in the name of the greater good, soon enough, Jason had gone from glaring daggers in the superclone’s direction to trading pained, commiserating looks every time Tim twisted himself into a pretzel right in front of them. Which he did surprisingly often. Jason would call it suspiciously often if Tim weren’t the most oblivious, rizzless dumbass on the planet. He only has game when he isn’t trying. Unfortunately for both Jason and Kon, he definitely is not trying. By the end of that week, Kon had gone from threatening to throw Jason into space to wordlessly offering sad fist bumps every time Tim missed yet another thinly veiled come on. From either of them. (Tim thought they were finally bonding over bad jokes and kept laughing and booing in their faces.) Clown to clown communication at its finest. After the week was up and they were all set to go their separate ways, Jason shot his shot one last time, inviting Tim (and Kon by proxy) out for drinks. Tim politely declined, citing all the paperwork he’d need to fill out for the Titans that Jason had been fully intending to sidestep anyway— like fuck he’s ever touching another incident report in his life— but to Jason’s surprise, Kon took him up on it. The two of them had hit the bar, and by the third round of drinks they were both swapping Tim-stories and finally clearing the air about the finer details of that ass. The rest is unlikely history. Don’t get Jason wrong, they still hate each other’s guts. It changes from bitch-sesh to bitch-sesh, but by the end of the night Kon will have threatened something like snapping Jason’s fingers or lasering his face off, and Jason will have responded with something like an eye roll and asking him if he’d like a hunk of kryptonite to choke on. Only, the first time it happened, too many glasses of whiskey and one meandering walk from the bar to Jason’s closest safehouse later, Kon’s eyes had shuttered, dark and blue and nothing like the eyes either of them actually wanted, and said, “No, but I think I’d like to choke you on my dick. You game?” And, well. What was Jason supposed to do, but grin knife-sharp and mean and say— “I’d love to see you try.”

[stargirlfics]

B U T T E R F L Y

Joel Miller x Black Latina Reader

Summary: Sometimes the path to healing starts with a reminder of what’s been lost

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, death tw, child death tw, some TLOU spoilers but doesn’t follow canon, post-outbreak!Joel, angst, hurt/comfort, trauma and violence mentions, fluff, slow burn vibe, mutual pining

Word Count: 5.6k

My mind has been stuck on the butterfly imagery connecting Sarah and Joel in the show, and in the game too! I grew up hearing from my abuelita that monarch butterflies are symbols of loved ones who’ve passed and I thought that would fit well here! This fic explores grief and pain but also finding hope through it too 🦋

To be soft-hearted at the world’s violent end, that’s where you’d decided to make a home for your heart with all its fragile beating.

Doomed is what they all said you were, surviving the outbreak this long sooner or later came with a price and they had been right, but still, half out of spite, half out of needing something to hang onto, the tenderness of you remained.

Surviving was a miracle and most could go on just grateful to wake up another day, but you’d seen how void life was lived here in the ruins of a former world, and as doomed as it all appeared, you tried your best to find pockets of light where you could, fighting the urge to shut yourself away. 

Because maybe one day those pockets of light would be abundant where they were once scarce, maybe one day, if you kept yourself open to it, there would be a sign of a changing tide to let you know you were finally safe. 

How strange signs could be, in plain sight but unseen until your brain could catch up with what your soul was feeling, and rarely did they ever come without complexity. 

In your case, that complexity came with a stern scowl that belonged to one Joel Miller. 

The first whispers you’d ever heard about Joel were that he was grumpy, stubborn, and not the kind of man to be messed with. He was the muscle behind trades done in shadowed alleys here in the QZ, illegal substances, weapons, extra ration cards, you name it. 

He was intimidating to most people, even you; having a reputation for being a man of few words and an even shorter fuse would do that but you knew there to be sorrow there too, etched deep in the lines of his face, reflecting like moonlight in his eyes. 

You’d never spoken to him, not in all your time in Boston, always seeming to narrowly avoid crossing paths, but you often saw him from afar. In the town square, catching glimpses of him waiting in line to collect a job’s earnings or in the pit, hauling bodies to the acrid cremation pyres smoldering hot throughout the day. 

If you thought about it, that’s where you saw the sorrow most.

That old, faded bandana he wore over his nose to block out the stench of burning gave you the clearest view of his eyes; sad, angry orbs fixated on the task like it was penance for him. 

All those hushed whispers told you he wasn’t a good man, that he had hurt people to get what he needed, and that wasn’t a surprise, you’d seen it enough to understand the grim nature of the wasteland you were in, how people often turned against each other if they thought it meant they’d live to see another day. 

Maybe that understanding was how it happened that day, the first time you’d meet, something in your soul already well tangled with something in his yet neither of you knew it yet. 

You’d been expecting someone else at your door that evening, a friend of yours with a bag of good soil snuck in from the outside in exchange for a radio of yours that was in decent shape. 

Instead, you were greeted by Joel Miller, bag in hand, a frown already on his face as he explained the switch up, even pointing to a note on the bag in your friend's handwriting to vouch for him. 

His voice had caught you off guard, a low, gruff bass in his careful cadence, Texan accent making the words go down smooth. 

“Okay, no problem, she did tell me she wasn’t sure if she would really make use of it. You can step in if you want, I’ll just be a second.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so trusting. 

That’s how people got robbed, taken advantage of, murdered and you weren’t going to get any sympathy from neighbors or any FEDRA soldiers in the area if something were to happen but despite that, and his reputation, you didn’t feel unsafe. 

Quite the opposite. 

Joel was certainly the grumpy type and you didn’t doubt he was capable of hurting you if he wanted but as you returned with the radio you found him just where you’d left him, his body filling your doorway in a way that reminded you of a guard dog. 

Something had caught his eye in the time it had taken you to walk back, gaze fixed somewhere behind you. 

It took you a second to realize what exactly he was staring at, eyes tracking him and following until they landed on the butterfly figurine hanging from the makeshift curtains of your kitchen sink window. 

Golden hour light warming the window had bathed the glass winged butterfly in its rays, casting fractals of color across the wall and the worn wooden floors. 

You studied his face for a moment then, a familiar kind of sadness reaching his eyes, the darkened circles underneath them a little more noticeable now. 

You wondered when the last time he got any proper sleep was. 

“I made it…” interrupting his thoughts gently you gestured towards the window when he looked at you in question, “La mariposa...took me ages to fit the glass and wire together right but I think it came out ok.”

He grunted in response, finally handing over the bag of soil when you noticed the slightest tremble in his hands. 

Oh…so he’d been caught off guard too. 

Something about your butterfly had shaken him up and you were curious, who could blame you for being tempted to cross what you were sure he would say was a line, but you pretended not to notice, trying to offer him some privacy, a second to collect himself. 

You’d appreciate it if he did the same for you in his place after all. 

The exchange was completed swiftly after, a palpable silence settling between you before he was leaving almost as quickly as he arrived, taking the fading summer sunset with him.

–

Joel barely slept that night, woken by nightmares again, a routine he was familiar with, haunted by the same old ghosts but it was different this time, the barbed wire around his heart digging in just a little extra, memories of her surfacing. 

Sarah. His Sarah.  

He didn’t realize just how long it had been since he was reminded of her this way, of what it felt like to be her father, shutting himself off to that years ago, unable to think about his life with her before because that pain was nearly unbearable. 

There is only after, the after in which she doesn’t exist, where he searches for her in his sleep and wakes knowing he won’t find her. 

Because he watched her slip away, had pleaded and begged to the skies to bring her back, had held her in his arms, hands stained red with her blood, and had to accept that she was gone and he was granted no time to say goodbye. 

Days turned to weeks, months into years and he had learned to operate on a certain level of numbness, just focused on surviving, never getting too attached, acting cold and angry, just a dead man walking. 

Until now, his chest nearly caving in with the truth that he was still breathing even after so long spent closed off. 

He wasn’t even sure why he’d considered your friend’s offer to complete the exchange at all, he knew he shouldn’t have, the radio you traded wasn’t in as great a shape as he would have liked, he knew that upfront and still begrudgingly agreed, not expecting to feel so exposed, so upended by a simple encounter.

That butterfly shining in the sunlight of your kitchen made his heart stop the second he saw it, flashes of memory surfacing, almost like his little girl was pulled to the surface of his skin again, like if he stepped inside he could reach out and she’d be there. 

A dreadful reality had washed that away after a moment, grief swallowing up the hope just as he knew it would, like it always had, but something was undeniably different this time for Joel. A difference that left an ache in his center. 

Because for those few fleeting seconds, he had felt alive again. 

–

The second time you met Joel was intentional, another bag of soil in exchange for some instant coffee this time. 

It was still early morning when he knocked on your door, quiet, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans and a sleepy kind of softness that you hadn’t seen before around the edges of his eyes which made you wish he didn’t look so inviting then. 

It wasn’t so hard to look at him as unapproachable as he made himself seem, he was handsome, the streaks of gray peppered in his hair and along his beard lending to his rugged look. 

“About the coffee, it’s not as strong as it could be but it’s the best I’ve got,” you handed over a jar, watching him open the lid and sniff its contents.

“That’ll do just fine.” 

Relief arrived at his approval, you gathered it’d been a while since he had any and you were glad your stash wasn’t a disappointment. 

You watched as he knelt down to set his backpack on the floor, stowing the jar inside and handing you the bag of fertilizer mix you had inquired about. 

It wasn’t long now before he’d be out the door again, these things were best kept short and simple but as you thanked him for the exchange and moved to store the bag with your other garden supplies, you noticed a moment of reluctance. 

Joel didn’t plan on lingering around now that you both had what you came for but then he was reminded of what he felt the last time he’d been in your space and his mouth was moving with the thoughts that were swimming in his head before he could bite back the words.

“That’s a good amount of soil you have, got some sorta secret garden FEDRA don’t know about?”

Suddenly you felt very silly for wanting to smile at his curiosity but also recognized the significance of him asking. 

“Something like that, yeah. I…actually found a spot of flowers growing through one of the QZ fences and I’ve been tending to it. It's no garden but the flowers are in bloom now, first time I’ve seen real butterflies in years.” 

You watched him perk up at the mention of real butterflies, furrowed brows hiding the flicker of emotion mere seconds later but it was too late, you’d seen it already. 

Up until now, your little patch of greenery had been a private endeavor. 

Something for you to put some love and effort in, and just a quiet, secluded place to be, to clear your head or be alone for a while, away from some of the chaos in the streets, and yet here you were, now, carefully asking him if he’d like to see it too. 

You thought just maybe, bringing him there would do him as much good as it had done you. 

And it’s there, in that moment when he says yes that you see all that hard exterior start to slip just an inch.  

It’s an inch you can work with. 

–

Early morning dew still clings to the soft blades of grass sprouting up near the fence line, the section where you’d been taking care of the vegetation noticeably more vibrant with color and growth. 

Slowly, you’d been replacing the dirt, had saved as many roots and sprouts as possible, taking care in replanting them, and from there, a shabby little makeshift garden bed had formed. 

This would be your third week caring for it and now Joel was trailing behind your steps to see it too.

His body language was tense like he couldn’t quite be sure you weren’t actually taking him to some secluded corner to ambush him, but you get it.

Being wary was smart, but you couldn’t lie that it was satisfying to let him take it in without explaining anything first, the tension in his shoulders easing, sagging when his eyes fell upon the dusky blue flowers and rich green leaves and vines growing up from the ground, searching for the sun’s nourishment. 

Joel couldn’t be certain whether it was the day’s first tendrils of summer heat making him feel warm or the fluttering orange and speckled black wings of a butterfly nestled atop a marigold. 

He glances at his wrist, at the memento that never leaves his side, a broken watch, and there’s a moment of clarity in the silence where Joel can feel it, all the shattered parts of him spilling out, and there isn’t any way he can catch it all, he’s already too late and he knows it. 

Panic works its way into his bloodstream, causing his hands to shake, not used to being so disarmed, so flayed open. 

His fingers curl into a fist, trying to steady himself, needing a moment to catch his breath, to process. 

And there you were, your gentle voice cutting through the noise in his head and that tidal wave of emotion. 

“They’re monarch butterflies, which means they’re special,” you’ve moved a little closer now, watching another one land next to its friend on the flower. 

“What makes' em’ so special?” Joel takes a deep breath and you do too. 

You thought for a second he might shut down and walk away, there wasn’t anything keeping him here after all, he had the coffee he came for and yet still took you up on your offer. That in itself was difficult not to attach yourself to immediately but there was no denying it felt good to know you’d earned maybe an ounce of his trust. 

“In Mexico, my abuela used to say they were a sign of the dead coming to visit the living, loved ones, our ancestors, the monarchs carry their souls to us. I think they’re good luck too.”

The smile working its way onto your lips is fond, sad, one you knew he’d recognize, the silent but shared knowledge of loss was a heavy burden to carry. There was no mistake about it, but being here, amongst your flowers and your butterflies made it easier. 

Orange and gold halos shimmered around the plant life softly swaying with the wind, your own features now warmed with the climbing sun, brown skin shining deeper under the light. 

Joel was looking at you now, following your words. The meaning of what you were both looking upon hitting him square in the chest when that feeling blooms behind his eyes again, that itch of something alive, something beautiful growing again amongst concrete ruins.

And it's there, standing next to you, watching you water the soil while butterflies float around you that he works out what that feeling must be. 

Salvation. 

–

After that morning, trading goods with Joel became a regular occurrence. 

Soil for another stash of coffee or a packet of seeds for a hunting knife in need of experienced hands, neither of you quite sure how it happened but eventually the trades became more like friendly favors to each other than practical transactions. 

Your ‘garden’ also became a frequent place for you both to go, so much so that on any given day you could bet he was there, a quick stop on his way back home, or in the morning before the day started, it became an unspoken shared refuge. 

Joel helped you fix up the makeshift garden beds when it became clear your tender care of the plants called for an upgrade and you were grateful for it, dismissive at first, not wanting him to feel obligated.

You could handle yourself around a hammer and a few nails but he insisted and you relented, the two of you knelt under the setting sun, working on the task together. 

It didn’t matter that it was closing in on curfew time, or that you didn’t really have anything to compensate him for his time because, the moment itself, the small inklings of trust building between you were actually far better. 

That’s when you started to see him nearly every day, sitting against bomb-scarred concrete, always facing those marigolds, the ones the monarch butterflies you’d told him about always flocked to. 

At first you kept your distance, knowing better than to pry. 

It was clear he’d been through a lot, most his age-if you were guessing correctly-had, old enough to have lived a good portion of their lives before the outbreak, the last witnesses of an old world. You wanted to respect that and as long as he was finding some sort of peace here, you were content. 

You didn’t mind his company either, he wasn’t much of a talker, but his presence was comforting and familiar and you felt safe with him near. 

Eventually though, keeping him at a distance became impossible, both of you stumbling through the uncertainty of what to say to each other yet not giving up on trying at the same time. 

And Joel had resisted too, had tried to keep his words short, always residing somewhere in between neutral and aloof but the more he watched you in your element, amongst the seedling sprouts and vines and moss, the more it made him want to talk.

It was easy to find his voice around you. 

You were soft-hearted, he could see that and it wasn’t easy to get used to the way you looked at him, like you cared, like you understood something about his brokenness right away, had let him sit here day after day watching the butterflies because somehow you knew it’s what he needed, but he didn’t mind the learning curve either. 

His usual annoyance and reluctance to speak about feelings couldn’t keep up this time surrounded by reminders of Sarah, coaxing the small part of him that hadn’t died with her out of its state of numbness, softening him again. 

‘You were never gonna do it for yourself’ rings in his ears. 

He’d never been much good at that, doing things for himself, and Sarah was always so clever about calling it out, even now, nudging him awake again after all these years. 

It’s why he decides to tell you when you ask one day, sitting next to him on sun-warmed stone. 

He merely came by to sit for a little while and clear his head and found you already sat in his usual spot, butterfly watching, your eyes telling your secret, that you had been crying before he arrived, his first instinct carrying him forward, to your side. 

He offered you some water, even sliced an apple in half to share with you, pleased with himself when he got a smile out of the gesture but remained as quiet as you were, wanting you to feel like you could just be. 

“Who do they remind you of?” your voice was small, unsure of how he’d react to the question, overexplaining in hopes it would make him recoil less, “It’s okay if you can’t talk about it, I understand. It’s just that…what I told you about the monarch butterflies, I really do believe in it you know, the people I’ve lost…they feel so close to the surface, like they’re watching over me and I think you feel the same.” 

Joel nods after a moment and you’re exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

It takes him a moment but he finds the words. 

“My daughter…her name was Sarah. They were her favorite, actually, since she was bout old enough to talk. I used to call her my little butterfly when she was a baby which, yeah, got real old when she started middle school but I liked to remind her anyways, just to see her roll her eyes at me. Just as long as she knew I loved her, you know, that I never stopped, not since the moment I held her in my hands for the first time.”

It broke your heart to hear. 

And it hurt him too, to speak about her and then remember that he had lost her, that twenty years had passed and he couldn’t remember what she smelled like anymore, and he hated the nightmares but without them, he was afraid of forgetting her face, her eyes, the coils of her hair, the sound of her voice calling out to him. 

It was only now that he was seeing how deep he’d pushed it all down, bottled up tight out of fear, and then somehow you’d entered his life, Molotov aimed straight at his heart, stunning him into remembering her the way she deserved to be. 

“I’m so sorry,” you extend all the comfort you can, knowing there weren’t any words that would ever make it right but you wanted to try anyway. 

“Yeah, me too. But you’re right, she feels close, and I know you’ve put it together by now but it’s why I’ve been sittin here every day, I see those butterflies and I see her, I remember her and it feels...good. I didn’t want it to; don’t really trust things that feel good but it does and I wanna thank you for that, for letting me have that.” 

He worries he’s said too much, or said the wrong thing, wanting to kick himself because he was never much good at words either but the sight of your lips pulling up into a small smile came as a relief. 

“She’s with you, Joel. And there’s no need to thank me, it’s been good for me too, doing all this. I think it helps.” 

He nods again, agreeing before asking you the same question, extending an opportunity to open up too; a big step when keeping personal histories to a minimum was the lay of the land around here. 

And it wasn’t easy, to talk about the things that hurt, baring your grief to Joel, and trusting him with it but you did and he had held it so gently, understanding it for what it was. 

Looking back you think maybe it’s there that things started to change, where your life and his started to merge. 

Sometime after that conversation you gifted him one of those glass winged butterflies like the one in your window, showing it to him one evening in the garden, earning you the first real smile you’d ever seen from him. 

It was after he told you more about himself, about Sarah, his brother Tommy, recounting happy memories; like the time he and Tommy surprised Sarah with her own soccer ball for her birthday one year, how he’d caved almost immediately the time she begged him to get her a polaroid camera, and you shared too, thinking on good times you’d had with the people in your life. 

It meant a lot to Joel that you spent time crafting the ornament, knowing just how deep the symbolism of it went for him. 

You were always doing that, looking out for him, planting tiny seed after tiny seed, slowly working your magic on him, ensnaring him deep, making him want to look out for you too. 

Under the fading sun again you sat with him, watching the marigolds, the calm, slow fluttering of wings, and it’s in that same spot that you find your hand in his for the first time. 

No words needed to be said, this was far better. 

A little while later you saw your gift hanging from the window in his living room, right next to the radio you had first traded him for.

The two of you had found yourselves escaping the heat here after some time tending the garden together, pulling weeds, clearing new soil of rocks and rubble, now sharing his couch, a rusty old fan that still somehow worked cooling the sweat prickling the back of your neck.

Curfew hour was nearing and you knew you would have to start making your way back home but Joel warned that he’d heard from a FEDRA officer he did trades with that they were patrolling the streets early the next few nights.

You knew why, it was hard to forget the hail of gunfire last night, a group of Fireflies going after a group of officers on patrol, a fight that neither one had won. 

Tensions in the QZ had been high all day since then and Joel suggested that you stay here with him for the night, saying he didn’t want you dealing with anything that might be going on out there.

He was being protective, a disapproving frown on that handsome face of his when you told him you didn’t want to intrude on his space but he was right, things had already started looking a little dangerous on your way back from the garden and you appreciated that he was trying to keep you safe. 

So you stayed. 

Curled up on Joel’s old, worn couch with a blanket that smelled like him tucked around you, the white noise of the fan still blowing and the knowledge that he wasn’t far, just in the next room over, carried you off to sleep.

–

One night had turned into two and then three and somewhere in the last couple months of summer that were left, you spent most of your days and nights with Joel. 

No label had been applied to whatever your situation was with him, you knew better than to ask, this all needed time, and you were okay with that, just content on holding onto this good thing with him. 

Because you liked being around, like sharing a space with him and sitting in the garden together, opening up to each other more and more every day. 

It was nice watching Joel come out of that hardened shell of his, watching him find it easier to talk about things, noticing him trying to live life more, not as reluctant to connect. 

Things were good, not to say that there hadn’t been bad days amongst all the progress made, there were plenty of them in fact. 

Days where old patterns became default again, stretches of nights where the nightmares returned, both of you trying to wade through it. 

When the aching of old wounds came knocking and the walls came back up again. 

You hated to fight with Joel when that happened, and you hated not being on the same page but he was so stubborn it wasn’t always easy to bite back your frustration. 

He had told you about his past, about the people he hurt in those early days and it’s something he wrestled with, believing in the goodness you saw inside him when all he could see were the bad things.

It frustrated you sometimes, how he preferred to shut himself off, to you, to Sarah’s memory because he felt like his hands were too dirty, too blood-stained to even try. 

“Que, no entendes?! Please, Joel! Stop trying to be something you aren’t. You think you aren’t a good man but bad people don’t get upset about being bad. Do you think you can just turn it off, the part of you that was always a good man, a good father? Well sorry, but you can’t, that’s who you are to your core, I saw it the first moment I met you and every time since then.” 

 “I’ve killed people,” his tone was mean, and venomous, another attempt at pushing you away. “Goddamnit, it’s not as simple as-”

“I get that! Look I know that you’ve done bad things but you’ve also spent every waking moment punishing yourself for it, do you realize that? All these years you’ve been paying your penance any way you can and I’m trying to tell you it’s okay live well, that you don’t have to torture yourself anymore because we have to try and make something out of all this pain.” 

It wasn’t easy to get him to see what you saw but you didn’t back down, even when it would have been easy to, Joel knew it too, guilt washing over him as you looked at him then, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“You’ve endured enough.” 

It’s those final three words from you that makes him ease up, a reminder you nudged him with often, that he could rest already, could make amends by making a choice to find the light. 

He lets you take some space from him, coming to find you before bed because he doesn’t want to fall asleep without fixing things. 

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair, talkin to you like that. You’re just tryna help my sorry ass and I haven’t thanked you enough. I’m gonna get better at that.” 

It’s the first time you ever hug him, noticing the tremble in his hands as he says the words, feeling the sincerity in his voice, unable to stop yourself from all but barreling into his arms. 

He’s still for only a moment before his arms wrap around you in return, the two of you bathed in moonlight, that butterfly still hanging in his window, pushing you towards each other again just like it had when you first met. 

–

Eventually, the day comes when the monarchs leave, the approaching fall and winter seasons carrying them to warmer places, a solemn change in what had been yours and Joel’s routine. 

The absence of the butterflies that had provided so much hope the last few months was felt, but the world was also a lot more open and wide now too. 

You no longer slept on Joel’s couch, you slept pressed against him now, and woke with your limbs tangled with his, a quiet partnership forming.

It scares both of you, knowing that you had grown to care for each other so quickly, knowing that was dangerous and reckless but also feeling stronger because you were a team. 

You think that’s why you make the decision together, one rainy fall evening when Joel comes home with a message from Tommy. 

They had gone through a rough patch recently, being apart from each other for some time and still not seeing eye to eye on Tommy’s choices but slowly, they’d started talking again and there was news that Tommy and the group he was with had gotten a hydroelectric plant that had once belonged to FEDRA up and running. 

There was electricity and a place to stay if you and Joel were interested, plus Tommy wanted you to meet Maria, said she did him a whole world of good and this was some of that good in action. 

It hadn’t been a hard choice to make even knowing how difficult the journey would be.

This was the chance you’d both been waiting for, and had talked about, a far off dream of running away from all the violence that was inescapable here in Boston, searching for something better out there, and now it was within reach. 

So you’d left your garden in the care of a friend you knew would understand its importance, and you bide your time with Joel, making deals, doing jobs, collecting and saving up supplies, and helping him map the way to Jackson. 

And then the day came when you left the QZ behind for good, watching the city fade away in the rearview mirror.

Making it to Tommy hadn’t been easy, there had been one too many close calls for comfort but the trust you and Joel had in each other didn’t waver, and here you were, finally on the other side. 

Settling in hadn’t been the easiest, especially for Joel, his guard still up but little by little, you both sank into a new way of life. 

You quickly learned how to ride a horse and hunt in the woods surrounding the power plant, even making friends with some of the families in the community. 

Joel had taken to things a little slower, but even he couldn’t hide for long, helping some of the men in the group with repairs on things that needed fixing, even cautiously attempting to make friends with you. 

Small pockets of peace started to open up the longer you stayed and the threat of raiders loomed over that peace at times, keeping everyone on alert for attacks but you all had Joel and Tommy now, always amongst the first to be out there protecting, defending fiercely.

You knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to you here.  

As spring arrived again you found a nice spot for a garden, pointing out sprouting flower buds to Joel one day, almost missing the fond smile forming on his lips, both of you knowing what this meant. 

You were happy here, and happy being with Joel, the two of you building a new garden together this time, until finally, as the chill spring breeze transitioned into summer heat and sunshine you were sat next to him like you had been what seemed like ages ago, watching the butterflies circle the flowers in bloom in what had become Sarah’s Garden. 

Joel made you a promise; to keep going for family, the family you, him, and Tommy were now. And you promised the same, not scared of how much you cared for the man by your side anymore.

It wasn’t perfect, the world was still rotten and the broken parts of you all were still raw, still healing, but this time her light was guiding the way through it and that made it all worth it.

---

A/N: When I saw that butterfly hanging in the window of his place in Boston I just couldn’t resist writing something about how he got it and here we are! This world is so dark and tragic and while this fic doesn’t change those facts, I hope it plants some gentle, hopeful little seeds of healing, because Joel deserves that and so do you as the reader! thank you for reading this, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it! 💌

some tags no pressure! @inklore @allaboardthereadingrailroad @yelenas-lova @ozarkthedog @amethystwonders11 @blkmorticia @moreofem @eupheme @obiknights @tarrenterror25 @superhoeva @buckyhoney @plumbits

[anxiouslynumbme]

Will I ever be able to watch the final season of Criminal Minds and continue with the show after that season 14 finale? Well, it's been years, and I honestly don't think I can, which sucks, 'cause I've been watching that show for so, so long and I wanted to see its conclusion. I mean, I assume they address the atrocious JJ "big confession." But they don't go anywhere with it, right? Please tell me they don't. I've managed to avoid spoilers for this long and honestly, I just don't want to know.

Do they even realize what they've done to the characters they've disrespected and ruined?

I just genuinely don't understand. If they had ever wanted to take Spencer and JJ that route, they'd had so many opportunities over the years to make it work believably.

For example, before she'd met Will, or even after, but maybe it didn't work out between them. They could've shown Reid jealous, or given any kind of indication that he still felt something romantic for her. Any indication that she'd felt something romantic for him, which JJ had never once shown, even when he had a crush on her.

But she fell in love with a wonderful man and got married and had kids. And you want to tell me she'd done all of that as a means of settling for second best because she was too "scared" to tell Spencer her feelings before? Why was she scared? Seriously, there's no reason for her to hide her feelings if she'd actually felt them. They didn't even give a proper reason for that supposed fear that made her start an entire life with someone else instead of just letting Spencer know how she felt. What was so fucking scary, writers? Why did she start an entire relationship/marriage if she was secretly in love with her best friend? Am I supposed to believe that JJ is that selfish, cruel, and dumb? They really fucking ruined her character in a way that's really hard to come back from.

This is a TV show, things have to be shown to the audience to understand a character's motives and actions. You can't just make a character say something after years of nothing, and tell us that was how they'd felt all along. The audacity to even imply that it was some kind of a slow-burn love story.

Have you ever watched or read a slow-burn story before? JJ and Reid did not have a slow-burn arc, in any way. Shape or form. We'd had nothing to show or indicate that for 14 seasons.

And I know that some people think their scenes were a bit more insinuating and hinting at something in later seasons. And you know what, yes, I can honestly pinpoint the moment the writers were like, we need to add a few more hugs to their scenes in case we decide to make them suddenly fall in love. And that was when Reid was in prison. They had given them a lot more scenes together where they hugged and touched a lot. But we, the viewers, had no reason to read into it because at that point we completely believed their best friends/siblings' relationship that had been going on all that time. It had been 12 seasons at that point. She's in a loving marriage with kids! Oh, and then after that, they decided to wait two more seasons to, you know, ruin their characters.

And giving them more hugging scenes does not warrant the potential of something romantic. Friends hug each other. Especially, JJ and Reid, actually. So I think the writers were just lazy, or just wanted to do something shocking for ratings or whatever. If they'd wanted to go for it from the start, they would've shown way, way more from the characters to convey hidden/secret romantic feelings and mutual pining over the years.

What a waste of a beautiful and pure friendship. They honestly went and threw 14 seasons' worth of character development, moments, and awesome dynamic down the drain.

I know that some people ship it, and that's fine, of course. But personally, I don't think I'll ever forgive it. This kind of reminds me of how I met your mother a little bit, only this is way worse. Because at the very least, Ted and Robin were together at some point, and you know, actually had romantic moments throughout the show. But Criminal Minds had no grounds to stand on, in my opinion.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Safe Haven ~Bang Chan | Day 7.

Pairing: SpaceRebel!Chan x WitchQueen!F.Reader Themes: Fantasy AU | Sci-Fi AU | Royalty AU | Soulmate AU | Slow Burn | Mutual Pining | Angst | Smut | Fluff. Series Warnings: Third person POV · Very loose and liberal usage of Star Wars concepts (mostly to refer to weapons and tech). you don’t need to know anything about SW to read this, trust me · Physical descriptions of the main female character such as: can visibly blush, having long hair, and being short · Violence · Swearing · Mature themes and language · Original characters · Graphic smut (later chapters) · Mentions of the members of other groups (later chapters) · No one is straight, beware · Each chapter will include its own individual warnings. Chapters marked as M (Mature) either include highly detailed violence, or smut.

Chapter Warnings: mentions of death · alcohol consumption. Word Count: ~7k | AO3

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for a 18+ audience only. Minors do not interact. ✰This chapter has been reworked as of 16/08/2023

Previous Chapter: Day 6. | Series Masterlist. | Next Chapter: Day 8.

Disclaimer: the story presented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“It’s good to hear from you”, Minho’s voice rang from the earpiece Chan was wearing. He had chosen this set-up to speak with his crewmates when repairs resumed on the ship, opting for a more private conversation as he tinkered with the other damaged components inside the main control unit.

“Same. I heard all about your success from Seungmin”, a smile crept on Chan’s lips when he addressed his friend. “Outstanding job”.

“Please, we almost got our asses kicked, like always”, Minho chuckled. “I seriously thought you guys were dead for a moment there”, he added, with a more serious tone in his voice.

“Well… You know what they say, only the good die young”.

“That’s exactly why I was worried, Mr Goody Two-Shoes”, Minho was in a teasing mood, which Chan knew it to be a clear sign of relief on his part.

Chan just scoffed, ‘Goody two-shoes’ was far from something he’d use to describe himself. Taking an adjustable spanner, he got to work the bolts that kept one of the many circuit boards attached to the inside of the console. “Any news from our anonymous friend? Did they get our message?”

“Yes, they replied while you were still talking with Seungmin yesterday”, Minho’s answer surprised Chan slightly, since Dall wouldn’t usually contact them back so fast. “They just said they were really thankful, that they were sorry about the accident, and to keep low for a while to recover… You know, to let things settle”.

Chan hummed. A very standard Dall answer. The fact that they hadn’t mentioned any Charmer-related news in their message was always a good sign, it usually meant that things weren’t escalating further. 

“Where are you anyway? Once the Shining Starlight’s up and running we can go pick you guys up”, Minho was pretending to be nonchalant, Chan could tell. There was this tentativeness in his voice that he always had whenever he was trying to get information from someone… Seungmin must’ve told him about Chan’s hesitancy to give away their current location.

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea”, Chan looked around him. Everyone in the room seemed to either be engrossed in their task or deep in conversation with one another. He lowered his voice as much as he could, almost whispering. “This place… I don’t even understand why, but it feels like a safe haven of sorts… If you guys come here, there’s always a chance that you’ll be followed, and that would be a disaster”.

Chan would honestly never forgive himself if the people of Lira Le were to be put in danger because of them, so he’d much rather his friends stayed put and laid low. Especially when there was virtually no need for them to come here in the first place.

“A safe haven?” Minho sounded genuinely incredulous, and, honestly, Chan couldn’t blame him. “Christopher, nowhere is safe when it comes to that man”.

Minho was trying to convince him, he knew it, but Chan couldn’t yield. Not to this.

“I know, I know, but listen”, Chan took a deep breath, checking his surroundings once more to make sure no one was paying attention to him. “Things here… They’re different, Minho. I need you to trust me on this one”. 

Minho was about to object, but he was cut off by Chan immediately. “Besides, we still need to wait for the Big Bad Wolf to be repaired. I’m not leaving my ship behind, so you guys coming here won’t make a difference. It’ll just put everyone in danger”. 

Minho scoffed, and Chan knew then that he’d won the debate. “Fine, but don’t let it be said that I didn’t try. The second you’re back here you have to spill the beans”.

Chan sighed, feeling relieved. If Minho decided to drop it, it meant the others would drop it too. Chan was their captain–their leader–but their opinions mattered to him; he never liked to order them around when they weren’t on a ship or a mission, so knowing that Minho would compromise and not disregard his concerns was a relief. He decided to redirect the conversation, “any news from the other units?”

“Everything’s just the same so far… If anything, a few more guard ports have been raided successfully. Nothing out of the ordinary, no major losses”.

Chan was about to inquire more, until a hand on his shoulder almost made him jump out of his skin. His head whipped to the side to see a very amused Wang Eun standing next to him. “Dear Gods, Wang Eun. A warning would be nice next time!”

“Sorry”, Wang Eun didn’t look sorry at all.

“Who’s that?” Minho’s voice rang in Chan’s earpiece.

“Who you talking to?” Wang Eun asked at the same time.

“One of the guys helping us out”, Chan addressed Minho, then turned to Wang Eun. “One of our crewmates”.

“Is he handsome?” Minho’s and Wang Eun’s voices combined asking the same question was effectively kickstarting a dull ache in his head.

“Yes”, Chan replied to no one in particular. “But that’s besides the point. Minho, I’ll call you guys later, yeah?”

“Sure thing, captain”, Minho chuckled. “Talk to you later. Take care”, was the last thing Chan heard from Minho before the low crackling sound in his ear signalled the transmission to be over.

Chan sighed. He placed the adjustable spanner on the floor, and took a rag so he could use it to wipe some of the grease coating his palms. He stood up from where he had been sitting next to the console, speaking to Wang Eun, “What’s up? You’re usually not here at this time”.

“I come with a royal decree”, Chan’s left eye twitched at Wang Eun’s words, unsure whether this was a good or a bad sign. “His Majesty has invited you to join him, Hoseok, and Her Majesty for lunch”.

“What?” The sudden invitation took Chan by surprise, and his brain immediately hit the emergency button, releasing a cocktail of hormones into his bloodstream. The look the High King had given him the night before played back in his mind briefly. The memory did absolutely nothing to calm him down. “Why…?”

“Dunno”, Wang Eun shrugged. “But I can’t let you go meet him like this”, he gestured with both hands to Chan’s soiled clothes. “He’d take you apart!”

That did nothing to reassure Chan in the slightest, either. If anything, it just made it worse. He quickly put away his tools and dropped the used rags in their designated basket near the control room’s exit as he followed Wang Eun on the way back to his chambers.

“Here, take these”, Wang Eun handed Chan a small, delicate box. The soft black velvet coating the outside was pleasant to his touch. “I noticed you had your ears pierced, but weren’t wearing any earrings”.

“Ah, yeah”, the memory of him taking his earrings off right before the mission played back in his mind. It kind of felt like that had happened an eternity ago. When he opened the box, he found a pair of thick silver hoops. “Well, these look nice”.

“Thank you!” A wide grin spread on Wang Eun’s face, practically lighting up his features. “I made them myself”.

“You did?” Chan honestly didn’t mean to sound as incredulous as he did. He took the hoops from the box and carefully put them on. The sudden weight on his ears was noticeable, but familiar. Even after so long without wearing anything.

“Yeap. I come from a family of jewellers, it was natural for me to pick up the trade. Even if just as a hobby”, Wang Eun gave Chan one final once over, seemingly satisfied with his choice of clothing.

A long sleeved black cotton shirt, with black trousers that seemed to hug Chan in all the right places, the material of both items was soft and fancy, a stark contrast to his worn out boots, but it all worked nicely together. Clearly, Wang Eun had put thought into this. “I’d give you a choker, even put some makeup on, but that might be overkill”.

“I feel like you’re trying to sell me off to His Majesty”, Chan chuckled.

“Because I am!” Wang Eun was slightly exasperated when he spoke, shaking his hands in front of him for emphasis. “Listen, I think you’re a good bloke. I wouldn’t want His Majesty to blast you off into the atmosphere”.

Chan’s eyes widened, had that truly happened? He was about to inquire further, but a sudden knock on the door redirected all of Wang Eun’s attention to it instead of Chan. The knock was rushed, the rapid thuds quickly filled in the otherwise silent room.

Wang Eun pulled the door open, and the Queen hurriedly let herself in. “Wang Eun listen–”

Her sentence cut short when her eyes landed on Chan, who was standing by the dresser’s mirror. She looked him up and down, with her mouth slightly agape.

Chan’s heart fluttered with the sudden attention. The hum in his head was suddenly extra loud and distracting under her heavy gaze. He noticed then that she was dressed in a similar fashion, save for the colour of her shirt–violet, with a much, much deeper neckline than his. Focus on her face, don’t be weird… Focus on her face… 

Chan tried his best to encourage himself.

Her Majesty turned to Wang Eun, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re a genius”.

A proud, splitting grin spread on Wang Eun’s lips at her words, a comment of ‘Of course I am’ came out of his mouth just as the Queen took hurried steps towards Chan.

“Listen, don’t freak out”, her hands lightly gestured in front of her while she spoke. “Sol can be very mean, and snarky. Don’t take it personal, he just talks that way”, she moved closer to him, and placed her palms on his shoulders to seemingly iron out creases on his shirt–Chan doubted there were any, but he didn’t object to her touch. In all honesty, he kind of enjoyed the attention. “And don’t lie. You can dance around the truth, but you absolutely cannot lie”.

Chan hadn’t freaked out yet, but he was certainly about to. “What if he asks why we crash-landed?”

“I have a feeling he won’t”, she sounded convinced, which slightly reassured him. “But if it comes to it, I’ll deal with it”, Her Majesty brought her gaze up from his shirt to his eyes.

The movement of her hands on his shirt stopped, but she didn’t remove them. The warmth of her palms was almost searing as it seeped under his shirt and spread over his skin. Chan wasn’t sure when he’d become so used to understanding the Queen so well just by looking at her briefly, but he could see it in her eyes. While she spoke calmly, almost impassive, he could see it clear as day… She was the one freaking out.

Chan needed to say something, the hum in his brain seemed to be urging him to speak. “Hey, listen–”

His words were cut off by the sound of Wang Eun clearing his throat. Their heads snapped in his direction, breaking eye contact with each other. He spoke to them with urgency. “Hate to intrude, but we need to go. If we make him wait, we won’t hear the end of it”.

The Queen let out a tired sigh, finally removing her hands from Chan’s frame, which almost, almost made him frown.

“Let’s get this over with”, were the last words to come out of her mouth before she stepped away, and walked out the door.

Wang Eun walked towards Chan, and pulled him by the arm. “Go”, he started as he guided Chan through the door and out of the room. “There’s still some stuff to prepare, so I can’t go with you. But I’ll see you there later”.

The Queen was waiting right outside the door, playing with the rings on her fingers like she usually did. Wang Eun bowed in her direction, giving her a reassuring smile. He finally trotted down the corridor, leaving a deafening silence hanging between them.

“Let’s go”, she said finally when she started walking, and Chan simply followed suit closely behind her. 

She was tense, he could see it written all over her form. He wanted to do something–anything–to even mildly ease her worries. How silly of him, he realised. Wasn’t he the one in real danger here? The High King was her brother, if it came to it, he wouldn’t harm her. But Chan? The stranger that destroyed their property and was living within their castle walls without any discernible explanation? Maybe he would be flung into the atmosphere like Wang Eun had told him earlier…

Before any of his impulses materialised, they had both made it into one of the main halls. The Queen’s sudden halt made Chan trip slightly, effectively halting his movements as well.

She was looking towards the big staircase on the side of the room, and, after a few moments, Hoseok and the High King came into view as they walked down the stairs. They seemed to be engaged in an animated chatter, which mildly eased Chan’s nerves.

“Good afternoon, my dear sister”, His Majesty greeted the Queen, with a smile painted on his features, but a slight edge on his voice. Then, he turned to Chan. “Good afternoon. Chan, was it?” He extended his hand towards Chan, which he immediately took.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Good afternoon”, the High King’s grip was strong as they shook hands, yet there didn’t seem to be any malicious feelings in the gesture, which also reassured him.

“Good afternoon, Hoseok”, Her Majesty turned to the man standing next to the High King, regarding him with a smile. She then looked back at her brother, and her expression changed to one of annoyance. “Let’s go, I’m starving”, she added as she started to walk.

The High King fell into step next to the Queen, while Chan walked behind them, next to Hoseok. 

“You’re dressed nicely, my dear”, the High King addressed Her Majesty, his words were seemingly innocuous, but there was, again, a clear edge to them.

“I always am, dear”, was her only response. In contrast, her tone was even, almost monotonous.

“We both know that’s not true, but let’s roll with it”.

“Sol, don’t start. I’m too hungry for this”, the Queen’s voice was still even, if only slightly restrained now.

“I’m not starting anything”, the High King was very clearly teasing her, it was obvious to Chan in the way he could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

The group walked in silence for a few moments, until His Majesty spoke again. “Do you always have to stomp when you walk? Are you not even slightly embarrassed in front of your guest?”

“Do you have to be so stuck up all the time? Let me live”, the Queen’s even tone was now long gone. She was clearly annoyed now, and her steps grew intentionally heavier as she walked.

“Seriously, why don’t you…!”

“Is it like this all the time?” Chan turned to Hoseok, voice almost a whisper, tuning out the banter in front of them.

A tired sigh passed Hoseok’s lips as he looked back and forth between the High King and the Queen. “All the time. It’s how you can tell things are fine. When they get serious and overly caring with each other… Well, something’s happened for sure. It can get pretty annoying, though”.

Chan just hummed, slightly amused as he continued to watch them bicker. They looked almost… normal. Just like normal siblings. It reminded him of his own relationship with his blood sister. They were usually on amicable terms, and he would kill for her, but they could also be at each other’s throats in seconds.

After a few more turns across the corridors they finally made it into a rather small hall. Paintings lined the walls, two tiger statues and two wolf statues were distributed among the corners of the room. The entire room was clearly set up for the round table that sat in the middle to be the centre of attention.

Chan didn’t know the first thing about royal etiquette, so he followed Hoseok’s movements closely, deciding that whatever he did was probably the same thing he had to do. He never imagined that his stealth tactics would be of use in such a mundane situation.

They sat at the round table, both monarchs in front of each other, while Chan sat across from Hoseok. He vaguely registered Hoseok talking with His Majesty, but his attention was focused mostly on the Queen as she pretty much stared daggers into her brother across from her–clearly still annoyed by his comments from earlier.

Maids started coming in and out of the room. They placed dish after dish on the table, and to Chan’s surprise, the food wasn’t served by the maids themselves. Instead, everyone on the table started to pick up ladles from the many serving dishes, and piled up food on their own plates. So, naturally, he did the same.

The High King was addressing Her Majesty again, Chan was too distracted by the delicious food in front of him to hear what they were saying. However, his focus zeroed in on the conversation again the moment the word short was thrown at her.

“It’s not my fault you sucked in all the growing juice in the womb, you fucking giant”, she replied, taking a spoonful of food into her mouth.

“Don’t pin this on me! We have exactly the same genes, darling”, his snarky remark made her left eye visibly twitch.

It was an absurd argument. Logically, height was clearly something no one could have control over, yet he wouldn’t let go.

“If your magic’s so good, why don’t you–” The High King’s words died in his throat when his stew suddenly exploded, drenching his face and torso. He quickly stood up, angrily staring at his sister. “What the fuck?!”

Her Majesty stood up quickly as well, placing her palms flat on the table. “You know I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Yes, you did!”

The Queen’s reply was interrupted by the loud sound coming from her side. Hoseok slammed his hands on the table, standing up rather violently. “Enough!”

Chan was taken aback by the whole thing, with his cheeks full of food as he looked back and forth between the three parties involved in the dispute. He decided the smartest thing to do would be to stay silent.

“You”, Hoseok pointed to the High King, his voice stern. “Stop riling her up. And you”, he turned and pointed to the Queen. “Stop getting riled up when you know he’s doing it on purpose. It’s always like this with you two… We’re going to sit down, enjoy a nice, relaxing lunch and you both are going to behave. Otherwise I’ll be throwing hands and you know how that ends up”.

Hoseok sat down again after, essentially, scolding the twins. He took food into his mouth, giving Chan a jaded look. The man clearly had experience with this. Chan felt slightly awkward as he continued eating, eyes darting towards the Queen.

The twins sat down again. Her Majesty threw a cloth napkin to the High King, which he used immediately to wipe the remnants of stew from his face. Chan figured it was her way of apologising, or calling a truce.

They stayed silent for a while. The only sounds in the room were produced by the coming and going of maids, and by the cutlery hitting the plates. The food was just as flavourful as always, a clear sign that a very experienced hand had worked on the dishes.

“So, Chan”, the High King’s voice suddenly resonating next to him almost made Chan choke on his food. “I heard about the crash. You’re working alongside Talboot on the repairs, right?”

Chan quickly drank some water, trying to bring his food down and give himself some time to build up confidence. “I am. Things are coming along quite nicely, everyone’s working really hard”, he couldn’t help but feel proud at the evenness in his own voice.

“Where did you learn to fix ships?” His Majesty was, very evidently, curious.

“My dad. We used to own a repair shop back in my home planet”, Chan could feel Her Majesty lightly bounce her leg under the table–had he been closer, he would’ve probably brought a hand to her thigh to stop the movement. Which was a thought that did nothing but make his mind wander into dangerous territory. He decided to ignore it. 

“Oh, a humble family trade”, the High King took a sip of his drink, then he continued. “Where are you from exactly?”

Chan told him about his home planet. About the mostly arid climate with the sparse waterfields, about his family and their modest repair shop, about the whereabouts of his family now… He told His Majesty anything and everything that came to his mind, except the fact that the planet had been invaded and raided by the Charmer. He danced around the topic so well he even impressed himself.

The High King listened attentively, making comments and asking questions when his curiosity was piqued. When Chan told him that his family had moved somewhere else after his father passed, His Majesty didn’t pry further on the matter–which seemed to have eased the Queen sitting next to him, enough to stop the bouncing of her leg altogether.

“You’re quite a long way from home, aren’t you? Isn’t it tough?” His Majesty’s tone was slightly apologetic, yet there was a slight edge to it. The Queen’s words from earlier resonated in Chan’s mind–Don’t take it personal, he just talks that way.

Chan shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “It’s been a long time, I’m not even sure if I’d ever settle there again”.

He’d never truly thought about it… Sure, he wanted to go back and free the people from the Charmer’s tyranny, but it had never really crossed his mind to stay after. If he pondered on it, he’d never thought what he would do once it was all over. There was no chance to think that far ahead when death was looming over him and his friends at any given moment.

The High King hummed, prying no further. As he took a bite of his food Hoseok took the opportunity to chime in. “Heard you’ve been doing some training with Wang Eun. We should spar sometime”.

“Don’t do it”, the Queen addressed Chan, and a playful smile fell on her lips behind the rim of her glass. “You’ll die”.

Chan just laughed. “With all due respect, I don’t think I’m ready to be humiliated so publicly”.

Hoseok chuckled at his honesty, taking a sip from his drink. The conversation remained friendly after that. Hoseok told Chan about his background. His family came from a small town further south, Hoseok grew up there with his mother while his father worked as part of the former Queen’s Guard in the castle. He’d decided since he was very young he would become part of the Royal Guard himself, since his magic and physical abilities were suitable for the task. 

His Majesty chimed in, asking a question that was completely unrelated to what they were talking about. “So, what do you think of the castle town?”

Chan was slightly taken aback by the sudden change in topic, but he answered regardless. “I, uh… haven’t visited the castle town”.

The High King turned to Her Majesty, addressing her with a pointed tone. “You haven’t taken him out of the castle? How rude”.

The Queen’s knuckles turned white when she tightened her grip on the spoon in her hand. “I haven’t had the time. Had to cover the duties of my idiotic brother with suicidal tendencies, remember?”

His Majesty gave her a dirty look, they stared at each other, eyes defiant, and the air suddenly turned tense. The silence was deafening, the twins were unmoving as the stare-off stretched far too long for anyone’s comfort.

Hoseok cleared his throat, bringing the attention to him. “We’re right here, you know. We don’t speak insane twins language, so stop excluding us from the conversation”.

Her Majesty blinked, looking slightly surprised, and His Majesty looked pretty much the same way.

“Sorry”, the response came out in unison before they stuffed their mouths with food. It seemed like another dispute was effectively concluded thanks to Hoseok’s intervention.

The Queen and the High King were starkly different, both physically and personality-wise. However, right then, as they ate, Chan had just noticed how their movements were oddly in sync, just as fluid as when you look at your reflection in the mirror. It was equal parts creepy and fascinating.

After a few more light conversations, when dessert had already been eagerly inhaled by all four of them, His Majesty and Hoseok excused themselves. The High King thanked Chan for joining them for lunch, and Hoseok was right behind him, giving him an apologetic look. 

Her Majesty slumped slightly in her chair as soon as the pair was out the door, and the room was now empty save for them both sitting at the table. She brought her hands to her face, pressing her fingertips into her eye sockets while she lightly kicked her feet in what Chan figured was frustration.

“I’m so sick of him, I just want to punch him in the face”, she removed her hands from her face, and turned to Chan. “I’m so sorry. He knows which buttons to press to drive me crazy, and I always fall for it”.

Chan just chuckled. “It’s okay. It was… an interesting experience”.

She scoffed. “He’s right, though. Which only makes me angrier. You’ve been confined to the castle walls for a week now”.

“To be honest, I’ve thought about asking before, but it never came up”, Chan shrugged. “We’ve all been busy”.

Her Majesty hummed, tapping her fingers on the wooden surface of the table as she pondered. After a few moments, her fingers stopped. “It’s food night at the market tonight. I’m going after sunset to stuff myself up. You can join me if you want?”

“Sure, let’s do it”, Chan answered maybe a bit too fast, but the prospect of a new setting and good food was honestly too enticing to pass up.

“Great”, she stood up, and walked to the doors to swing them open. Then, she signalled someone outside to come in–presumably Wang Eun, who had been serving them.

Just before she left, she turned back to Chan, offering him a bright smile. “Dress comfortably. It might get warm”.

The cool breeze of the night lightly ruffled Chan’s hair while he waited in the courtyard outside of the castle’s entrance. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to ease some of the nerves that were trying to bubble deep inside him. The evening was extra humid, which made his curls untamable even after Wang Eun’s numerous attempts to flatten them out.

‘It’s your first night out! You need to look presentable!’ he’d told Chan earlier with a frustrated sigh. Chan had simply told him he didn’t care, because he truly didn’t.

After lunch he’d gone back to work on the Big Bad Wolf, he’d gathered with a group of people to remove more debris from the ship, and the physical exertion seemed to have opened up his appetite–especially since he knew what the plans for the night were. So, he truly didn’t care whether he was presentable in Wang Eun’s standards, he just wanted to stuff himself full of delicious food.

After a while, Chan saw Freyja first, the panther trotted towards him on sight. She circled him as soon as she was within his personal space, and her tail lightly wrapped around his limbs before she finally sat down. The feline nudged his hand with her nose in her usual request for pets. He obliged immediately, placing his palm flat on her forehead first, to then settle his fingers on her ears, where he’d learnt she liked to receive pets the most by now.

Her Majesty came right after, hurried steps took her down the stairs until she finally came to a stop in front of them. She was wearing loose fitting trousers–much like his own–and a sleeveless shirt that came all the way up to hug her neck. There was no low neckline displaying her cleavage, which Chan wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved, or disappointed about.

“Good evening!” There was a chirpy lilt in the Queen’s voice, and excitement was written all over her face. “I’m starving, let’s go”.

She walked past him, and Freyja followed close after.

There might’ve been no plunging neckline on her shirt, but, somehow, the backless set-up was so much worse, Chan noted when she walked ahead. He couldn’t help himself as he stood there, admiring her back decorated in her intricate tattoos.

“You coming?” The sound of Her Majesty’s voice made his head snap back up. The moment his eyes met hers, warmth immediately crept up from his chest to the back of his neck. He just ignored his body’s embarrassing reaction.

“Uh–Yeah”, Chan hurried along, and he fell into step next to Freyja and the Queen.

They walked past the guards posted at the open gates. Her Majesty greeted them enthusiastically, a gesture which they returned in kind. It was a rather steep walk down from the castle gates to the castle town. It was dark already, but, thankfully, the road was lined with decorated lamp posts that illuminated their path.

There was silence for a while, until Chan’s curiosity bubbled over.

“So, what did His Majesty say? Am I worthy of staying at the castle?” Chan was half joking, half serious when he asked the questions.

She chuckled, eyes fixed ahead looking at Freyja chasing something in the adjacent grass. “Somehow, he was still curious. He asked questions I didn’t know how to answer, or that I just didn’t want to answer. He wasn’t displeased, so that’s a good sign”.

Chan hummed, and he genuinely felt relieved by her answer.

“He also told me he dismissed Skallarg… Something about retirement”, she continued. “I think his outburst the other day was too much, even for him–Freyja, drop it!” The panther had come back with a comically large–yet proportional to her size–rodent in her mouth.

If felines produced the same facial expressions humans could, Freyja would’ve certainly looked offended. She obeyed regardless, and when she opened her mouth, the rodent scrambled to its feet so it could run straight back into the grass.

“Are all animals giant here?” Chan was still surprised, and also slightly afraid–large animals surely meant large bugs as well…

“Not all of them, but most in the wild are. Wild bears can be especially intimidating when you get too close”, her words took Chan briefly to his friends in the mountains, they made him wonder how they were coping… Hopefully, they were fine and safe. They must’ve been.

Chan and the Queen kept up the conversation, with the occasional pause as Freyja brought along all sorts of critters from the green areas surrounding them, which earned her a stern look from her owner every single time.

Her Majesty explained to Chan how every other week the merchants in the castle town’s market would have a ‘food night’. Any wares they typically sold were replaced by dishes prepared locally by them. She highlighted how it was one of her favourite activities in town, since the food was usually really well made and tasty.

As they finally reached the end of the road, Chan saw more and more people moving along the faraway streets. The sudden liveliness took him by surprise after the long trek in a rather silent area.

The Queen took the lead, guiding him through street after street until they finally reached a boulevard jam-packed with people. Some seemed to be simply admiring the intricate lights that wrapped around the rows upon rows of trees, some just sat on the floor in small groups talking, eating, and drinking, but most of them were standing in front of the numerous food stalls, placing their orders.

“Come on, this way”, Her Majesty pulled Chan by the arm, and the sudden contact of her hand on the bare skin of his arms inexplicably sent jolts up his spine.

She brought him to one of the stalls, fluidly moving between people as she pulled him along. The owners greeted her gleefully, reciting the order that they seemed to have committed to memory from all her previous visits.

“Anything specific you would like to try?” She asked Chan while he eyed the list of dishes in front of him and their corresponding picture.

“Holy shit, anything. I’d seriously eat anything from this menu”, he was slightly overwhelmed by the amount of options, and his stomach rumbled just by the smell coming from the stall’s small kitchen. “I’ll have whatever you order, I trust your judgement. Nothing hot spicy, though”, he added quickly as he saw the devilish look in her eyes.

She turned to the stall owner, asking to give her two of her usual and two of a very specific side dish. Chan didn’t know what it was, but it sounded delicious, so he rolled with it.

While the food was being prepared, she took him to another stall, where they got a bunch of bottles of a locally produced spirit drink, along with some bottles of water.

On their way back to the first stall, the Queen’s attention was pulled towards a different one. The owners urged her to come close to try out a new dish they had been working on–some sort of mashed puree wrapped inside a leaf.

Her face lit up as she chewed the treat, and she asked for another one.  Holding it in her hand, she hurriedly spoke to Chan, with her cheeks still full of food.

“You’ve got to try this!” were the only words he heard before she brought it to his face. His mouth opened instantly to take the treat in, and his lips unintentionally brushed the tips of her fingers when he closed them. Chan’s face scrunched up, his eyebrows furrowed, almost moaning at the taste. It was really fucking good. 

Before he could ask her to get more, she had already ordered a pack and deposited coins in the owner’s hand. With that, she thanked them and said her goodbyes before she tugged Chan along to the first stall again to finally get their main meal for the evening.

With their arms full of food and drinks, the Queen guided Chan to an adjacent street, one that was much less crowded, much quieter. They walked for a bit until they reached a plaza, with only a couple of people sitting around the area, playing cards.

She walked towards the fountain in the middle, and plopped down in front of it, her back pressed against the concrete base. Her hands busied themselves with getting all the packs of food open and ready.

Chan sat right next to her, Freyja–who had separated from them as soon as they entered the boulevard–came back to lay down right in front of them. They started eating immediately, the taste and smell of the food flooded his senses completely as appreciative words towards the dishes fell from their lips.

He was the first one to pop open one of the bottles, and took a tentative sip. It didn’t seem to be particularly strong, but the sweet and tangy taste of whatever fruit it was made out of could surely deceive him into drinking more than he should.

“This is so good, holy shit”, Chan’s eyes were closed as he savoured his already half eaten meal. 

“Mmm… I know. Scrumptious. Been looking forward to this all week”, Her Majesty chewed slowly, savouring every bite as well.

A friendly conversation picked up between them, covering nonessential topics as they eagerly ate their food. Chan had to physically stop himself from licking his plate clean. Thankfully, his internal debate on whether to do it or not stopped when Her Majesty procured some bread from Gods-know-where and handed it to him to soak up the remaining sauce on the plate.

The cool evening breeze was nice at this time, and his satiated hunger finally let him enjoy his surroundings. A light buzz accompanied the ever-present hum in his skull. How many drinks had he had? He truly had no idea, and, at this point, he also didn’t care much.

“This is nice”, Chan said after a particularly pleasant breeze caressed his face.

“It is”, Her Majesty agreed. “I thought for a second I was going to pass out from the heat and the amount of people back there”.

“Oh, yeah the breeze is nice, too”, Chan looked up for a moment, to the twin moons smiling back at him from the evening sky. “I was just commenting on… Well, everything. The people, how safe the streets feel”, he turned to the Queen, bringing his drink closer to his lips. “And the company, of course”, he added, taking a sip.

Her Majesty chuckled. “You’re not too bad yourself”, she took a sip from her own drink. “I typically come here on my own. My friends are usually too tired or not interested in the activity. Which is valid, to be honest. It’s nice to have company for a change, though”.

Chan hummed, understanding. He saw in his peripheral vision the movement of her hand, of her thumb lightly playing with the ring in her index finger.

“Sol does it, too. He thinks I don’t know that he frequently sneaks out to the castle town… Sometimes even further away to the nearest town. I���m not sure why he doesn’t want me to know, though”, she added, with her eyes trained on the twinkling stars in the sky.

Chan looked at her, his eyes traced the features of her profile. The apples of her cheeks, the dip of her nose, the curve of her lips… He shook his head slightly, and his eyes turned to look at the sky, too. “Why do you guys fight so much? Kinda seems like something happened”.

The Queen chuckled softly, taking another sip from her drink. “I’m not so sure myself. Nothing’s happened, we’ve just always been this way”.

She stayed silent for a moment, sorting out her thoughts until she spoke up again. “We have this otherworldly synergy between us… It’s scary sometimes. I think our petty arguments are just our way of feeling slightly normal. Even if we don’t do it on purpose”.

Chan just hummed, unsure of how to respond to that. He was slightly surprised that the synced movements he noticed earlier were A Thing between these two.

Her Majesty tapped her rings on the bottle in her hand, and the sound resonated in the quiet area. “I don’t think he’ll ever admit it, but I’m sure that, deep down, he too wishes to be a regular person. No Frequency, no life or death burdens… Must be nice”, she added, taking a sip.

Chan just looked at her for a moment, letting a comfortable silence fall between them. The hum wasn’t particularly loud, but it seemed like the longer he looked at the Queen, the more he noticed its presence.

“Well then”, Chan suddenly stood up. “We can pretend”, he must’ve been more tipsy than he thought, the words coming out of his mouth surprised even himself. “The night’s still young. We can turn back to Queen slash rebel in disguise, and ship captain slash rebel leader back in the morning”.

He made an act of wiping his hands–rather ungracefully–on his trousers, eliciting a laugh from the Queen. “The name’s Christopher”, he added, extending his hand to her. “I’m just a regular guy, fixing ships for a living. A pleasure to make your acquaintance”

Her Majesty just laughed again, clearly amused by his outburst, and the sound made him smile.

“Christopher?” she asked, slightly incredulous.

“Hey! Don’t laugh. That’s my real name!” He huffed. “Well, my other real name”.

“You’ve got two names?” She sounded curious, and the fact tickled something in the back of his mind. It was too fuzzy in there to figure out what it was, though…

“Yeap”, Chan made a point to emphasise the P sound. “Pretty common where I’m from. Felix does too, for example”.

Her Majesty chuckled, finally playing along with the act. “Alright then”, she took his extended hand in hers with a firm grip and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Christopher”.

“Oh, no, no. Please”, he brought his hand to his chest, pretending to be upset. “Just Chris, for the friends”, he added with a wink.

She just laughed. The sound was, admittedly, immensely gratifying to his ears, just like the amusement written all over her face at his antics was to his eyes.

Her Majesty stood up, the remnants of their dinner disappeared with a flick of her hand. In a swift movement, she interlocked her arm with his, and tugged him along with words of ‘Come on then, Chris. Time to show you around’. Freyja followed them closely from behind. 

They walked for what felt like hours. The Queen showed him the important landmarks in the town–statues, fountains, even buildings. She took him to her favourite places, urging him to ‘Remember this, you don’t know when you might need it!’

Chan felt warm; not the kind of warm that makes your hair stick to your forehead, nor the warm when you stand in front of an open flame while camping in the forest. He felt warm in the same way coming home to his safe, healthy friends felt warm, in the same way he felt warmth spread throughout him when he ate his favourite food. Just like he did then, he felt full, satisfied.

Even in the wee hours of the night, when he finally made it back to his chambers with languid steps, that warmth remained with him, and it eventually tucked him in and lulled him into a peaceful sleep.

Previous Chapter: Day 6. | Series Masterlist. | Next Chapter: Day 8.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2022-2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

[helenazbmrskai]

Fuckboy Training 5 (m)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 (end)

Pairing – Gym Instructor! Jungkook x OC

Genre – College AU, Fuckboy AU, Gym Club AU, Boxing AU, Sport AU, Enemies To Lovers, Smut, Angst

Summary – [There’s a fitness club at your University run by the seven most popular kids in school, girls usually come in long lines the unwritten rule is you can get free exercise after training if you know what I mean *wink*]

Warnings – fuckboys, semi-slow burn, mention of sex, mutual pining, exercise (yuk), bantering, sexual tension, jk is a lil’ shit here but we love him, smut, dry humping, love kink, exhibitionism, they get nasty in a gym, needy jungkook cums in his workout pants and they are disgustingly in love, cameo girl with daddy issues

Word Count – (2,5k)

Author note. I want to thank all of you for supporting fuckboy training! It’s my second fic that got quite popular here so I’m thankful for every nice comment and all the likes and reblogs. When I first started writing this I had no idea that people will love this (but I guess you can’t go wrong with fuckboys hehe) I can’t believe that it’s over 20k+ words and even though I loved writing this story I’m also glad that I managed to finish it so thank you for reading and I’ll see you in my next fic!

Menu: Masterlist l Be part of my permanent taglist to recieve a notification when I upload a new fic or send an ask!

⤷ Part of Bangtan Gym Club

Sweat drenches my form, it drips from between my brows continuing its journey further down my face and collarbones rolling off my neck in single drops as I push my body to do one more sit up. There’s a girl standing near the treadmill chatting up Jungkook as he runs, she wears the polo that belongs to the employees but he pays her little to no attention as he catches my stare through the full body size mirror that monitors everyone’s whereabouts inside the gym and serves as a little motivation for those who feel like giving up. I take a look at the time and I’m surprised that it’s almost near lunchtime. Knowing the boys, they will be pissed if we arrive late again so I gulp down the remaining content in my water bottle and gracefully dust my yoga pants. I feel like shit and probably look like one with my heaving chest and red face but my steps are confident as I step in line to occupy his other side. His attention immediately snaps to me which earns him a toothy grin.

The girl stops telling her story and looks at me barely acknowledging my presence until Jungkook stops the treadmill to give my lips a little peck. ”Done already?” He’s out of breath but still manages to give me a bright smile. I nod ignoring the girl’s strange looks while I wipe the sweat from his neck with the towel that I found hanging on the side. It’s been a few months but sometimes I’m having a hard time comprehending that he’s truly mine. He broke a couple of hearts along the way and his tendency to flirt with girls are still there but I could forgive him knowing that he always makes sure to make me feel special. He never tries to hide our relationship and his previous fuckboy reputation is not something I like to dwell on especially now that I know he’s my boyfriend and he’ll never sacrifice what we have; as he claims I’m the only one he needs.

”The boys will kill us if we’re going to be late again. We’re supposed to celebrate Yoongi’s new solo album so wrap up quickly muscle pig.” Jungkook hums in understanding, not fazed by my little nickname as we tease each other all the time, to us it’s almost like calling your lover baby or darling. I see that there are only five minutes left so this time I choose to look at his left and take in the girl’s features. By now I thought that she’ll take a hint but around Jungkook there’s always girls from the difficult kind. Some might call them brave but I like to call them those chicks who have thick skin from the amount of makeup they put on. Studying her from afar it was clear that he was trying to flirt with my man this whole time I tried to focus on my cardio exercise.

Jungkook was never interested in girls like her, they scream trouble that would get immensely attached and naturally hard to handle and well, get rid of. It was easy to grow my confidence as Jungkook turned out to be a sweet and attentive lover and caring in nature. He’s a hidden gem that just needs some love to grow into a beautiful diamond once you pick it up from the dust. He got this sweet personality from her mother, she’s an angel to her loved ones but can be quite fierce at times. I can’t count in one hand how many times I had to get rid of girls who tried to shoot their shots. Once my eyes settled on the girl there was an unmistakable smirk that appeared in the corner of his mouth. It’s not the first time you have to deal with situations like this as it seems like he never lost his popularity even though the news of our relationship spread like wildfires around campus. However, there’s still a few who like to test the waters despite that.

Jungkook likes to rile me up he sometimes flirts back or replies with vague answers until I decide to show them who he belongs to. He could go on for hours how turned on he gets after I shut them down and claim my territory as Jeon Jungkook’s girlfriend. He’s a possessive lover in bed and likes to leave his marks on my body to let everyone know that I’m his and he takes pride in the fact that he got me under his spell. He likes the confidence I emit and it’s all thanks to his supportive words. When we started dating it was hard to imagine that we can be truly compatible but our dynamics surprised everyone including us as we found ways to better and complete each other in a very good way. He helped me feel more confident about myself and how to be unapologetically me and I taught him how to let things go. I take pride in the conversation I was having with Namjoon and Yoongi the other day as they said Jungkook seem more mature and laidback nowadays. He’s not as hot-headed and deals with conflicts way better than before. It doesn’t mean that we don’t fight, sometimes it’s about the leftover pad thai or who should do the dishes but we survived serious fights and we managed to come out stronger and more appreciative of each other. Love itself is beautiful but it’s not always enough to make a relationship work. It needs hard work and dedication to the other person as with the relationship you need to accept the differences and seek common ground. It’s a matter of dedication, the will to want to make things work because you would rather fight for what you have than spend your days without him.

And that’s something they don’t know about us. Rumours and the campus’ writers club has no idea what Jeon Jungkook means to me and it’s how things should be because this is only between me and Jungkook at the end of the day.

This girl in front of me is no threat.

Jungkook chose me to be his girlfriend and some college girls with daddy issues won’t ever break this bond between us. We’re still young, we have no idea where we will be a year later or ten years later. This relationship might not be the same after a year or after fifteen years but it’s alright because what truly matters at this moment is that Jungkook loves me, and I love him.

”K-Kook, stop we’re in public.” My fingers find his wet curly hair to keep me grounded, he smells like soap and his favourite perfume. My core throbs at the manly scent that envelops him – he could stand in front of me with a trash bag on him and I would still find him the most attractive man in the whole world.

He always looks good post-workout and after a quick shower and he clearly thinks the same about me as he immediately pulled me the other way and pushed my body against the closest wall. There’s no one around but it doesn’t mean that they can’t come here at any given moment so I try to tug his hair back, away from my neck as he started making fresh bruises along the collum of my neck.

”Baby. I like this gym. I don’t want us to get kicked out because you can’t keep it in your pants and we’re late if you have already forgotten.” My scolding is half-hearted as he nips at my pulse point. Jungkook works his mouth over to my collarbones, giving the fading hickeys a new reminder that will take more days to fully heal. My eyes close on their own as his hands cup my ass from behind but that’s what makes me pull away at lightning speed. He pouts when I don’t let him have his ways, I can hardly suppress the urge to kiss his pout away but if I do I know we will never leave on time and we’re so fucking late.

”But baby, I want you.” His lips brush against the shell of my ear as he shyly whines. He knows I like when he does that and fuck, I’m considering giving in to him just after that. What a few more minutes will do, we’re already late after all. They can’t get angrier than they already are probably.

”You were so sexy just now, telling that girl to get lost was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Besides your gorgeous body of course.” Instead of rolling my eyes, they roll back to see the inside of my skull as soon as Jungkook grabs my hips with his big hands and thrust his prominent hard on to grind against my thigh.

The thin material of my leggings is doing no justice as I feel every curve of him perfectly and it shoots a new wave of arousal to drench my core. He’s only half hard but his sweats are doing a bad job at concealing his growing erection. The friction is torturous as it provides a delicious appetizer but can’t fully satisfy our needs, he ruts against my thigh desperately with his brows furrowed in concentration. His hand grabs my left thigh and pulls it up so I can curl it around his tiny waist. The new position allows his fully hard cock to press against my core and his pace picks up, loving how warm I feel under his touch, he could feel my body vibrate with need and it urges his hip to move against my throbbing heat harder and faster bruising my sides to keep me stable against the wall. Both of us pant loud but our moans are quietened to avoid drawing any attention since anyone who peeks over the corner would see us rub against each other like horny teens. His cock is fully hard now and begs for his release. Soft moans are muffled against my shoulder as he bites down to quiet his needy whimpers.

Watching Jungkook enjoy himself when everyone can walk by and see him so worked up is a sinful sight and it makes things appear extra hot maybe that’s why he comes in his pants without warning. It’s the first time he cums this hard from dry humping and he shyly buries his nose into my neck while his face is getting red from embarrassment.

I drag my fingers up and down his spine waiting for his laboured breath to even out. Jungkook melts into my gentle caress as I get his sweaty bangs out of his face. He avoids making eye contact until I place a finger under his chin just like he always does and plants a small kiss onto his bitten lips. It’s good that the changing rooms are not far away from here since we are in need of another shower before we even think about showing up at the cafe. Well, if our friends will be still there as we’re taking our sweet time like Jimin would say each time we’re late to another get-together.

”Are you shy because you came in your pants baby?” The smug smile is prominent on my face and it makes Jungkook bury his face into my chest even more while an annoyed groan leaves his lips.

”Don’t make fun of me. We haven’t seen each other since finals ended and I..” The vulnerability in his gaze catches me off guard once he looks up but my eyes soften once he utters the last part of his sentence somewhat shy to admit it but my heart swells with love for him. He’s too sweet.

”I missed you a lot.”

”I’m not. I almost cum in my pants too just from watching you. I love hearing you moan my name Kookie and I missed you too. A lot.” It seems to soothe him as a smile stretches across his face. His hands tighten around my waist but soon withdraws from my embrace to take another shower and I do the same.

This time around we do reach the exit. Jungkook hand is on my leg throughout the drive to the cafe and as expected everyone comments on us being late. Again. But we were able to quiet down the people by paying for today’s drinks and everything fell into place. Yoongi had a bright gummy smile on his face the whole time as he got a chance to thank everyone’s support. He claims that he would have never made it without us even when we tell him that it’s all thanks to his talent and hard work.

”So what about you lovebirds? Do you hate each other yet? Because I lived with Jungkook before and he’s a hot mess.” Yoongi easily changes the topic to us, he always feels shy once he’s in the direct line of praise even though he truly deserves to celebrate his biggest achievements so far in the music industry. As soon as Jungkook cocky smile appears everyone knows that he’s going to talk shit and none of us acts surprised when he drapes a hand around Yoongi’s shoulder to whisper to him seductively.

”Aw, Yoonie thanks. I always knew you thought I was hot. If you had told me this earlier then you might have snatched me away before Y/N did.” Yoongi and I gag at the same time exchanging knowing looks as our Saturday shit talks mostly involve Jungkook and his annoying habits. It’s almost a tradition now that Yoongi, Jonnie and I hole up in my room and watch romcoms just to pick every little detail apart and if we’re bored with the romance we shit talk the others and drown ourselves in red wine and coke.

I look around the cosy cafe and then at my friends as they bicker what to eat after we get our dosage of coffee (except for Taehyung who likes hot cocoa better) and a fond smile dance in the corner of my mouth watching all the people I love and cherish laugh together. College is ending soon and I couldn’t be happier that I had the opportunity to meet with these amazing people along the way. With them, by my side, the outside world doesn’t seem so scary anymore. Jungkook sees the faraway look in my eyes and squeezes my hands under the table silently telling me that he’ll always be next to me. We might go in different directions after graduation sneaks upon all of us considering that Seokjin finished it and Yoongi and Namjoon are at their last year that leaves me, Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung will still be there.

There’s an incoming call from Hoseok and everyone pushes their cheeks together to greet the boy excitedly. He transferred after he got into a dance program so he’s currently overseas. His bubbly personality is truly appreciated as we don’t get to spend enough time with him when he comes home but it’s alright.

Everyone is getting busier and our move in together with Jungkook was a last-minute decision as both Yoongi and Namjoon will move out after the year ends. Our lives go on but it’s alright because we have each other no matter what.

END

[ghostly-cabbage]

Party In The Graveyard (Shiptember 2021 : Drunk)

It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!! Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together

Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. And it's just getting better and better. Why? Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

--

Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.

Words: 6,233

Ao3

“I take back all my poor words. Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich When I close my eyes You grab my wrist, And pull me in to your cold dead lips”

So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? 

This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. 

Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. 

And it's just getting better and better. 

Why?

Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in. 

He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle. 

What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now? 

Give him a fuckin’ break. 

Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng. 

Lighten up, bro, he’d said. 

Yeah. 

Sure. 

The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer. 

People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain. 

A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes. 

He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this? 

He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can. 

His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest. 

He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.

Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can. 

“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.

Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid? 

“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.” 

“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people. 

Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when— 

“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!” 

Fucking hell. 

He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny. 

“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.” 

Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again. 

“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame. 

Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”

Danny looks at him like a puzzle. 

When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath. 

He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell. 

“I was being facetious, prick.” 

Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.  

“Right. So you are still mad?” 

He pushes air through his teeth. 

“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.” 

Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks. 

“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig. 

Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.  

“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.” 

Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“How many’ve you had?” 

Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long. 

“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.” 

Wes slides a hand down his face. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”

“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and— 

Flirting?! 

They weren’t fucking flirting. 

What the fuck.

Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins. 

Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach. 

“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.

Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.

“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?” 

Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows. 

“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them. 

The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh. 

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil. 

“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks. 

Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.” 

God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up. 

Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle. 

“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks. 

“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those. 

“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.” 

His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.

“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together. 

How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?

But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him. 

Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.

But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.

Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water. 

What the hell was that? 

“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.

“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.

“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup. 

Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?” 

“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back. 

It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well. 

.

It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm. 

“Dude, maybe you should call it.” 

“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right. 

Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it. 

“Nope. You two are done.” 

“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.

The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.

Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says. 

A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him. 

He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable. 

“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh. 

Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.

“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey. 

Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe. 

His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it. 

Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl. 

Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault. 

He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs. 

“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says. 

She gives him an annoyed look. 

“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps. 

“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen. 

Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels. 

Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face. 

“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says. 

Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup. 

“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.” 

Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless. 

“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?” 

“You just said this is your first time being drunk.” 

Danny blows a raspberry. 

Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash. 

“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.” 

“Ugh, fine,” he says. 

He’s a few swigs into it when he stops. 

“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature. 

“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth. 

At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out. 

“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm. 

“Ow, why are you hitting me?” 

“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.” 

Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles. 

“What.” 

“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.” 

The ground feels like it opens up underneath him. 

His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry. 

It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him. 

“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter. 

Across the house the last song fades out and Usher’s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer. 

“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?” 

Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples. 

Is he really about to do this? 

“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.” 

“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Heat flashes through him. 

“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.” 

Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up. 

Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.

“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine. 

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.” 

“You’re a bad liar, Wes.” 

Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room. 

“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.” 

He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them. 

“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines. 

“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?” 

“Dance with me, then.” 

Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and… 

He— 

He blinks, shakes his head.

“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles. 

“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says. 

“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?” 

“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.” 

Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks. 

“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says. 

“Thanks?” 

“Mmhm.”

God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like. 

“Where are we going?” Danny asks. 

“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.” 

“Tha’s not vague.” 

Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light. 

The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine. 

What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.” 

And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him. 

More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him. 

They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.

“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.

“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?” 

“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw. 

Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him. 

“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?” 

Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over. 

“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny. 

Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.

“Oh come on, Wes,” he says. 

“Quit messing around, dude.” 

Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes. 

“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?” 

Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.” 

Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.” 

Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him. 

“Would you just get up?” 

“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.” 

Wes kicks his leg. 

“You can lay down in the room. Get up.” 

Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes. 

“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause. 

“You okay?” 

“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.  

Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone— 

Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm. 

“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?” 

Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.  

They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room. 

It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light. 

He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over. 

“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…” 

Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him. 

“Oh, just the last few, huh?” 

“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles. 

Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.” 

It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.” 

“I’m not going to throw up.” 

“Famous last words, Fenton.” 

“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet. 

Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.

He’s not used to having… company. 

Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s still hot,” he sighs. 

“It’s the alcohol, dude.” 

Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead. 

“This is your bedroom, huh?” 

“Yep.” 

“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.” 

Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”

Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug. 

“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!” 

“I… don’t know what that means.” 

“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back. 

Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser. 

“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp. 

“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice. 

Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again. 

“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?” 

Wes snorts. 

“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.” 

Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be. 

Something in him loosens. 

“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says. 

“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other. 

Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints. 

“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?” 

“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.” 

“You’re full of jokes tonight.” 

Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light. 

Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.

It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand. 

Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door. 

“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that? 

“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says. 

Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.” 

“Says the stalker.” 

“I didn’t stalk you.” 

Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything. 

Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard. 

“I was… investigating.” 

Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.  

They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs. 

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while. 

He can’t focus. 

Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep— 

“Hey, Wes.” 

He jumps. Just a little bit. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He puts his phone down. 

“...For what?”

“For making everyone think you were crazy.” 

Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat. 

“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks. 

“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.” 

He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place. 

“Danny…” 

Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels. 

“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.” 

“You didn’t know the whole situation.” 

“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.” 

It feels like glass coming up from his throat. 

He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny. 

“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.” 

Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.” 

Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.” 

Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?” 

Danny smiles wide and bright. 

“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.” 

Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”  

“No kidding.” 

Wes runs his palms over his jeans. 

“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.” 

“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.” 

“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say? 

His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy. 

“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says. 

“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.” 

Danny laughs. 

Wes leans over onto some of his pillows. 

“How are you this okay after drinking all that?” 

Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.” 

“Right, makes sense.” 

He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier. 

“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that? 

He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says. 

They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.

Danny likes stars, doesn’t he? 

When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know. 

Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.” 

Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.” 

Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall. 

At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is. 

And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too. 

— 

Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.

He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell. 

Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he— 

He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks. 

Water. He should get some water. 

He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet. 

Well. 

Mostly. 

He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be. 

Kyle looks up at him as he walks in. 

“Morning.” 

He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack. 

“Hangover?” 

“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth. 

He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump. 

He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny. 

“Awake?” he asks. 

Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating. 

He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. 

“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.” 

Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks. 

He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later. 

Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet. 

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.” 

“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.” 

“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.” 

“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.

“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?” 

“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him. 

Kyle gives him a look. 

“How much.” 

“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.” 

“Twenty bucks.” 

“Kyle.”

“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“‘This time?’ What happened last time?” 

They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand. 

“Holy shit,” Kyle says. 

“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head. 

Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on. 

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.” 

Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.

He returns the look, just as lost.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.

It feels like for a second time stops—  

Hooking up?

Hooking up?! 

His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.

Danny looks like a deer in the headlights. 

“Uh—” 

The toaster pops. 

“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—” 

“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just���”  

His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny. 

“Who the hell told you that-that we—” 

“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”

“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands. 

This is it, this is how he’s going to die. 

“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!” 

“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.” 

Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.” 

“Cool. Now please leave.” 

“What?” 

Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.” 

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.

Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!” 

Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart. 

Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery. 

“Well…” Danny says from behind him.

 He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too. 

“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face. 

“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.” 

Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips. 

Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night. 

“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ. 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” 

They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts. 

“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.” 

Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice. 

“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.

Right. Right. 

This was just getting better and better. 

He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand. 

“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury. 

He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.

Wes swallows. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror. 

“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it. 

They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say. 

“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.” 

Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.   

“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” 

But Danny doesn't move. 

He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay. 

“Wes,” he says. 

Wes looks at him.  

He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him. 

“Thanks. For last night.” 

He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.” 

Danny rolls his eyes. 

“I wasn’t that bad.” 

“You were pretty bad.” 

“Not even.” Danny smiles.

And they’re close again, sharing each other's space. 

“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.” 

“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.

“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?” 

Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says. 

“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.” 

Danny glances away. 

“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.” 

Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah…” 

In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them. 

“It’s way more fun, bothering you.” 

It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing. 

“Well you’re an expert at it by now.” 

Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—

“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.” 

And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?  

Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real. 

Maybe it’s always been leading to this. 

Maybe it’s fucked up. 

Wes having the power to hurt him all over again. 

“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper. 

“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips. 

Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.  

“Prove it.”

[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

[sunnyville36]

Mamihlapinatapai {part 2}

Thank you all so sooo much for the kind feedback on part 1! Part 2 is coming at you now! 💜

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: injuries, mentions of death/war/murder, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.5k

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Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

A Summer’s Ball  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

The next few days were just as tumultuous as the first, Chan and Korenna slowly progressing from treating each other with complete silence, to short-lived bickering, to finally being able to hold a civil conversation for at least a few minutes.  You escorted them to more ceremony preparation meetings, then to councils with the foreign affairs ministers, the historians, the priests, each one stressing how this union would be a stepping stone in your two kingdoms’ relations and they should think of it as a huge honor.  You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the both of them, being reminded over and over how their lives were simply a means to an end, to be controlled at the whim of their fathers’ aspirations.

A turning point finally came when the three of you visited the city surrounding the palace grounds, the prince refusing to miss his weekly visit to the village market.  Chan loved to interact with his people, to support their businesses, to hear their grievances, to show he cared.  You followed behind the two of them as you walked through the plaza lined with stalls, Chan waving to each of the merchants, Korenna watching him with a mix of reservation and admiration.

“Your people seem to be thriving.  I wish I could say the same about our villages.”

You eyed Chan, knew he was forcing himself to hold back a biting remark, likely about how if Lajor’s people were currently suffering, it was the monarchy’s fault.  He finally came up with a question, trying his best to keep the conversation going.

“Have you brought up your concerns to your father?”

“I’ve tried, but he doesn’t want to listen to anything I have to say.  All he cares about is what he thinks is right, no matter who suffers for it.”

Chan nodded solemnly, “I can understand that.”

Korenna gave him a somber look and appeared to have something more she wanted to say, but was promptly dragged off by a small child wanting to show her his father’s bakery stall.

You nudged Chan’s arm.  “See, she’s not so bad, Your Highness.  If you give her a chance.”

He started in the direction of the princess, turning to walk backwards and smile at you with his arms out in a lighthearted shrug, “If you say so.”

***

That evening the king was hosting a ball, to celebrate the engagement of the prince.  You’d helped Chan dress, his midnight blue velvet ensemble and dark hair set off against the silver crown he wore making him look more like a deity of the moon than an earthly prince.  Then you had gone to assist Korenna.  You couldn’t deny how beautiful she looked as you watched her from across the room, her champagne colored gown and perfectly curled blonde hair standing out against the relatively muted colors worn by the other attendees.  She was standing away from Chan, talking amongst a group of noblemen’s wives and other high powered ladies, but her eyes never strayed far from his back as he talked with Minho and some other knights around a wooden table in the corner.

“You look quite stunning tonight, Y/n.  Purple is definitely your color,” came a deep voice on your left, and you turned to see Prince Felix approaching you, his small frame clothed in a breathtaking deep red suit.  The younger brother of Prince Minho, Felix had the sunniest personality of anyone you’d ever met, quite contrasting to his voice but in perfect harmony with the bright smile he flashed as he reached your side.  It had been several months since you’d last seen him, his studies as apprentice to your kingdom’s Chief Healer taking him to the academy in the highlands far away from the city.

“Prince Felix!” you exclaimed, arms reaching to pull him into a quick hug.  “I could say the same for you; that red suits you perfectly, Your Grace.”

Felix laughed, releasing you from his hold.  You and he had been close friends since childhood, ever since, at the age of 5, he’d stepped on the hem of your skirt and you’d pushed him into a mud puddle, causing guards to rush over and attempt to have you arrested.  His mother and the queen had stepped in, calming the guards as you remorsefully reached out your hand to help him up only to be pulled down into the mud next to him, the both of you dissolving into fits of laughter.

“I’ve missed the city.  And it seems the city has missed me for all the excitement it’s spun up in my absence.”  His eyes followed your gaze to where Korenna had made her way over to Chan, and watched as she led him out to the quiet balcony overlooking the gardens.  “How are you taking all of this?”

“I’m fine, Your Grace.  What reason would I have not to celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

Felix fixed you with a knowing look, but dropped the subject, content to stand with you at the edge of the dance floor.

“Y/n, I thought I told you not to let Christopher and the princess out of your sight,” came King Bang’s voice from behind you.  “The last thing we need is for them to get into one of their verbal sparring matches with the whole court present.”

You turned, lowering your head to the king.  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

You left Felix next to the king, his expression turned to one of distaste at his new company, and walked quietly out onto the balcony where the couple was talking.

They were standing closer together than you had ever seen them, leaning forward against the railing’s edge.  They seemed to be deep in conversation, Korenna actually reaching her hand up to place it on Chan’s back.  It didn’t feel right watching them without their knowledge, so you cleared your throat loudly, causing both their heads to snap up.  Chan looked slightly embarrassed, his head tilting forward, but Korenna’s expression was almost unreadable.  She stood staring at you for a few  seconds, then pursed her lips, nodded her head to Chan, and walked back into the main ballroom as you approached him.

“I apologize, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Trust me, Y/n, you didn’t,” came Chan’s tired reply.  You wanted to know if she had upset him, to know how you could comfort him.

“What were you discussing?”

A soft song started to make its way out from the half-open door.  Chan looked up at you, completely ignoring your question.

“Dance with me?”

Several seconds went by in silence.  He reached out his hand, eyes imploring you to say something, to say yes.

This was dangerous.  You couldn’t think of a worse position to be caught in, dancing with a betrothed man far above your stature.  But you also couldn’t think of a way to say no to him.

You took his hand and he pulled you flush against him immediately.  You tried to resist the urge to place your head on his chest, but the feeling of being in his arms was too much, made you feel so safe.  So you laid your cheek there and felt a low hum come up through his chest.  It was quiet for a while, the two of you simply swaying back and forth, not doing any particular dance.  You felt his head rise from where it had been resting on top of your head.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but you look gorgeous tonight Y/n.”

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness.”

“I know.  I wanted to tell you again.”

Then he placed his head back down and you continued to spin in slow circles until the song ended.  He brought your movements to a stop, taking your hand and kissing the top of it as he leaned forward in an exaggerated bow, “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

You looked at him with a small smile.  “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

He returned your smile, turned, and walked back towards the party.  You felt your chest tighten, feeling a little too much like your dance had been his way of saying goodbye.

Thinly Veiled Threats  |  Kingdom of Gu, 6 years ago

“Watch out!”

You turned towards the direction of the voice just in time to see Chan break through the wooden fence in front of you, thrown off his horse by the force of the lance he just took to the chest.

The prince had just turned seventeen, which made him eligible to compete in the annual Four Kingdom Competition, where knights, lords, and even royalty from the continent’s four greatest kingdoms met to determine who among them would be crowned victor in a series of strength tests.  His father had of course insisted he enter on his first eligible year, which had led to the activity you were currently engaged in, training a boy who was used to classrooms, libraries, and diplomacy lessons the intricacies of hand to hand combat.  The tasks ranged from archery to sword fighting, wrestling to jousting, and while Chan knew his way around a broadsword and shield, it was clear that the latter of those was not going to be Chan’s strong suit.

You walked calmly towards where he sat on the ground, knowing he would only be more embarrassed by any attempts to rush to his aide.  He was sitting up, so you could tell he wasn’t badly injured, but his right hand still stretched across his abdomen to clutch at his left side.  He’d been hit there at least three times now, and if you had to guess, what was once a bad bruise was more likely a patch of broken skin at this point.

Voices floated around you as you pushed your way through the small crowd that had gathered around him, many asking the prince if he was alright or giving unsolicited advice on how to avoid the outcome he seemed to be cursed with.  You picked up on the voice of a squire, one who served the boy who had knocked Chan down most recently, as he nudged the side of the older boy’s arm.

“You could have gone a little easier on him, you know.  His mother just died.”

Great.  Just what you needed; a physically and emotionally wounded Chan.

“Alright, give him some room everyone.  His Highness is fine; go back to your own practicing.”  You shooed away the stragglers and knelt so Chan could wrap his free arm around your neck, hoisting him up and slowly making your way to the infirmary tent.  Leaning him against the side of a cot, you reached for the clean cloth and distilled vodka; this was going to hurt like a bitch, but Chan could take it.

“You’re pulling back too much and too early, it leaves your side vulnerable,” you said, carefully easing off his ripped tunic so you could tend to his wound.

He stayed silent for a few moments, fingers gripping harshly against your shoulder as you cleaned the cut and wrapped a bandage around his midsection.

“I…,” he trailed off, seeming to struggle to find the words he was looking for.  “I’m a coward.  I’m a failure and a coward and everyone knew it except me, until just now.”

His words knocked the wind out of you.  You knew he was ashamed (entirely unnecessarily) when he couldn’t hold back the tears at his mother’s funeral while his father maintained his perfectly stoic expression (that heartless bastard), knew he was self-conscious about his fighting abilities, but you’d never heard him express that insecurity so directly before.

“Your Highness,” you spoke softly but forcefully, hands cupping his face to make him look you in the eye, “you are one of the bravest men I know.  You have one of the hardest burdens a person can bear on your shoulders, have had it since you were born, and you carry it with grace and dignity and compassion.  You inspire me and countless others every day with your strength and generosity.  You are not a coward.”

He looked back at you, and suddenly you felt yourself being engulfed in his embrace, his legs parting to pull you close to him.  He wrapped his arms tightly around your chest, his head pressing into the crook of your neck.  Slowly you brought your hands up and began to rub small circles on his bare back.  This was the most emotion he’d shown since that night you stood beside his mother’s bed, watching as he held her hand and whispered all the things he wanted to tell her one last time.  You were a little overwhelmed, but mostly happy, happy that maybe he was feeling again.  Eventually you heard his quiet voice next to your ear, “Thank you, Y/n.”

Then he released you from his hold, donned his shirt, and walked back to the jousting pitch.  You watched him go, until a deliberate cough came from behind you, shattering your reverie.

“I suppose he’s lucky to have you.”  The words spilled from the king’s mouth, his signature gravelly voice seeming to chase all other sound from the tent.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, I hadn’t noticed you were here,” you spoke, bending into a curtsey.

“It seems it is quite easy for the two of you not to notice others when you think you are alone.”

You blinked, unsure of where the king was going with his remarks.  He sidled up to you, close enough you could hear him at a whisper.

“I may have owed your family a debt, but that has been repaid ten-fold.  I know my son, know he would never be led astray of his responsibilities unless you gave credence to those thoughts in his head, fed his intimate physical desires.  So do not delude yourself into thinking you can take him from me, little servant girl.  And if he ever does come to me, asking me to set aside our laws, our traditions, so he can marry you, I’ll know what you have done, and you will never see the light of day again.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Satisfied with your response, he left you there, his words staining your mind like the bloody cloth you clutched in your hands.

The Hunt  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

How he managed to get his father to agree to this you had no idea.  But Chan always was very convincing when he needed to be.

You were preparing for a day’s long hunt.  In all honesty it was an excellent idea; it would give Chan space to be himself after having been shut inside the palace for two weeks, preparing for his impending nuptials.  Normally this was one of your favorite activities to do with Chan and the knights; getting to ride, to spend time in the woods, maybe use your bow.  But the one condition of the king’s agreement had been that Korenna was going too.

She’d been different with you, with everyone really, since that night on the balcony, avoiding attempts to make small talk and speaking harshly when she made requests.  You didn’t want your relationship with her to turn sour, seeing as you’d soon be serving her for the rest of her life (and yours), so you held your tongue and pressed on with your duties.

Chan’s black courser and your chestnut palfrey were saddled, and you were in the midst of preparing a well-tempered white mare for the princess.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

You looked up, seeing the dark head of hair and upside down smirk belonging to Prince Minho smiling down at you as he leaned over your kneeling frame.  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

You were not as close to Minho as you were to Felix, but you had always gotten along well, your similar sense of humor and affinity for archery solidifying your friendship.

He offered his hand to pull you up, which you accepted.  “I’m glad you will be joining us on this outing, Y/n.  I’m not sure I could handle Chan and Korenna on my own, even with 5 other knights to accompany me.”

You hummed in agreement, finishing attaching the bridle around the mare’s head.  “I’m not sure you could either, Your Grace.”

Minho let out his signature high pitched laugh as the rest of your party approached, and the two of you maneuvered to the front of the pack as you set off towards the nearby woods.  You all rode in silence for a while, riding not typically being an activity that required much talking, until you heard Korenna speak from her position next to Chan in the middle of your group.

“So, who is the best at the strength tasks of the Four Kingdom Competition?”

A strange question to ask so out of the blue, but you supposed it was somewhat relevant to the situation at hand.

“His Highness is an excellent swordsman,” you replied, looking back slightly in their direction.

“Sir Jeongin has given us all a run for our money in the wrestling ring,” you heard a voice from the back say.  He must be one of the other knights in your party.

Chan replied next, “Minho is a skilled horseman, beats me in the joust nearly every time.”

Minho’s eyebrows rose up at that, smirking as he rounded out the answers, “And Y/n here is an expert marksman.  She’s the best I’ve ever seen with a bow.”

You thanked him mentally, hoping he could read it in the look on your face.  You weren’t about to boast about your own talents to the princess, but it was nice to know that she was now aware you weren’t just some lovesick girl who followed the prince around, that you actually took your responsibilities seriously.

“Really?  And who taught you about archery, Y/n?”  You thought you heard a touch of menace in her normally high pitched voice, but brushed it off.

“I’ve had many teachers, Your Grace, but the first was my father.”

“How very… non-traditional.  Where is your father now?  I’d love to meet him.”

You saw Chan and Minho tense in their saddles, well aware of what your answer would be.

“He died, Your Grace.”

“Oh,” said Korenna, her voice noticeably softer now, “I apologize for bringing up a sore subject.”

“It’s alright, Your Grace,” you replied.  “It was a long time ago.  You couldn’t have known.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group then, but luckily your first planned stop was not far ahead.  A small grove of trees surrounding a clearing was where you usually began the hunt, splitting off in different directions and meeting back there before sundown.  But because you had the princess with you today, it was a more laid back affair, and you’d planned to have a picnic of sorts before you continued in earnest.

Everyone set about unpacking the sacks that carried your meal for the day.  You uncorked your canteen, taking a sip before heaving an exasperated sigh.

You’d forgotten to bring extra water for the horses.

You called over to Chan, where he stood spreading out a blanket for Korenna to sit on.

“Your Highness, I’m going to the creek to get water for the horses.”

Chan looked up and you could see the smile on his face from where you stood across the grove.  “I’ll go with you!” he said happily, only to have his arm tugged back by the princess next to him.

“You are not a servant, Chan.  I’m sure Y/n can go by herself.”

Your loud conversation had caught the attention of the rest of the group, who were all looking over at you in interest.  You were surprised by her bluntness, but she did have a point.  “Her Grace is right, I don’t need you to accompany me, Your Highness.  I simply wanted to tell you where I was going.”

Chan gave a side glare at Korenna, but agreed.  “Fine, but you shouldn’t go alone.  Sir Jeongin - “

A tall boy, clad in the red, black, and gold uniform of your knights, walked over to the prince.   He was no more than eighteen, must have only just taken his oath.  You remembered his name from the earlier conversation about the strength tests, impressed he was making a name for himself so early.

“ - please accompany Y/n to the stream to fetch water for the horses.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

So the two of you set off, leaving the rest to their meals.  You didn’t really need a knight for protection, but your heart warmed at the gesture of Chan not wanting you to go alone.  You arrived at the bank of the creek and began filling some extra pouches you had brought with water.

“It’s so much quieter here,” Jeongin commented absentmindedly.

Despite the sound of the water running, you agreed it did seem calmer here than in the grove you came from.  As you knelt by the edge of the stream, you noticed large patches of grass surrounding some nearby trees had been pressed down.  Curious, you walked over to the area, observing the singed ground and muddy boot prints on the rocks, telltale signs of human presence.  You hadn’t run into anyone else on your walk over, but maybe there were some others out riding today.  Raising your head, you called to your companion, “Sir Jeongin!  Were there any other hunting parties out today?”

“Not that I know of, Miss,” Jeongin replied, his expression revealing he was rather confused by your question.

You looked around again, and that was when you noticed the torn piece of blue fabric latched to a jagged branch on a nearby tree.  Your blood ran cold and you grabbed Jeongin’s arm, breaking into a run.

“We need to get back to them.  Now.”

You’d made it about half way back to the grove when you heard a scream, you and Jeongin sprinting to reach the clearing.  But when you arrived, the scene was entirely not what you expected.

Your mind had immediately gone to the Lajorans when you spotted that piece of cloth on the tree.  But here you stood, watching men clad in your own colors raise their swords to clash with the group of knights who’d accompanied you and the royals.  Your eyes frantically searched among the chaos, looking for Chan, but before you could spot him you noticed Korenna, hiding alone behind a large rock at the edge of the treeline.  You pulled Jeongin back behind a tree, gesturing in her direction.

“Do you see the princess over there?  You’re going to grab her, get on a horse, and ride back to the palace now.”

Jeongin was looking at you with wide, scared eyes; his mouth was open, not making a sound.

You shook his shoulder.  “Sir Jeongin, do you understand me?  Do not look back at us, just take the princess and get her to safety.  I need you to do this.”

Your words seemed to finally reach him, and he set his mouth in a straight line.  “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good.  Go.  And don’t look back.”

He left your spot behind the tree and you turned back to the action in the grove, still trying to find the prince.  Finally your eyes landed on two men standing back to back, swords flying as they blocked the attack of about 6 different men.

Chan and Minho.

You started towards them, reaching for your own sword, when you spotted someone perched in a tree right outside the circle of men.  The attackers started to pull back from around the two princes, and you could see exactly who the archer had in his line of sight.

You screamed his name, sprinting to cross the clearing and threw your body in front of him, arms outstretched.

You felt a sharp pain in your left shoulder as you fell against Chan’s chest, his arms coming up to catch you.

“Y/n!  Y/n!”

Trumpets were blaring from the direction of the castle as Minho dragged Chan back, still desperately clutching you in his arms.  The attackers were dispersing and you heard the sound of a voice saying “Chris”; it took a moment for you to realize it was your own.

“I’m here, Y/n, I’m here.  Just hold on please.  You’re going to be okay, just please hold on.”

The last thing you saw were his eyes as your vision went black.

Of Flower Buds and Roots  |  Kingdom of Gu, 16 years ago

“Mother, when will they be here?”

You were standing in the open-air courtyard at the front of the palace, your mother’s hands on your shoulders.  The two of you had moved to the palace a few years ago, when your mother had gotten a job as a servant there after the war ended.  Today, you were told, would be the day you were to start your position there, as personal attendant to the young crown prince.

“I’m sure soon darling.  Remember we never rush royalty.”

As you waited, your eye was caught by a small boy standing with a large scary looking man.  He looked to be about your age and was holding a tiny bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.  The man seemed to be trying to take them away, but the boy clutched them to his chest.  A woman who you thought you’d seen before approached them, glaring at the man, who backed away from the boy as she took his hand.  Then, they started walking towards you.

Your mother tightened her grip on your shoulders, bending into a curtsey and pushing you down with her.  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The pleasure is ours,” came the queen’s pleasant voice.  She knelt down between you and the boy.

“You must be Y/n.  This is my son Christopher, the prince.  You will serve as his attendant.”

You stared at the boy, his eyes even with yours, hair mussed and shirt covered in dirt.

“He doesn’t look like a prince.  He looks like me”

“Y/n!” your mother gasped, the queen chuckling slightly and calming your mother with a hand on her arm.

“You’re right, he might not look like one yet.  But it’s going to be your job to help him become one.  Do you think you can do that?”

You pondered her question and finally said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She smiled and stepped aside, placing her hands on Chan’s back and pushing him forward.

“Hi Y/n!” the boy said excitedly.  “My name’s Chris.  Or Chan.  Either’s fine!  I brought you these flowers!  I thought they might look pretty in your hair.”

He extended his tiny fist holding the flowers and you took one from the bunch, pulling back your hair and putting the flower behind your ear.

Chan’s face immediately lit up in the brightest smile you’d ever seen, his eyes crinkling cutely.  “I was right!”

From that moment on, you decided there was nothing you wouldn’t do to see that smile on his face.

{part 3}

[him-e]

what did you think of shadow and bone? have you read the books? i only read the duology

Thoughts on Shadow and Bone, now that you've probably seen it?

I think the show is alright? It lacks a real wow factor as far as I’m concerned, but it’s enjoyable. It’s especially enjoyable in those parts I didn’t anticipate to like / didn’t even know would be there. 

Whereas the main selling points leave a lot to be desired.

The good stuff: the visuals. The aesthetic. The overall concept. Production, casting and costumes are excellent, the setting is fascinating. The worldbuilding isn’t perfect and is sometimes confusing, which is probably due to the show jumping ahead of the books and introducing elements that happen much later in the book saga, but I’m loving the vague steampunk-y vibe of it mixed with more typical fantasy stuff and slavic-inspired lore, the fact that it’s set in dystopian Russia rather than your usual ye olde England.

I find it interesting that in this ‘verse the Grisha are simultaneously superstars, privileged elite, legendary creatures and despised outcasts, according to the context and the type of magic they wield. It’s A Lot, and so far it’s all a bit underdeveloped and messy, like a patchwork of different narratives and tropes sewn together without an organic worldbuilding structure. (there are hints to a past when they were hunted, but how did they go from that to being, essentially, an institutionalized asset to the government isn’t clear yet. There’s huge narrative potential in this, and I hope future seasons will delve into those aspects)

Many of the supporting characters are surprisingly solid. I appreciated that Genya and Zoya eventually sort of traded places, subverting the audience’s assumptions about them and their own character stereotypes, despite the little screentime they were given.

Breakout characters/ships for me were Nina/Matthias, and even more so the Crows, i.e. the stuff I didn’t see coming and knew nothing about (having only read the first book). (I thought the entire Crows subplot was handled in a somewhat convoluted way, at least in the first episodes; it was hard to keep track of who wanted Alina and why, but the Crows’ chemistry is so strong it carried the whole Plot B on its shoulders).

HELNIK. As an enemies to lovers dynamic, Helnik was SUPER on the nose, I’d say bordering on clichéd with the unapologetic, straight outta fanfiction use of classic tropes like “we need to team up to survive” and “there’s only one bed and we’ll freeze to death if we don’t take our conveniently damp clothes off and keep each other warm with the heat of our naked bodies” (not that I’m complaining, but i like to pine for my ships a bit before getting to the juicy tropetown part, tyvm). And then they’re suddenly on opposite sides again because of a tragic misunderstanding - does Bardugo hate high-conflict dynamics? It certainly seems so, because between Helnik and Darklina I’m starting to see a pattern where the slow burn and blossoming mutual trust is rushed and painted in broad, stereotypical strokes to get as fast as possible to the part where they *hate each other again* and that’s... huh. Something.

^That’s probably why I’m almost more interested in Kaz x Inej, because their relationship feels a bit more nuanced, a bit more mysterious, and a bit more unpredictable. (I didn’t bother spoiling myself about them, so I really don’t know where they’re going, but it’s refreshing to see a dynamic that the narrative isn’t scrambling to define in one direction or the other as quickly as possible)

-

Now, as for Darklina VS Malina... I found exactly what I expected. 

Both are ship dynamics I’m, on principle, very much into (light heroine/dark villain, pining friends to lovers) but both are also much less interesting than they claim to be, or could have been with different narrative choices. I’ll concede that the show characters are all more fleshed out and likable than their book counterparts, and the cringe parts I vaguely remembered from the books played out differently. And, well, Ben Barnes dominates the scene, he’s hot as HELL, literally every single second he’s on screen is a fuck you to Bardugo’s attempts to make his character lame and uninteresting and I’m LOVING it, lol.

But yeah, B Barnes aside, Darklina is intrinsically, deliberately made to be unshippable. 

It makes me mad, because it’s - archetypally speaking - made of shipping dynamite: yin/yang-sun and moon, opposites attract, COMPLEMENTARY POWERS AND SO ON. And what does Bardugo do with these ingredients? A FUCKING DELIBERATE DISASTER:

^ Placing the kiss so early on (season 1, episode five) effectively kills the romantic tension that was (correctly) building up until that point, and leaves the audience very little to still hope for, in terms of emotional evolution of the dynamic. 

Bardugo lays all the good stuff down as early and quickly as possible (the bonding, the conflicted attraction, the recognizing the other as one’s equal, etc) only to turn the tables and pull the rug so y’all sick creepyshippers won’t have anything to look forward to, because THEY’VE ALREADY HOOKED UP AND THAT BELONGS TO THE PAST, IT’S OVER, THEY’RE ENEMIES. This, combined to the fact that she falls for him *without* knowing who he really is, is the opposite of what I want from a heroine/villain ship (it’s basically lovers to enemies, and while that can be valid too, I wanted to see more pining and more prolonged, tormented symbolic attraction to the Shadow/Animus on Alina’s part). 

But here’s the trick: it’s not marketed as lovers to enemies - it has all the aesthetics and trappings of an enemies to lovers (the Darkling is, from the get go, villain-presenting, starting from his name), so it genuinely feels like a trollfic, or at the very least a cautionary tale *against* shipping the heroine with the tall dark brooding young villain, and I don’t think it’s cool at all. It makes the story WAY less interesting, because it humanizes the villain early on (when it’s not yet useful or poignant to the story, because it’s unearned) but it’s a red herring. The real plot twist is that the villain shouldn’t be sympathized with, just defeated: there’s a promise of nuanced storytelling, that is quickly denied and tossed aside. So is the idea of incorporating your Shadow (a notion that Bardugo must be familiar with, otherwise she wouldn’t have structured Alina and the Darkling as polar opposites who complement each other, but that she categorically refutes)

Then we have Malina. The good ship.

Look, I’m not that biased against it. I don’t want to be biased on principle against a friends to lovers dynamic that antagonizes a heroine/villain one, because every narrative is different, and for personal reasons I can deeply relate to the idea of being (unspeakably) in love with your best friend. So there are aspects of Malina that I can definitely be into, but it troubles me that in this specific context it’s framed as a regression. It’s Alina’s comfort zone, a fading dream of happiness from an idealized childhood, to sustain which the heroine systematically stunts her growth and literally repressed her own powers, something that in the books made her sickly and weak. But the narrative weirdly romanticizes this codependency, often making her tunnel vision re: going back to Mal her primary goal and centering on him her entire backstory/motivation, to the point that when she starts acting more serious re: her powers and alleged mission to destroy the Fold, it feels inorganic and unearned. 

Mal is intrinsically extraneous to Alina’s powers, he doesn’t share them, he doesn’t understand them, he has little to offer to help her with them, and so the feeling is that he’s also extraneous to her heroine’s journey, aside from being a sort of sidekick or safe harbor to eventually come back to. People have compared him to Raoul from Phantom of the Opera, and yeah, he has the same ~magic neutralizer~ vibe, tbh.

The narrative also polarizes Mal’s normalcy and relative “safety” against Aleksander’s sexy evil, framing Alina’s quasi-platonic fixation on the former as a better and purer form of love than her (much more visible and palpable) attraction to the latter. This is exacerbated by the show almost entirely relying on scenes of them as kids to convey their bond. I’m sure there are ways to depict innocent pining for your best friend that don’t involve obsessively focusing on flashbacks of two CHILDREN running in a meadow and looking exactly like brother and sister. LIKE. I get it, they’re like soulmates in every possible way, BUT DO THEY WANT TO KISS EACH OTHER?

Which brings me to a general complain: for a young adult saga centering on a young heroine and full of so many hot people, this story is weirdly unsexy? There are a lot of shippable dynamics, but they’re done in such a careless, ineffective way that makes ZERO EFFORT to work on stuff like slow burn, pining and romantic tension, and when it does it’s so heavy handed that the viewer doesn’t feel encouraged at all to fill the blanks with their imagination and start anticipating things (which is, imo, the ESSENCE of shipping). The one dynamic that got vaguely close to this is, again, Kaz and Inej, and coincidentally it’s also the one we didn’t get confirmed as romantic YET. Other than that, where’s the slow burn? What ship am I supposed to agonize over during the hiatus to season two? Has shipping become something to feel ashamed of, like an embarrassing relative you no longer want to invite in your home?

Anyway, back to Alina/Darkling/Mal, this is how the story reads to me:

girl suspects to be special, carefully pretends to be normal so she can stay with Good Boy

the girl’s powers eventually manifest; she’s forcibly separated from Good Boy

the girl’s powers attract Bad Boy who is her equal and opposite but is also a major asshole

girl initially falls for Bad Boy; has to learn a hard lesson that nobody that sexy will ever want her for who she is, he’s just trying to exploit her

also, no, there is no such thing as a Power Couple

girl is literally given a slave collar by Bad Boy through which he harnesses her power (a parody of the Twin Scars trope)

you know how the story initially suggested that the joint powers of Darkness and Light would defeat evil? LOL NO, Darkness is actually evil itself and the way you destroy evil is using Light to destroy Darkness, forget that whole Jungian bullshit of integrating your shadow, silly!

conclusion: girl realizes being special sucks. She was right all along! Hiding and suppressing her powers was the best choice! She goes back to the start, to the same Good Boy she was meekly pining for prior to the start of the story.

... there’s an uncomfortable overall subtext that reads a lot like a cautionary tale against - look, not just against darkships and villain/heroine pairings, but also *overpowered* heroines and, well... change? Growth?

Like, it’s certainly a Choice that Alina starts the story *already* in love with Mal. That she always knew it was him. The realization could have happened later (making the dynamic much more shippable, too), but no. 

[gracielitamargarita]

Thoughts on Kyoru in Fruits Basket: The Final as a manga reader

(and bad metaphors about lava cake)

So with next week's impending shit storm of a Furuba episode next week, I've been doing some reflecting on our favorite Mutual Pining Idiots, Kyoru--and thinking about how the anime adaptation's choices in rearranging or removing content has impacted things, specifically with Se3E6.

And just to preface, I think the anime adaptation has been terrific overall. I also think loving something and critiquing something aren't mutually exclusive either. The goal of what I'm about to write is not to incite negativity, just to get some feelings out about my favorite pairing from my favorite manga series and provoke some deeper thought, I guess.

ALSO, I hope you don't mind metaphors--specifically ones about chocolate-raspberry lava cake, because that's what I've decided works best for explaining Kyoru. So FASTEN THOSE SEATBELTS PEOPLE 

MANGA SPOILERS regarding previously omitted content as well as VAGUE ANIME SPOILERS that can be implied/inferred from the ending of Se3E7 under the cut.

I think one of the (many) reasons I find Kyoru to be such a satisfying ship is because of the slow-burn element. Come season 2 through the beach arc, their chemistry is palpable, natural, and growing stronger and stronger with each episode. When Kyo finally admits to himself that he's in love with Tohru in Se2E9, it feels like we've been rewarded with a chocolate lava cake topped with raspberry sauce--it's delicious, complex, and full of gooey and satisfying substance.

Now like many, I'm a sucker for the pining idiot trope--let alone the MUTUAL pining idiot trope--and we do get to see this through the end of season 2 as Tohru's feelings for Kyo become more apparent to everyone BUT her. It's like we're LOOKING at the chocolate-raspberry lava cake, so close that we can ALMOST touch it, but we as viewers aren't allowed to cut into it yet--which makes every little encounter between the two of them all the more exciting, because we wonder what's finally going to allow us to ravish this goddamn lava cake (sorry).

Which is why I realized I'm actually struggling more than I initially thought in the final season. As it's been widely speculated, discussed, and now officially confirmed, we're getting 13 episodes this season. And while like most everyone else, I'd be thrilled with two cours, I don't know the ins and outs of anime production, AND, while I'm bummed, I've accepted that it is what it is--and that it isn't the reason I'm writing this post.

Of course not every panel or fleeting moment can be adapted from the manga to the anime. There were small little cuts here and there over the course of the first two seasons, but nothing in my opinion that's really SO substantial that it drained the lava cake of its filling--maybe some of that raspberry topping, but generally, the good stuff is all there. (Though I do love this moment below from chapter 82, which was skipped over in Se2E19)

The final season has been different, though. As we know in the manga, the inner turmoil for Kyo--and Tohru to an extent--really starts escalating immediately after Cinderella-ish with Kyoko's backstory and Kyo's nightmare from chapters 90-93. I also understand that Cinderella-ish was Se2E23, and with only 2 episodes left in the season, it made sense from a directorial standpoint to end with the Kureno/Akito reveal versus Kyoko's backstory and Kyo realizing he needs to know his place.

But without this context, it leaves moments like the flower scene from Se3E2 less impactful--like a lava cake made by someone who skimped on the filling. To an anime-only (and even as a manga reader), it's likely still a satisfying moment to watch: we know that Tohru clearly has a lot of inner turmoil following her conversation with Kureno. Kyo's turmoil following his nightmare, however--and overall, the sentiment of him thinking he needs to stay away from Tohru, yet still finding himself drawn to her above all odds--is deeply diminished.

Which leads me to the main reason (finally, sorry) that I wrote this post--Se3E6, or the episode when Tohru finally admits to herself AND to Rin that Kyo has taken the place of her mother as the most precious person to her. 

In the manga, Se3E6 is made up of chapters 107, 108, 109, AND 114, spanning the end of volume 18 through the beginning of volume 20 of the TokyoPop mangas. Volume 19 in particular is one of my all time favorite mangas in the entire series for one clear reason: just as we've seen Kyo get to do in season 2, we finally get to see Tohru slowly own her feelings for Kyo, and MY GOD, is cutting into that lava cake and enjoying that delicious filling satisfying AF. The Mutual Pining Idiots are in full swing here, both dealing with inner turmoil but also being unable to stay away from one another either. In addition, they're dealing with normal teenage awkwardness too, which feels like a bonus topping (would nuts go well, do we think? LOL) to the Kyoru lava cake.

But between the producers adapting Momiji's arc prior to episode 6 AND the producers ending episode 6 with a 2-minute horror movie essentially--AND, lest we forget, none of the Kyoko backstory at this point--we lost essentially all of that satisfying filling. 

And again, I understand, only 13 episodes and the producers are trying to make shit work and I do see why they made some of these changes in the overall big picture of things, but I wish it weren't at the expense of Tohru's character development and also for Kyoru, which had been so thoughtfully and delightfully well-developed in the first two seasons.

My biggest issue BY FAR with episode 6 is Tohru's confession to Rin happening before the sheets scene. The producers combined 109 and 114 for the second half of episode 6. In the manga, Tohru is able to openly admit that Kyo is the most important person to her BECAUSE of how he accepts her after she "opens the lid" to reveal the ugly feelings she's been harboring for years about her father. And in the manga, since we have the context of Kyoko's backstory and can see how she nearly committed suicide and left Tohru alone for days, it is gut-wrenching to finally hear Tohru confront and express her trauma in her own words. 

The sheets scene is arguably my favorite scene in the entire series. The anime portrayed it beautifully. Jerry and Laura ripped my heart out with their performances. It was a deeply moving scene (even with all of the changes) and the romance and pining was there--but, I hate to admit it, the feeling of cutting into that delicious lava cake to reveal that even more satisfying filling was not.

And now, come the end of Se3E7, we're approaching the climax of the series that we've been salivating for for so long now, the result of all of this inner turmoil and secrets and deep, deep longing for one another--and it almost feels now like the cake was baked too quickly, in addition to being drained of much of its filling. 

I was debating waiting to write this until next week after we see how Se3E8 goes, but my thoughts have been swirling about and this clown couldn’t help herself. I'd like to end this post on a hopeful and more forward-thinking note, though, if you've made it this far into my novel LOL.

There is definitely the potential to add a little more about Kyoko's backstory in next week's episode. I also expect that we'll hear more of Tohru's inner narrative and thoughts, which I’m really looking forward to. As several others have speculated as well, I predict that we'll be getting chapters 119-122 next week. Despite it being 4 chapters, everything should happen in sequence (versus with episode 6) and there's a lot of action, so I do feel like it won't feel rushed or disjointed. And while I could see them possibly ending with 121, 122 would be my preferred ending for many reasons (manga readers know where I'm going with this ;P) and I honestly see it fitting best there.

And regardless of what happens, I'm looking forward to eating whatever variety of lava cake is served to us next week.

And at the end of the day, we'll always have the manga, which will probably always be my favorite lava cake of all.

(and now I'm hungry for an actual lava cake)

[bestintheparsec]

The Same Coin - Part 2

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: The pace is ~slowly picking up for these two😌 I didn’t allow any pining yet but it shall come soon and I hope you like the mild softness in this part😏 I hope you like this one, and as always thank you so much for any feedback!

Words: 3.0k

Warnings: a hint of angst, slow roast burn?, a crumb of Tender™

You roll your neck and shoulders, trying to relieve some of the aches from the day. As of late, you’ve been sedentary at work, and it’s starting to have an effect on your muscles. You look across the desk at Steve, who’s been in the same boat. This new management is really starting to get on your last nerve. Lately they've been restricting the amount of time you're in the field. Before anything makes it to your desk, it has to first collect dust on the ambassador’s, then the colonel’s, then Messina’s. They’ve claimed all this funneling of information is for “efficiency”—you’re not entirely sure they know what the word means. By the time any intel makes it into your hands, it may as well have never been reported at all. You can imagine the laughs this system has given Escobar as he continues to be a free man from one day to the next.

Steve puts out his cigarette and meets your tired eyes. “You good for the day?” he asks, the same exhaustion in his own voice.

“I’m going to try to get ahead on some of tomorrow’s bullshit before I head out,” you say with a sigh. “Can you take some of Peña’s stuff to him if you get home first? I’ll bring the rest after.”

He nods and stands up, tucking his gun behind his back before grabbing the files and heading out. Your desk lamp is the only thing lighting up the space as you work quickly to get the files sorted. You’re the last one here, but you’re nearly as alone as you are during the day, with only your thoughts and the messy stack of papers keeping you company. 

~

“That’s all we had for today,” you say, dropping the heavy stack of files onto the marble countertop. The large red stamp that says “CLASSIFIED” across the top of each folder is deceiving in its urgency; it’s more than likely just another pile of useless leads that Escobar’s already one step ahead of. But it has to be sorted through nonetheless, much to Javier’s annoyance—another long night of mindless paperwork awaits.

Javier’s off his crutches and back to work now, but only to an extent. He’s still unable to walk fully without a limp, and is currently assigned to working from home unless absolutely necessary—though he’s convinced that this is less about his safety and more about preventing him from going on another undisclosed mission. He’s only been back at the embassy a handful of times since getting shot, but if he can’t be involved in the action out on the field he may as well stay in his own place and let you and Murphy deal with the assholes that hover over everything you do.

He skims the stack of documents before looking up at you. “This is all?” he jeers sarcastically, raising his brows. 

“Hey, you didn’t have to deal with the shit that Steve and I had to look over today,” you remark. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Yeah. Another fucking wasted day. Real lucky, he thinks, huffing quietly as he flips the first folder open.

He observes silently as your eyes dart to the medication bottle on the counter, then to the kitchen. You carry the same tension in your posture every time you come over here—always making sure things are in their place, even off-duty. He almost rolls his eyes, but unconsciously stops himself before you turn back to him.

You don’t say anything, but he knows you’re just itching to mention the excess bottles of liquor, or the lack of any real food on his shelves. He’s been taking his meds and cleaning his wound like he’s supposed to, if only so you would leave him the hell alone about it. Or maybe you were starting to get to him, more than he thought—and certainly more than he’s allowed.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask, tapping your fingers on the counter. It’s all become routine now—you ask if he needs anything, he replies that he’s a functional adult again and therefore should just be left alone. The usual. Though he’s recently noticed you don’t fidget with your hands or the fabric of your clothes as much anymore, for a reason he doesn’t know—why he’s caught on to this, he doesn’t know either. 

Javier shakes his head, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one.

“Well, then...I’ll leave you to it,” you continue. He watches as you leave his apartment for what has to be the thirtieth time, quietly locking the door behind you—as if he can’t do it himself—the familiar sound of metal clicking into place followed by your footsteps fading away.

~

As you drop off today's documents, you wonder if Peña notices the slight change in your voice, the growing darkness under your eyes. Steve certainly had. “You look like hell,” he'd told you at the office today. Truthfully, you’re just tired. Tired of running in circles and chasing someone who might as well be a ghost; a ghost that leaves chaos in its wake and haunts you at night. Tired of bosses who don't seem to have a sense of urgency about any of it. So you probably do look a bit rough. But you’re too preoccupied to care. 

“Murphy told me it was a long day,” Javier comments, breaking your momentary reverie. You look up at him. 

It's been longer than that.

He takes a sip from his glass and gestures up and down at you with his free hand. Your hair’s a mess and your blouse is untucked and unbuttoned all the way, revealing the tank top you’re wearing underneath. “Have you, uh, slept recently?” he asks with a smirk on his face, his tone laced with teasing. You’re not in the mood for it.

“I don't want to fucking hear it, Peña.” You say it in such a way that it wipes the grin off his face. 

If he’s bothered by your remark, he makes no indication of it. Instead of responding, he leans against the counter, waiting for you to continue.

“Work was work, but the ambassador gave us hell,” you explain, abruptly slamming today’s files down on the counter. “I don’t know what anybody’s problem is anymore—do they want to catch these bastards or not?”

Javier meets your eyes, speculating when the last time you actually got some rest was, if you slept as restlessly as he did. He quickly pushes the thought away—why should he be concerned? But he nods anyways, knowing the feeling well.

“I have access to better CIs than the bullshit we're given,” he remarks. “You're the one who won’t get on board.” 

Your mouth twitches, and you can't resist. “Another informant? Jesus, Peña, doesn’t your leg hurt?”

He glowers at you. "Not that kind of informant," he quips, muttering under his breath.

“Anyways, I don’t know what’s worse, mindless paperwork, or busting our asses while trying not to get killed out there,” you say under your breath, mostly to yourself.

A brief silence passes. “I know,” he finally says with resignation. He rubs the area over his brow bone, seeming to contemplate what else to say. “I know how those assholes are,” he adds, and you’re surprised that it sounds genuine.

The lack of a sarcastic response is unexpected. It’s almost as if a silent but mutual understanding has materialized between you, and you’re not quite sure how to feel about it. For now, at least, it’s a somewhat nice change.

Your lips curve into a reluctant smile. “But I have to deal with those assholes, and you, too,” eliciting an eye roll and soft chuckle from him.

Another few ticks of the clock go by before you both turn to the stack of documents. Peña sighs.

You don’t know what overcomes you when you speak again. “I can help you go through it...if you want,” you offer with a shrug, though it sounds like a question.

He looks at you, a brow raised. “Why?”

You want to answer but you’re not too sure yourself. “The faster we can get this shit done, the sooner we can get back on the field.” Just this once, you think. If Peña’s thrown off by your suggestion, he doesn’t let it show.

Without another word, you each take half of the pile and get to work.

~

There are many things you’ve never noticed about Peña’s apartment before—you ponder this as you sit on his couch, leaning over the coffee table perusing today’s documents. You’ve been here too many times now, but have never paid attention to the smaller things. The frames that line his wall don’t contain photos of other people, but of a few dogs; presumably his, but it makes you wonder if he’s not close enough to anyone to have a picture of them. There’s a lot of books stashed away on some shelves, covered in dust but worn as though they were once well-loved. A month ago you would’ve thought the only books Peña read were those titled How to Be an Asshole 101. But most of all, you realize his apartment is just about as empty as your own; minimal decor and just the essentials. The years have gone by here in Colombia, but you have never bothered to make the place feel more like home. A job is a job. Things may change by the minute when you’re DEA, but somehow the days are all exactly the same. A heavy conscience is all that fills your empty apartment, and that’s more than enough clutter for you. 

You snap out of it when he comes out of the bathroom, having just changed his bandages. The bullet wound has mostly resolved—that's what he tells you, anyways. But he still walks with the limp, and you can tell he hates it; you know he’s not someone who can sit still and do nothing for such long periods of time. Fortunately—or not—he can do some work at home. Somehow you’ve found yourself staying over more often to help get the work done; much more than the one-time occasion you'd convinced yourself it would be. At first it’s just a few spare evenings, quiet nights that would have been dull anyways; a few extra hours after work here and there, slowly making a dent in the piles of busy work you’re given. Steve comes over occasionally, but he actually has someone to go home to so it’s never for too long.

Several times you argue over the correct method to go about hunting down a new lead—conventional versus methodical, straight-forward versus roundabout. You bite the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t agree and he groans with exasperation. But how much of it actually matters? you wonder. At the end of the day, Escobar still walks free. The last time you were on the field together, La Quica slipped from your fingers, and then some.

At some point, you attempt to explain your thought process; the reasoning, the logic. It’s not the first time you’ve tried to, but for some reason, Javier listens. Really listens. And, even stranger to him, he starts to understand. His world doesn’t turn and he won’t change his mind anytime soon, but he slowly figures you out. And somehow, the few hours you spend in his flat have slowly turned into longer evenings that go well past midnight. 

It takes you longer, but down the line you unwittingly start to understand him, too; not a lot, and not completely by any means. But for the first time since working with him, you no longer have this urge to shoot daggers with your eyes when you look at him.

Tonight looks to be another one of those long nights. You rest your chin on your hand, watching as Peña plots out a map of the city, narrowing down the potential hideouts of Escobar’s men. These late nights are getting to you, and you let out a big yawn without noticing. He stops mid-sentence and meets your eyes, and for a second you think you see a hint of amusement; it’s quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression.

You take a moment to stretch your arms and back, and Peña gets up to walk over to the kitchen. You decide to move to the floor for a change, crossing your legs on the cold, hard tile. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle of liquor he didn’t even have to read the label on before grabbing.

“Drink?” he asks, setting the glasses down and joining you on the floor.

You nod and push your hair out of your face, taking a glass as he pours the clear liquid into it.

“Do you think we can find them?” you suddenly ask, swirling the drink around. “Any of them?”

He looks surprised by your question; not because it’s a strange one but because it’s not something that’s ever discussed. Plans are put into place, actions are taken, orders are followed. “We’ll get him”, is the only thing spoken, a motto repeated in the face of defeat. “One way or another.” For a long time you’ve all been running on autopilot, simply chasing down one chance after another. More losses than wins, yet everyone refuses to back down. It’s the sort of thing that starts to wear a person down when they’ve been doing it long enough.

He must be lost in the same train of thought, taking a few seconds longer to realize you’re waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t stay here if I didn’t,” is all he says, raising his glass.

It’s nearly the same thing you tell yourself, especially on nights when it’s harder to sleep. You purse your lips and nod, turning your attention back to the files at hand.

~

Javier turns out the lights and pulls himself under the covers, letting out a heavy sigh as he runs his hands over his face. He needs this damn leg to heal itself soon—every day he’s not on the field is another day he can’t go after those assholes. He considers contacting one of his CIs again, but for a second he feels a sensation he can’t explain. Doubt? It’s not guilt—he can’t feel something that’s already made a home in the back of his mind. It’s fleeting, gone before he can think anymore of it. He thinks of you and wonders if it's the same things that keep you up, because it’s obvious that something does. When he finally lets himself close his eyes, he realizes he’s thought of you too often for his own liking. In his defense, you have been at his place more frequently. But so has Murphy, to some extent, and it’s not like he’s been thinking of him in his free time.

He groans and rolls over onto his good leg’s side and moves into the middle of his empty bed,  waiting for the images that fill his thoughts every night to lull him into another restless slumber.

~

You’d come over straight after work tonight, not bothering to drop your stuff off at your own place first. 

Recently the higher-ups passed a new lead into your hands—a good lead, and a usable one, for once. Finally having something interesting to follow, you’ve spent many more hours poring over the details. 

You haven’t even so much as looked up from the pictures on the table for at least an hour. Javier blinks the dryness out of his eyes as he leans back and massages the back of his neck, tempted to have another smoke. The clock reads 2:03. It’s later than he thought.

He stands up, putting the papers down on the table. “I’ll be back. Gotta change this dressing again,” he says quietly.

Somewhere between the complete silence and the sound of Peña shuffling around in his bedroom, you toss your pen down and lean back against the couch. Your back aches and the back of the couch is cool and comfortable. You uncross your legs, trying to relax for just a minute.

It's a while before Javier walks back out into the living room, about to say something when he sees you leaning against the side of the couch with your eyes shut. You’re holding your hands close to your body, as though you didn’t mean to let yourself get comfortable. He initially resists the urge to smile at the sight, but lets out a chuckle when it becomes obvious you won’t catch him. He debates waking you up, assuming you’d rather not stay overnight at his place. But after a few moments he decides against it, turning to go back to his room.

You’ll just be grumpy if he wakes you up. Best to save himself the trouble of dealing with it. Javier tells himself this as he pulls a spare blanket from the closet, then limps back out towards the couch. He gently shakes the thin blanket out and drapes it over you. It smells faintly of mothballs, but it’s clean and serves its function—his other guests usually share his blanket. He’s about to go back to his room when the loud roar of the AC suddenly brings a cool breeze into the room. He looks at you again, readjusting the blanket and pulling it up over your shoulders.

He pauses before turning off the lamp beside the table, his gaze lingering on you. You haven’t moved; it must’ve been a longer day than you let on. You’ve still got those tired lines under your eyes, but when you’re not nagging at him, you almost look peaceful. It’s such a marked disparity from the world outside that, just for a moment, he feels a bit at ease himself.

When he sees you like this, Javier decides that maybe you’re not so bad after all.

~

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[kyber-kisses]

Through A Mothers Eyes (Part 4)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!

Warnings: slow burn, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, more best friend banter and crack. THEY ARE IDIOTS.

Summary:Mary meets an old friend of the Winchesters and apparently she’s the only one who can see the very obvious feelings the reader and Dean have for each other.

A/N: This series is always so much fine to write, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and please tell me what you thought!

“Seriously, Dean. Why do you insist on doing this every damn time?”

There was a pause from the hunter across from you.“ . . . I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” Dean breathed from over the hood of the impala, glancing up at you momentarily.

Dunking your sponge back into the bucket, you slapped it across the window of the passenger door, scrubbing away the dust. You didn’t have a problem with helping Dean wash the car, you just didn’t understand why he had to wash it before every fucking hunt.

“It’s-“ you paused to look over at the clock on the wall of the bunkers garage. “Not even nine in the morning.”

“You offered to help.”

“I know- I just didn’t realize you wanted it done so soon.”

Dean looked up again, pausing his work to glare at you. “We’re leaving in a few hours for that case in Kentucky. When else were we gonna do it?”

You hummed a response that sounded a lot like an I don’t know before dropping your sponge back into the bucket and grabbing the hose. Twisting the nozzle, you aimed it at your bare feet to test the water pressure.

You were beginning to grow bored. You needed to spice things up.

“Hey, can you hand me that towe—“ the Winchester never got to finish his sentence before a solid jet of water hit him in the face. Your sudden attack coming out of nowhere when he looked up. A second later he was blinking water from his eyes and sending you a silent and irritated glare as he wiped his face. “Seriously? What are you, Fiv-“

Another jet of water to the face, this time unfortunately Deans mouth was open, resulting in him spitting out a generous amount when you stopped. They were quick spurts, your finger only squeezing the trigger for a fraction of a second- but they still managed to soak him. His black t-shirt clinging to his skin.

“Y/-”

Ptsssss

“You little-”

Ptsssss

“Im gonna-”

Ptsssss

Dean shot you another look, this time pursing his wet lips as he waited to see wether or not you would hit him again. “Bitch.”

“Slut.”

The hunter raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly in mock surprise.

“What? Have you not seen those shorts you’re wearing?” You eyes going down to his denim shorts.

“Okay first of all, free bunker.” He raised a soapy finger . “And second, my legs look great in them. You wish you were me.”

“They sure do.” You nodded . . . proceeding then to squeeze the trigger once more and hit him in the face with another stream of water. “Whore.”

This time Dean reeled back, thoroughly annoyed by the water and wiping his face with the back of his hand as your grinned. “Fucking bitch-“ he fired back, pulling his arm back. Before you could even register what he was doing, a wet sponge smacked into your forehead with a hefty thwap, your head being knocked back by the force.

Games. It was always dumb games like this with you two.

You were stunned momentarily as the sponge hit the floor, and then you started to laugh. The sound bubbling up through you throat and successfully catching Dean off guard. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh. Not at all.

“Y/N?”

He shouldn’t have let his guard down because like a switch being flicked, you stopped laughing, raised the hose and sprayed him again.

“Dammit Y/N!” Dean snapped, spinning on his heel to find his own water bucket. A moment later he was picking it up and throwing its soapy contents over the hood of the car and right into you, successfully soaking you in one go. You stumbled back, sputtering- wiping suds from your eyes as you looked down at the clothes you were wearing, the cloth now stuck to your body.

There was a moment of silence as the both of you registered what had just happened, and then Dean chuckled, you following suit a moment later until the both of you were laughing hysterically, too occupied to notice the two people standing in the doorway of the bunkers garage.

“Are- are they ever not weird?” Mary tried, arms crossed as she watched the two of you continue to spiral into fits of hysteria.

“Mom.” Sam began, clamping a reassuring hand over her shoulder. “They share one brain cell between the two of them. Weird and dumb is all they know.”

*. *. *. *. * . *.

An hour later, your duffels were packed and laying on the war room table as you finished off a late breakfast, Mary seated across from you, nose deep in her laptop. Besides you, Sams feet were kicked up on the table as he flipped through a lore book.

It was much qiuter than it had been an hour ago to say the least. You now had dry clothes on, your hair still damp from Deans bucket of soapy water. It was only a moment later that Dean walked in with his bags slung around his shoulders. “Alright! Who’s ready for a family hunting trip?” He declared, dropping his bags down next to yours.

“What?”

“Hunting trip?”

The older Winchesters shoulders dropped as he looked over at his brother and mother. “Seriously? You'd have thought the bags would have given it away.” He gestured towards the table.

Swinging his feet to the ground, Sam set down his book. “What kind of case?”

“Vahmps-“ you mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled egg, pausing to swallow a second later and clear your throat. “Vamps. Small rural Kentucky town. Shouldn’t be too big of a deal.”

“You guys wanna join?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond but was stopped short when Mary suddenly butted in. “No!” She took a deep breath. “No. You go without us. Sam and I have a case to work a few towns over anyways-“

“We do?” He whispered, clearly taken off guard by his mothers words, but fortunately going unnoticed by you and Dean.

“We do!”

Dean ever so slightly titled his head is surprise. “You guys need help?”

“No!no you guys go deal with those vamps. Sam and I will be fine.” Mary nodded, giving you both a bright smile. Maybe this was exactly what you and Dean needed. Time together.

At this point you had stood up, slinging your bags over your shoulders right along side Dean, your plate still balanced in your hand and ready to be dropped off in the kitchen on your way out.

The two of you shared a confused look before shrugging and heading towards the hallway that led to the garage. “Okayyyyy. See you guys later then.” Dean began, sending his mom one more confused look over his shoulder before turning the corner after you.

Once Sam knew the two of you were out of earshot he spun on his heel to look at Mary. “What the hell?”

“Just trust me.”

“We’re gonna find them dead in a field somewhere.”

“Sam, I doubt that.” Mary sighed, closing her laptop. “Those two seem to work well together. They’ll be fine.”

“. . . Uh huh. I mean, they do work great together, I’ve seen them, but also. . . They’re idiots.”

“Maybe so.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The drive from Lebanon to Madisonville Kentucky was shorter than most of your drives for hunts. The seven hours from the bunker to there was easy. You provided the snacks and Dean had provided the music, the two of you falling into your usual hunting routine the moment the wheels of the impala hit the asphalt.

Feet pressed into the glove box, you balanced a bag of beef jerky of your knees, fiddling with the volume dials as you chewed- pausing only to hand Dean a piece when he extended his palm.

“You’re mom was acting really weird when we left.” You began, glancing up from your snack, Deans eyes focused on the road. No answer. “Dean!”

Your shout successfully knocked him out of the zone as his head whipped around to look at you. “What?”

“Dude, you were in the zone. What the hell were you thinking about?”

Not that he would ever admit it out loud or anything, but he had been thinking about you. Why? He had no clue. But for the past hour his mind had been pulling him back to that incident in the garage that resulted in you soaking wet with your clothes clinging to your skin. Why was he think about that? He shouldn't have been thinking about that---

“Dean!”

“Quit shouting damn it!” He sent you another glare before letting out a sigh.”Sorry, What were you saying?”

“I was trying to say that your mom was acting really weird when we left.”

“Don’t mind her. That’s just mom being mom.” Dean sighed, eyes glancing through the side window before flicking on his turn signal and pulling Baby into the parking lot of the motel. “She’s not bothering you, is she?”

“No! No of course not.” You shook your head before lowering your knees and tossing the bag onto the seat. “I was just surprised that neither of them wanted to join us.”

“She said they found a case, so-“ Dean shrugged again as he turned off the car once in a parking spot. “You wanna go get the key or do you wanna unload the bags.”

Propping your sunglasses up on your head, you swung open the passenger door. “I’ll unload.”

And just like that Dean was leaving you at the trunk of the impala as he went to go retrieve the key to your motel room. When he came back you were leaning against the hood, all four duffels slung over your shoulders.

“Room 14.” He held up the silver key as he stepped down in front of you. “You need help?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Fine. Suit yourself.”

Pushing yourself off the mat black hood you followed Dean down the row of bright yellow doors, the numbers on each having rusted from weather and age.You liked going on hunts with just Dean. Sam wasn't there to complain about your taste in music or hog shotgun. Plus, it was much more fun to hang out with your best friend when its just the two of you.

You maybe got halfway towards the door before you stopped and let out a huff as you attempted to re-adjust the straps, Dena stopping when he realized you weren’t next to him.

“Seriously?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The hunter grinned before backpedaling and taking two of the bags. “You know you could just ask for help, right?” He mused, the two of you continuing your walk once situated.

“Yeah, but I don’t like doing that.”

“Oh I know, little miss I’ll stitch up my stab wound by myself.”

“Would you rather have had me bleed out on the bunker floor as I waited for you to get home?”

“. . . Well.” Dean paused as he set his bags on the ground to unlock the door, acting as if he was contemplating it. “If you had done that at least I would be rid of you.”

“Oh yeah, I’d definitely like to see you survive this world without me.” You quipped, stepping into the room as he swung open the door for you.

“I’d be thriving.”

“I’m sure you would.”

Dean flicked on the lights behind you before shutting the door. The familiar sight of old wallpaper and even older flooring meeting your eyes. It wasn’t until your bags had been piled onto the linoleum flooring once more that both of you saw the one slight issue it had.

 “Classic.” You sighed, nodding you head. “Just classic.”

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[littlekatleaf]

Offer me my deathless death

This took me way longer to write than I expected - but it also wouldn't leave me alone. Had to finish before getting back to "My heart as spent as ashes". This takes place in the same universe as "Be still my indelible friend".

The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well Amen, Amen, Amen ~ Hozier, Take Me to Church

“Lúcio wants us to go where,” Roadhog asks without looking up from his knitting. Not that Junkrat minds - knows well how focused he can be, and just as well how to capture his attention, when necessary.

“A Cosmic Mass.”

Roadhog frowns and his gaze is still on the yarn. “The fuck is that?”

A little more blunt than Junkrat’s own question (tries to be on his best behavior with Lúcio, generally speaking) but idea’s the same. “Apparently it’s like a rave, but with some sorta spiritual shit mixed in. He’s DJing a set at the end of the night.”

“He really wants us to be there?” Roadhog actually sounds wistful. He’s got his mask off, feet up, cup of tea on the table beside him, and before Junkrat’s interruption he’d been listening to some overly relaxing music. Makes Rat want to laugh. As if sitting around like an old cunt would be better than a party.

“Ain’t got no one else, with Hana away. Can you imagine Morrison trying to fit in at a rave?” Suddenly imagining the commander in makeup and neon rave gear, Junkrat bursts into laughter. Takes a minute to collect himself, as Roadhog attempts to ignore him. “Ah come on, Roadie, it’ll be fun.”

“...” Doubt clear in the stubborn set of his body.

Junkrat crosses the room, drapes himself over the back of Roadie’s chair, lets his voice go low, teasing, and speaks right in his ear. “There’s incense, to make it seem proper church.” Roadhog stills, like he’s been frozen. Not even sure he’s breathing. Junkrat grins, showing teeth. Ups the ante. “An’ I been feeling a little sniffly. Little sneezy. Maybe coming down sick.”

“You don’t play fair,” Roadhog grumbles and Rat knows he’s won.

“Not if I can help it,” Junkrat agrees, nuzzles against Roadie’s neck for an instant, then pushes himself off to find something to wear.

By the time they find the open space preserve Lúcio’d described, the sun disappeared behind the surrounding hills. Long shadows fall across the path, but the way is lit by luminarias’ glowing circles. The air is cool, crisp with the scent of bay and laurel. In the distance there’s the thump of bass, like a heartbeat. They follow the trail of candles through the forest, across a wooden bridge and up, up into the hills that rise gently, steadily, around switch-backs and through groves of oak and pine and the music grows louder, more insistent, until they crest the hill. Something’s making Junkrat’s nose run. Maybe the cool air. Maybe the joint they’re passing back and forth. Maybe he actually is coming down sick. Doesn’t matter. Sniffs once, then again.

Roadhog’s given up on the grumbling. Rat feels his attention laser-focused. Glances at him sidelong. Behind the smoked lenses Roadhog’s eyes burn, raking over him so intently that it feels like physical touch. His body goes loose and easy, imagining those hands on him, strong. Someone walks by, swinging a gold filigreed container that wafts smoke from its numerous tiny star-shaped holes. Breathes deep the spicy, sweet scent of incense and smiles through the rising wave of desire.

Feels like each tendril of smoke drifts directly to a point somewhere in the center of his nose and stays. “Fuh… fucking allergies,” he manages to say and then the wave is crashing over him and pulling him down. At the last minute he ducks to the side, away from Roadie, because he’s a shit and knows it’ll tease. “Hih-k’tchh! It’chh! Chh!” Drags in a breath, but only manages to stifle two of the next three. “Ah-R’iissshuh!” The last bursts from him loud enough that people around them glance over. Tries to look contrite. “Pardon,” he says.

“Saúde! I knew that had to be you, Junkrat.” Lúcio appears from the crowd, slings an arm around Rat’s shoulders.

Junkrat raises a brow. “How d’ya mean?”

“Uh, what I mean is,” Lúcio clears his throat, a brief flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “Like, you’re…”

Junkrat laughs, passes him the joint, lets him off the hook. “Not exactly inconspicuous, are we?” He gestures to the crowd, mostly older, mostly hippie throwbacks. Even though he and Roadie’d left the armor and rip tire at the base, they don’t exactly look like many of the others. Not to mention Roadhog is a good foot taller than anyone else.

“Not exactly.” Lúcio’s answering grin is a little lopsided and it catches Junkrat’s interest. What had Lúcio noticed about him? Had a sneaking suspicion, though it was something he expected of Hog, not Lúcio. Have to test the situation, because if he’s right… well, the evening might be even more entertaining than he’s been hoping.

Lets Lúcio draw him through the crowd, arm still around his shoulders. Roadhog walks, solid and protecting, at his other side and the focused attention between the two of them make Junkrat’s skin feel electric, tiny sparks lighting up his synapses. Bass is still throbbing off to one side. Nose tickling in that odd, feathery way. Just enough to keep him sniffing but not enough for actual sneezes. All of the stimulation swirls together until it all fizzes through him like a shaken beer. Wishes vaguely that he’d brought even one grenade. Just something small. Release a little pent up energy.

Lúcio’s explaining the way the Mass goes, the set he’s going to play, talking just a little too fast, little too bright, not quite meeting either Junkrat’s eyes, or Roadie’s. Junkrat’s trying to pay attention but keeps being sidetracked by the tension under the words. An odd edge. Makes him feel like he’s gonna vibrate out of his skin. Finally, Lúcio’s obvious discomfort urges Junkrat to give him some shit.

Bumps his hip against Lúcio’s, lightly. “Never took ya for a God-type.”

Lúcio shrugs, gaze sliding away to the people they’re passing. “A gig’s a gig,” he says. “Come on, mate. Ain’t no need to be that way about it. Not criticizing ya, just curious.” Curious, wanting to get beneath the surface, to figure out what makes Lú tick. Always gotta figure how things work, how they’re wired. Bombs. People. Different types of explosions, but equally thrilling. So, if they’re gonna be more than… if they’re gonna be more, he needs to figure Lúcio. “This ain’t just a rave to you, is it?” Considers. There’s an energy to the night, a frisson that he can almost taste.

After a surprisingly long pause, Lúcio meets his eyes, straight on. “You really want to know?”

“Course. I want to know you, Lú.” Means know in all the flavors of the word, Junkrat realizes.

Lúcio sighs, tips his face to the sky and takes a hit off the joint. Holds the smoke for a few beats. Exhales. Directs his words to the stars. “Sometimes when I play? The music is... different. Sometimes it’s a bridge, a web. Starts with the beat. The drums, the bass. They come in a wave. Break over me. Flow through me. Like I’m a conduit. If I can hold the connection, it flows into the audience and we’re all connected. More than the sum of our parts. When that happens, the power in it…” Lúcio closes his eyes. “Like sticking your finger into an electric socket. The first time it happened, in one of the clubs in Rio, I think I was high for a week.” Lúcio frowns, opens his eyes. “Then, once in a while… even more rarely… you can shape that energy, turn it to a new thing. Revolution.” He blinks, coming back to himself. “Words don’t really encompass...”

For the first time, Junkrat begins to understand the connection between Lúcio’s music and his role in the uprising of the favelas. Even so, he isn’t sure what to do with the knowledge, so he makes a joke. “Expect you’ll be providing the experience, then.”

“Always do my best. But,” Lúcio fixes Junkrat with an unusually intense gaze. “If you keep yourself separate, you won’t feel it. It’s a mutual thing.”

“Meant ya need to hand over the joint, mate.” Holds out his hand for it, bites his tongue on a laugh.

Roadhog cuffs the back of Rat’s head, growls,“Don’t tease him. He’s tighter than a nun’s arsehole.”

The blow, though light, is enough to snap Junkrat back to serious. Lúcio shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny and hands him the joint.

“Ya are,” Junkrat says thoughtfully. Lúcio’s never tense about a gig - performing natural as breathing for him. And the joint’s done nothing for the tension in Lúcio’s jaw, his shoulders. “Relax, mate,” he murmurs, leans forward and kisses Lúcio full on the lips. Smells of patchouli and weed and Junkrat pulls him closer, deepening the kiss and the tension hums between them. Different than Roadie, Lúcio is lithe and wiry. Dancer’s body. Tastes of clove, of cinnamon, sweet and hot. Desire pulses with the bass as heat rises in the slight breath of air between them.

Only for a second, before Junkrat’s nose is tickling again and he’s forced to step back. Through eyes that keep fluttering toward closed can see Lúcio’s expression of confused dismay. Holds up a finger - wait, he wants to say. Can’t. Needs to sneeze; the feeling’s just right there, lingering. Insubstantial but insistent. The tension between the desire and the action is unexpectedly pleasurable. Wanting in more places than one. Feeling Roadie staring. Breathes slow, careful, until the need suddenly spikes and he wrenches forward.

“Huh’issshew!!... Iishh! Heh…” The third one disappears, leaving him a little off balance. “Ugh, definitely coming down sick. Sneezes only stick like that when ’m getting the wog.” But even as he’s complaining, he smirks, rewarded by the flush coloring Roadhog’s neck, the way Lúcio fidgets, both trying not to seem to be staring but also darting glances at him as he rubs his nose against another rising tickle.

“Shouldn’t be smoking, Rat.” The slightly strangled tone of Roadie’s voice makes it obvious- only saying it because he feels a little guilty for enjoying. Which he shouldn’t, because Rat wants him to enjoy.

Junkrat lifts his chin in challenge. “Ain’t my daddy, Hog.” Sucks in a long hit off the joint, holding Roadhog’s gaze.

Lúcio snorts and swipes the joint from Junkrat, breaking the tension. “He’s right, though.”

“Oi, ain’t no excuse for stealing. We’re supposed to be the villains. You’re supposed to be th… the… ” Resurgence of the feathery itch sidetracks him. Breath hitches, snagged by the urge to sneeze. Presses a knuckle to the tip of his nose. Tingles. Not sure if he wants to rub it away or urge it closer. Just presses, gently. The sensation subsides, but only a bit. “The hero,” he manages to say.

Lúcio purses his lips, blows a stream of smoke that drifts directly under Junkrat’s nose and the tickle is a thousand times worse. Or better?

“Oh that heh… heh…helps...” His face falls, gaze hazy. Can’t focus on anything when he feels like this. Really wants to sneeze. It’s right there, right on the edge. Maybe?... No?... Another breath. Yes... “Heh… H’t!” Only half a sneeze and it’s gone. “Shit.”

“Helps with what?” Roadie asks, deadpan.

“Fuckin’ nothin’, apparently. Unsatisfying,” Junkrat mutters, sniffling like a kid and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Still has to sneeze. A diffuse, faint feeling, sometimes there, sometimes not. Wispy. Keeps his breath shaky, his hand hovering uselessly halfway between his nose and his chest. Might sneeze. Might not. His cheeks go hot. Weird to have both Hog and Lúcio watching while he makes an idiot of himself.

“You okay, Rat?” Lúcio asks, forehead creased with concern.

Junkrat shakes his head, slowly. Not because he’s not okay but because the sneezes finally decide yes and the need rises so sharp and overwhelming it’s almost pain and he ducks his head. “Huh-t’chhew! Ihht’chew!” A beat, two. Fucking shit.

“Something missing,” Roadhog asks, insufferable bastard, and he wants to answer, wants to say something cutting but only manages to flip him off before the missing third reappears with vengeance.

“Ah’Riiish-uh!” He sighs with relief. “Fucking finally.” Blinks tears from his eyes and realizes both Roadhog and Lúcio are staring with identical hunger. Goes suddenly hard, their desire stoking his own. Grins. “‘Scuse me,” he says but it sounds more proud than apologetic.

“Saúde,” Lúcio says just as Roadie says, “Bless you.”

The look that goes between them is surprise and a measuring-up and Rat laughs. Shakes his head. “Can’t believe you two cunts gave me the wog, and now you’re fuckin’ enjoying my misery.”

“You said you never get sick,” Lúcio argues, even as a guilty expression crosses his face.

Roadhog shrugs off Lúcio’s concern. “Rat’s full of shit; he don’t care,” he says, shifting alliances like a bastard.

“Oi, Roadie, blowin’ me cover? Get stuffed.” Not angry, though, not really. Knows what his sneezing does to Roadhog and seems like Lúcio might be the same. If he’s right, the fun they’ll have more than makes up for a minor inconvenience. Hopes he is because suddenly Rat wants both of them. Rubs his nose against the feathery tickle that’s still threatening to both disappear and to explode, but patently unclear which will happen.

In that moment of stillness between possible explosions, the music goes abruptly silent and Lúcio glances at the stage where the previous DJ is taking her final bows. “Gotta do my…” he gestures with his chin.

“Go be the conduit,” Roadhog says. “We’ll be here.”

Lúcio grins at both of them, presses a quick kiss to Roadie’s cheek then bounds onstage to thundering applause.

As the lights sweep over the audience, Junkrat suddenly realizes the people he’s assumed to be old hippies are no such thing. The cloth and cut of their bohemian outfits is expensive, the patchwork bags designer. The gold of the incense burners actual gold. He eyes the diamonds, obviously real and expensive, practically dripping from one sheila’s ears and draped around her neck, sparkling at each of her fingers. Clasp looks surprisingly cheap for the likely cost of the necklace. Be a shame if it somehow got broken.

Glances at Roadie, raises a brow, tilts his head at the shiela who is completely entranced by the beginning of Lúcio’s set. Ain’t paying a bit of attention to her surroundings.

Roadhog shakes his head and Junkrat knows he’s frowning behind the mask.

“Not like she’d miss it,” Junkrat urges. “What Morrison don’t know ain’t gonna bother him.”

“And if Lúcio gets blamed?”

“Ain’t planning on getting caught.”

“Rat, no…”

Junkrat just grins and slides into the crowd, following the glitter of the sheila’s jewelry. The bass vibrates in his ribs, merging with the flutter of anticipation. Moves with the rhythm of the audience, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Cloying and overly floral. But he’s focused. Eyes on the target, vaguest idea of a plan beginning to form. Takes a deep breath and lets the sneezes crash over him. “Huh-R’iiisssh! Issh! Isssha!” Just manages to throw his arm up over his mouth and stumbles forward on the explosion. Bumps smack into the sheila and uses the ensuing scuffle to snap the clasp of her necklace.

She turns. “Watch it, asshole,” she says, looking disgusted.

“Oh, shit, sorry, mate! Touch of allergies or something. Hope I didn’t get you!” He apologizes immediately, profusely, playing up his accent. The necklace slides off and into his waiting hand. He pockets it, then lets the crowd flow between them and makes his way back to Roadhog.

“Cannot believe you sinned during fucking church,” Roadhog says.

Junkrat shrugs. “She ain’t a good Christian. Didn’t even bless me.”

Roadhog shakes his head, but Rat catches the rumble of his chuckle. Roadie draws him away from the crowd, into a pool of darkness at the side of things. It’s not private, but no one’s watching them - the focus is on Lú, center stage, surrounded by his equipment, face alight with joy. The music spills from the stage like a waterfall, flowing around him, the spotlight shines over him and he glows. Counts down the beat with one finger til it drops, breaking into a new pattern.

Junkrat’s seen him in battle, burning with a fierce joy. Seen him wielding his sonic amplifier to heal, equally bright and fierce. But this, this is where Lúcio belongs. “Join me,” Lúcio’s voice amplified drifts over the notes of the music. “Float. Ride the currents and eddies. Slide down deep into the darkness. Into the depths. Further down to the deepest part. Sink in, curl in, and in that place touch truth, touch love. Touch the One, because that is you, too. You are safe here in the womb of the world.”

Junkrat does, feels the darkness swirling around him.

“Now feel the touch of the moonlight, uncurl into that light. Stretch into the night, reach for the God beyond God that is unlimited and free. Let’s dance our prayers in community.”

The music surrounds him, a shining bubble. Feels like Junkrat can reach out and touch it. Press against it, barrier between him and whatever Lúcio is creating. Like a window he can’t penetrate. Maybe it’s the necklace? Maybe Roadie was right and he shouldn’t have stolen it. Maybe...

Then a hand on his shoulder, grounding him again. “You’re okay, Rat,” Roadhog says and it cuts through the smoke fogging his thoughts and suddenly he realizes two things. He is okay, and he’s going to sneeze and it’s not going to be contained.

“Heh-issh! Issh! Ish! Sh! ...Ehh..Hehh.. R’issh-iishhuh! Fuck.” Keeps his face buried in the sleeve of his shirt, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and assess the damage. His cheeks are hot and he’s uncomfortably hard.

Suddenly Roadie’s fist’s tangled in his hair, tugging his head up. “You’re a mess,” he says, examining Rat far too carefully.

He is a mess. Wants to hide, to turn away but he can’t do either - Hog’s fist still tight in his hair, holding him immobile. “Sorry,” he says and this time he actually means it. Wonders vaguely, through the floating fog of weedsmoke and lust and the lingering urge to sneeze, if someone actually could immolate from embarrassment.

“You should be.” Roadhog pulls a bandana out of his pocket and wipes Junkrat’s nose, then raises his mask just enough to press their lips together.

Junkrat groans into the kiss and wraps his arms around Roadhog, tugging him closer, closer, aching with desire.

Lúcio's song shifts, and though the beat still throbs, an ethereal voice sings a melody in a language Junkrat doesn’t understand. He closes his eyes and the notes float cool and light over his skin. The music casts a glittering web over and between them, connecting them each to the other and both to Lúcio. A low thrumming, slowly building vibration buzzing along his skin and through his body. Rumbling deep and dark, then tenor notes over the bass like hope. Until the melody opens like dawn breaking and cracks him open too and washes him in joy.

Only the roar of applause from the crowd interrupts. Junkrat looks up just in time to see Lúcio bound down from the stage, still glowing with the leftover power of the music and he dashes over to them and they open their arms and pull him in.

The three of them make their way down the hill, back to the hovercar waiting to take them back to the Watchpoint. Roadhog’s hand on one elbow and Lúcio’s hand on his other shoulder keep Junkrat from stumbling, his head still swirling with music and weed and want and the heat of Lúcio’s touch and the strength of Roadhog’s hand.

Finally, finally he collapses onto his bed, tugging Roadie and Lúcio down with him. Their hands are roaming over each other, legs entwined. And he’s going to sneeze again. “Hold on,” he manages to say. Freezes, stuck teetering on the edge. Feathery tickles whisper at the back of his nose.

“All right?” Lúcio asks.

“Something wrong?” Roadhog adds.

“F...fuck ya both. Gotta… gotta… Huh-R’iiisssh! Issh! Isssha! Ugh,” he sighs. “Still gotta… Itchhh! Huh-isssh! Isshew!” It’s like no matter how many times he sneezes, just can’t clear the tickle. But it feels so unbearably good. The build and build and tremble and release only to build again right after. And Lúcio’s hand closes over his cock and he reaches for Roadhog and Roadie takes Lúcio in his hand and they move together, still tangled in Lúcio’s web. Pleasure throbs through Junkrat in waves pushing him higher and he draws Lú and Roadie with him, high and higher and when he tumbles over the precipice, they fall too.

And as he drifts in the aftermath, Lúcio pressed warm against his left side, Roadhog against his right Junkrat feels maybe he’s glowing too.

[zktop10]

Author Feature: duCOQUELICOT

Ok, so I am a fan of our next featured author and I am so thrilled to have them on my blog! Welcome duCOQUELICOT

Please go check out the stories and make sure to leave some love! And as always, share these lists so others can find something new as well!

Title: Gem of the Setting Sun Rated: T Summary: The war might be over, but that's just the beginning of a whole new era of problems. The Gaang find themselves amidst the struggles of rebuilding the world, growing up, coming of age and understanding who they are, now that everything has changed.

When everyone seems to have something to do besides Katara, she sets out to find her own destiny. Zuko, who is trying to change a century of hatred into an era of peace and love, could use the help of a brave waterbender with a heart of gold. Learning about the histories of their respective nations, they discover a threat to the world that is greater than anyone could have foreseen. Also, Zutara.

New (final) chapter: At dawn, Zuko and Katara find each other again. Score: 7.5 / 10 Rated T WIPs: 1.3 / 10 Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Mutual Pining

Title: One Quiet Night Rated: NR Summary: Prompt #77, where Zuko and Katara swap elements - but I just use it as an excuse to have them talk. Score: 5.8 / 10 Not Rated One Shots: 1.4 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Element Swap

Title: there are roads left in both of our shoes Rated: G Summary: In the Spirit World, Yue learns about the fate of her friends before they know it themselves. The spirits have their unique way of dealing with the material world and its inhabitants, and one of the most interesting ones is reincarnation. As it turns out, two people she knows have had their paths tied together since the beginning of time. Score: 4.6 / 10 Rated G One Shots: 6.7 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Series, Soulmates

Title: Zutara Month 2020 Rated: G Summary: A collection of bits and pieces for my 'Gem of the Setting Sun' universe. Jumping back and forward in time, so will contain spoilers, but I guess it's okay because we all want Zutara to happen anyway :). These works will find their way back into the story, one way or another. Score: 4.5 / 10 Rated G Complete: 0.3/ 10 Tags: Zutara Month

Title: counting the ways to fall without landing Rated: G Summary: What if we had gotten more scenes with Zuko and the Gaang before the Comet arrived? Well, this is what that is. A collection of scenes and snippets of everything that happened between "The Western Air Temple" and Zuko's coronation. And maybe something after that, too. Score: 3.5 / 10 Rated G One Shots: 4.9 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Lost Scene

Title: it rained through the night Rated: G Summary: Katara doesn't even want to talk to that moody, silent kid in her after school art class. But she has no choice, because when they both end up at the wrong place at the wrong time, they'll have to work together to solve the mystery. Score: 3.5 / 10 Rated G One Shots: 4.9 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Alternate Universe, Modern Universe, High School Setting

Title: caught between a rock and a hard place Rated: G Summary: Just when Iroh and Aang reach the belly of the Crystal Catacombs, the earth shatters. Katara and Zuko are cut off from their saviors, and from Azula as well. They'll have to work together to find a way out: is their uneasy, rather shaky alliance able to withstand the problems their journey will throw at them? Score: 3.2 / 10 Rated G One Shots: 4.4 / 10 Tags: Zutara Week, Crystal Catacombs

Title: it keeps raining in your heart Rated: T Summary: The unthinkable has happened. Aang hasn't survived his battle with Phoenix King Ozai, and Zuko and Katara have to flee the Fire Nation palace in a hurry. The world is barren, and the future is uncertain. Will they find the new Avatar before the Fire Nation does? Will they ever be reunited with their friends and family? And what will they do about Azula, whom Zuko, despite everything, couldn't leave behind? Score: 3.2 / 10 Rated T One Shot: 2.3 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Lost the War

Title: between your waves Rated: G Summary: Ten years after the comet, Zuko asks Katara to come to the Fire Nation palace. They haven't seen each other in a while, and Katara is nervous. It turns out Zuko has finally gotten a lead on where his mother might be, and wants Katara along for the ride. On the trip, old feelings resurface, and while there are numerous misunderstandings, they are still drawn to each other.

Oneshot/prologue for Zutara Week 2020: Reunion. Score: 2.6 / 10 Rated G One Shot: 3.3 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Misunderstandings, Awkward Encounters

Title: you're the only thing i've ever truly known Rated: G Summary: After Kanna's death, Zuko stays in the South Pole for a little while to help out his friends. Katara doesn't know how to handle his kindness, but is thankful for it. Together, they reminisce about what life and death means, and Zuko makes a promise to Katara. Score: 2.5 / 10 Rated T One Shot: 3.2 / 10 Tags: Zutara Week, Fluff, Some Angst