#it just takes A While and it's slooooow

[radley-writes]

I WILL RESIST!!!! I WILL BE STRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL SEND OFF THE GODDAMN BOOK

Liesmyth is SOOOO nearly ready for subs

this is, of course, the perfect time to start writing three new projects at once

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.

chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3

a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!

chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982

Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.

“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.

One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.

“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.

The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.

“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.

While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.

Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.

“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.

The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.

In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.

It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.

“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.

“What? Oh, mhm.”

She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.

“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”

The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“

“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.

It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.

“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”

The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.

Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.

So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.

The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.

“Shit…you okay?”

His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.

Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.

An angel--dressed like a devil.

You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.

“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.

“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”

The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.

“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”

You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.

Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.

He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.

Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.

As far as he was concerned, that changes today.

Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”

A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.

Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.

“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.

Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”

There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”

Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”

It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.

But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.

The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.

Deep breathes. Deep breathes.

“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.

Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.

All of it.

Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories

“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.

You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”

“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”

I need to find a damn job.

You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.

You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”

Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.

“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.

“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.

“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.

You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”

The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.

The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.

Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”

“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”

Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.

“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.

She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”

You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.

Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“

The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.

Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.

You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“

“Ho-ly shit.”

Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.

He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.

“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.

Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.

Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.

Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”

Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.

She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.

Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.

Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”

Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”

“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.

“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”

Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”

Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”

“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.

The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.

Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.

He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.

“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.

You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”

He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“

You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”

Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.

Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”

With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”

The for now went unsaid.

Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”

Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”

When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.

“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”

And with that, the floodgates opened.

You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.

It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.

"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.

You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.

"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."

"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.

"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.

You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."

[wintaerbaer]

things we don't say: part 5.5 (interlude) (kth) (m)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 2.1k

chapter warnings: maya and jk are fighting again :( , and also SMUT in the form of: lots of kissing, light/brief breastplay, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), missionary, creampie, a throwback to part 2, they’re so vanilla but it suits them

a/n: a huge thank you to @btsborahaee for beta-ing on extremely short notice! you’re the best! and an extra thank you, too, to everyone who has shown this series love. it truly means the world <3

listening rec: pieces by andrew belle

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

The night is beginning to wind down, thick summer air turning cool and the noise from inside the venue softening with every passing moment. It’s peaceful—the kind of pleasant exhaustion that marks the end of a big day. Jungkook stretches out at the patio table, resting his hands behind his head. As much as he enjoys a party—loves the pounding of music and the press of bodies—he has to admit that this is pretty nice too, the ease that comes with good company and a more intimate setting.

It also helps that Maya and Mingyu have rejoined the group, settling his imagination, which had been running rampant while they were gone.

“Tae and Y/N haven’t come back this way, have they?” Jimin wonders, peering around as if he thinks that saying your names will cause you to appear.

“I haven’t seen them since dinner,” Maya says.

Joshua shifts in his seat, tilting his head out of curiosity. “What’s their deal anyway?”

It’s like a collective sigh passes through half the table. A heavy breath that’s half amusement, half exasperation. “You noticed?” Jimin asks with a smirk.

Wonwoo coughs out a laugh—a loud bark that draws all eyes to him.

He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“He’s in love with her,” Maya says, ever-direct. “Has been for as long as I’ve known them. Probably longer. But he’s too afraid to make a move.”

Mingyu sighs in understanding at her side. “Ahh, been there.”

“You have?”

He turns his head and regards her warily, like he didn’t quite mean to say that and he’s just remembered that he’s in the presence of a relative stranger. “Uh, yeah. With one of my friends in high school.”

“What happened?”

He hesitates, picking through his words carefully. “I spent freshman year of college gathering up the courage to tell her how I felt once we were both home for summer break.” A shrug flows down his back. “She rejected me.”

“Aw, Mingyu, I’m sorry,” Maya coos, and the enamored look on her face makes Jungkook nauseous.

“It’s fine. I moved on,” Mingyu says (A shame, Jungkook thinks). “But I can understand your friend’s predicament. Maybe it will work out for him though.”

A rush of boldness floods Jungkook’s veins, and he leans forward, looking deliberately at Maya. “It could definitely work out for him,” he insists, “because Y/N has been hurt in the past, and Tae understands that. He wants her to know that things could be different, but she just needs to let him in. That’s the problem.”

Maya’s eyes flash, clearly catching the double entendre of what he’s saying. “The problem,” she spits, “is that people have a pattern. And Tae’s pattern is that he’s far too scared to take a risk. Abandonment issues run deep, but some people don’t understand and respect that.”

“I und—“

“Tae has his reasons,” Jimin jumps in, defending his friend. “He just needs time.”

Maya snorts, and Jungkook can tell he’s hit a nerve as she continues her rant, the rest of the group quietly looking on in a mix of unease or confusion. “Time? Give me a break. He’s had almost twenty years worth of time.” She crosses her arms as she rolls her eyes to the heavens, scoffing a laugh of defeat. “Honestly? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that people don’t change. People who sleep around will continue to sleep around.” She pierces Jungkook with a look he feels in the marrow of his bones. “And guys like Tae will always have a reason to be afraid.”

Her head shakes, and Jungkook thinks she might be holding back tears.

“At this rate, we’ll all be dead before he makes a move.”

Taehyung’s mouth is relentless.

From the moment you lean forward, his lips chase yours—desperately seeking—and barely even give you the time and space to breathe. Like he no longer sees use for oxygen.

If someone had asked you a week ago what you thought kissing Taehyung would be like, you would've said careful and calculated, just like he usually is during the day-to-day. But instead, you're getting all fire and a hunger you didn't know he was capable of—urgency in the rough pace of his mouth and the frantic ministrations of his hands digging into the nape of your neck, angling you towards him.

For what it's worth, you meet him beat for beat, nipping at his lower lip, sliding your tongue against his, and tangling your fingers into the thick mane of his hair. A groan emanates from someone's throat—you're not even sure whose—and suddenly, he's gripping you around the waist to drag you across his lap with a growl until you're straddling his hips, crowding him against the headboard as he clutches you to him tightly.

You press closer, closer, closer, crushing your lips together for a bruising kiss and savoring the feel of his arms banded across your back, and the only thing you can think is that you can’t believe you didn’t do this sooner. He’s heaven incarnate, the taste of him ambrosia and nectar, and you can’t get enough.

It’s not enough.

You finally pull away for air, and his lips, still seeking skin, trace a path across your jawline and down the column of your neck as your fingers find their way to the buttons on his shirt. You’re frenzied, fumbling as you undo them one-by-one and let out a gasp of relief as the fabric falls open and allows you access to the warm skin underneath. You greedily run your hands over his chest and stomach, desperate for more, more, more, and he responds in kind, slipping his own palms under the cotton of your pajamas as he continues to nibble at your neck and groaning when he finds you bra-less.

Warm palms cup your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over perked nipples, and you move to push his shirt down his shoulders, immediately leaning in to bite and suck at the protrusion of his collarbone.

His head falls back against the headboard, and for the first time since you kissed him, he rasps out, “Y/N, my God.”

It sets your blood on fire, the guttural, fucked-out sound of his voice. But you miss the feel of his lips. “Don’t stop,” you murmur, stripping yourself of your own top and diving forward to kiss him again.

He moans once more, the vibrations dancing along your tongue, and the thought repeats that you should’ve been kissing this man every damn day. Should’ve been embracing him at every chance like your life depended on it.

From here on out, you think it just might.

You trail your hands down his torso, and he bucks his hips underneath you, drawing your attention to the hardness pressed against your pelvis.

“Tae,” you gasp, breaking away, and he takes the opportunity to arch his back and pull a nipple into his mouth. “Taehyung.”

But he’s not listening, purely focused on the mounds of your breasts, and so you take it upon yourself to torque your body, flipping the two of you until you’re on your back, and his weight is digging you into the mattress.

The change in position causes a temporary slow in movement, affording you new skin to explore as you roam the expanse of his back, Taehyung’s fingers reverently tracing the lines of your ribcage. It’s not long, however, before your motions ramp back up as you work to shimmy off your pants and clumsily free him of his own.

Finally bare to him, you slow down for real this time as his own touches become tentative, the warm air of the hotel room on his skin seeming to sober him up a fraction. He pauses with a hand on your hip, his other arm braced at the side of your head, not seeming to know what to do next.

Bold and eager—yet sure of your next move—you wrap your fingers around the smooth length of him, relishing the sharp intake of breath you feel at your ear.

“Need you,” you whisper. “Need you, Tae.”

He hesitates only a second longer before his fingers are dipping down between your legs, the two of you sighing in sync at the feeling. You line him up, raising your head to brush a gentle kiss to his mouth, trying to transmit confidence as you fold your legs around his waist.

A stoppage in time as he bumps his nose against yours. Flutters soft breath across your cheeks.

And then he pushes in.

Your lungs cease to function, every cell in your body focused on that single point of connection. You're whole. Full. Complete. Amazed at the ease with which you fit together—two puzzle pieces finding their match. And Taehyung is certainly not unaffected himself as he pulls back to look at you, emotion swimming in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours, his lips still ghosting your skin. And it could be a trick of the light, a haze brought on by the hormones currently coursing through your body, but his eyes look wet. “My angel.”

He kisses you then, slow and deep, taking his time as you both adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. You've never felt this comfortable with anyone before, never trusted someone so fully to see you at your most intimate and vulnerable. And he may have called you an angel, but with him above you like this—hovering, ethereal, and burning against you—you think it might actually be him who's heaven-sent. Your beautiful, beautiful man.

His hand charts a course up your body, guiding your arm upwards until it's resting by your head and he can lace your fingers together with a sigh. One more press of his mouth to yours, a gentle nip at your ear, and then he pulls his hips back—only to gradually ease back in centimeter by centimeter.

The process repeats, the pace slow but not lazy, deliberate intent behind every controlled thrust of his hips. It drives you crazy—the unhurried drag of him, the way he's allowing both of you to savor every nerve and inch of flesh until nothing is taken for granted. Your free hand maps his back, legs wrapping around him even more tightly, and he hitches your thigh to his waist so he can push deeper.

Stars circle through your vision, every sense overwhelmed by him: the press of his hips, the scattered kisses across your neck, the symphony of your mewls and his moans.

It's perfect—he's perfect—and before you even realize it, you're riding the edge of your high, entire body tensing in anticipation.

He notices, dropping his hand low again to rub at your clit and turning the stars you're seeing into constellations.

“Let go. I've got you, baby,” he murmurs. “I've got you.”

It's the low timbre of his voice that ultimately does it, and you fall apart, trembling so forcefully that he releases your hand to wrap his arms around your torso, locking the two of you together. He rides it out with you until he tips over the edge himself, spilling inside with a rumble in his chest like thunder.

One, two, three breaths in.

And it’s over.

Everything stills, the two of you a heaping pile of sweaty skin and heaving chests. And while your head is mostly empty, wiped clean by the experience you just shared with him—perhaps, now, the most important thing you've ever shared with him—a single fact of your new reality persists.

You want him. You need him.

You love him.

He pulls out with a groan and rolls off you, tugging you into his side. You know you should head to the bathroom, should clean up, but the emotional and physical exhaustion and the lure of his skin has you cuddling at his chest.

As your eyelids droop, the promise of sleep looming, he mumbles something, the words blending together in a tangle. You lift your head, heart jolting at the sight of his blissed out face.

“What?”

But he's already fallen asleep, tiny puffs of air slipping through his lips.

You think about nudging him back awake, think about asking him what he just said, where this leaves you, what you’re feeling yourself. But you decide against it, the expression on his face too peaceful to disturb.

It’s been seventeen years leading to this moment, right?

What’s one more day?

a/n: they finally got there :) but there's still a lot of story left! pls consider liking, reblogging, leaving a comment, or sending an ask in the meantime!

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Three

Words: 5.3k

You have your first tutoring session with Ellie, while Joel goes out on patrol. It goes reasonably well, flower penises not withstanding.

Chapter warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, canon-typical violence, slooooow burn

Two | Series Masterlist | Four

He was really trying, but there were just some things he was struggling to get used to. It seemed like Ellie had adapted perfectly back to life in a community, having grown up in a QZ, but Joel was finding it hard. There were just always people around. People who smiled and greeted him with a nod, people who asked him how his day had been and seemed genuinely interested in the answer, people who weren’t trying to take his stuff, kill him, kill his daughter. He wanted to trust it, could see the way Tommy’s pink cheeks had filled out from the lack of stress, examined his own features in the mirror and saw the way his mouth permanently turned down, felt the way his jaw clicked and rolled in its joint from the strain of the last twenty or so years. There was something uncomfortable in how comfortable everything was. He was trying to find the reason, and starting to suspect it was him.

Tommy had put him on patrols, figuring this was the best of Joel’s skills available to Jackson. His patrol partner, Guillaume, was French-Canadian and fancy as fuck by comparison, had spent some time in the French Foreign Legion before coming back to Canada right before the outbreak, and he was both disciplined and elegant in a way that Joel admired and found intimidating. He could barely pronounce the man’s name, let alone make conversation. Joel had never been to Canada. Had heard it was pretty, always wanted to visit the Rockies, but first there was school and then there was Sarah and then there was everything that came after that. Guillaume was, if Joel had to guess, at least ten years younger, maybe closer to fifteen. Joel could tell by the way he didn’t groan when pulling himself up out of a crouch.

But still, out here beyond the wall, he felt more himself then stuck behind it. Even if the QZ, in his smuggling days, he’d felt hemmed in and suburban stuck in his tiny apartment, had jumped at the chance to venture out. It wasn’t just about the ration cards, or survival, even if it might have started out that way. Something in him, the dormant wolf he guessed, liked the open space, liked the prowling and the protecting, felt the pulse of Jackson’s neck between his teeth.

Guillaume was up ahead, Joel’s horse following his as they worked the perimeter. Joel’s mind was wondering, thinking back to Ellie in that little schoolhouse, wondering how long before she got itchy feet too, when he realised the other man had stopped.

‘What is it, Gollum?’ Joel asked, the hair raising on the back of his neck.

‘Someone has been here,’ Guillaume said, in a whisper. ‘The dirt has been disturbed.’

Joel followed the younger man’s eye and could indeed see that there were patches of ground, indentations in the long grass.

‘We should track ‘em,’ Joel said, scanning the treeline. Up ahead, maybe thirty paces, he spotted a broken tree branch at roughly shoulder height. Wordlessly he pointed it out to Guillaume, who nodded.

‘Dismount?’ Joel asked, watching the younger man reach for the knife strapped to his thigh. Guillaume nodded again, making a gesture with his hand Joel couldn’t quite figure out, but assumed it meant shut up ya fuckin’ hillbilly and stop tryina blow our cover.

The two men, despite their size and, in Joel’s case, age, could be surprisingly quiet. They covered the 30 paces to the treeline in a matter of seconds, their footsteps lost to the sound of the wind in the trees. Joel could feel his breath coming in tight and cold across his chest, his own knife gripped in his hand now, hoping he still had the strength in his hands, that his knuckles weren’t so swollen, so chipped, that he couldn’t do damage with them if he needed to. He swallowed, hard, his eyes on Guillaume’s six as the light faded under the canopy.

Another ten paces, a bent tree branch, a couple of light footsteps in the undergrowth. All of it indicated someone had been here recently, the wind not yet having erased the evidence. They were about a 40-minute ride from Jackson, maybe a day and a half’s walk, but there was nothing to indicate whether the person was coming towards them or moving away. In the silence Joel heard his ears ringing, crouching slightly, coiled tight like a spring.

Guillaume waved to him, indicating more tracks veering off to the right, but Joel had found his own set, moving in a straight line further into the trees. He peered into the encroaching darkness, the thicket of underbrush and density of the trunks consuming any light. Neither of them had brought a torch for a daytime patrol.

Reconvening, Guillaume and Joel silently discussed, using their hands and mouthing the words into the air between them, whether the tracks belonged to the same person. Guillaume believed that they did, that this person had doubled back, perhaps become disoriented, delirious, maybe even bitten. Joel was less sure, not willing to rule out a second person, maybe even a third. Guillaume wanted to continue to follow the trail, gesturing impatiently for Joel to follow, but Joel had one eye on the horses, tied up and exposed just on the treeline, felt like if it was more than one person they would need a few patrolmen to work the line.

Guillaume sighed, exasperated, the creaking trees absorbing the sound. With his hands, Joel offered to write the report in the logbook. That seemed to appease the younger man, somewhat.

--

You rolled your shoulders, heard the little crinkle of the muscles as they stretched around the base of your skull. You’d been thinking about it, probably too much, all the things you were going to teach Ellie. Armed with a couple of textbooks and a patchy memory of your own classes, you’d already decided you were going to start with history, maybe talk to her about some of the bigger battles, having the sense that this would be up her alley. If she liked that, maybe you could get her reading some of the books you’d scrounged over the years, managed to beg for if you knew patrols were heading into formerly suburban areas. You didn’t need much, just a couple of the classics. You had a vision, a dream, of Ellie reading War and Peace, or even Crime and Punishment. You knew she’d like them if she had the context, if she could sit still long enough.

You made your way to the Miller house, your arms carrying the lesson you’d spent all night planning in your head. You weren’t going to go too hard too early on the academic stuff, you were going to figure out what she liked. You didn’t want it to be super formal, super structured, but you still wanted to balance the need for academics against the need to make it interesting, engaging enough that she stuck it out. You remembered your little sister was a great reader, had bemoaned the lack of books in the QZ.

Ellie opened the door, her bare feet padding down the hallway as she beckoned you in over her shoulder.

‘Hey, I’m just having lunch, come in,’ she said, casually as she disappeared around the corner.

‘Not mac and cheese I hope?’ you asked, wondering if Joel was here too, if he would hear your little joke, maybe give you another one of those lopsided smirks.

‘Nah, don’t think we’ll do that shit again for a real long time,’ Ellie said, smiling as she spooned porridge into her bowl. ‘You want some?’

‘I already ate, thanks though,’ you said.

Ellie nodded her head, half listening.

‘S’cool you’re doing this for me,’ she said, and you smiled at her.

‘Of course.’

‘Joel said it’s important,’ she went on.

‘I agree,’ you said.

‘Now that it’s not just about…surviving.’

You paused, watching her for a moment. She seemed sad, just for a second, for as long as she could tolerate, before she was shovelling rolled oats into her mouth. ‘I gotta wonder why bother, though,’ she said, and she was looking at you now, chewing but with her eyes glued to yours, watching your reaction.

‘Education is always important,’ you said, and she swallowed so she could interrupt you.

‘Yeah but like, what for? I’m gonna do patrols as soon as I’m old enough, and you don’t need books for that.’

‘You could do more than patrols, though, Ellie, and really it’s important to be thoughtful, and to think critically, if you’re going to plan out an expedition or keep yourself safe.’

‘Joel’s been teaching me that for ages,’ she said, as though this was the definitive answer on the topic. You swallowed.

‘I guess the thing is… life would be pretty dull if all you did was patrols, and you didn’t take the time to be…’ Human. You wanted to say human. To be a person. So many people you’d met over the years had forgotten that part. You knew the dangers of it, the cruelty it allowed. ‘…to think, and to use your mind in a different way.’

She considered you for a second.

‘I’ve met some really dumb people, they didn’t think at all.’ She chewed, and you let her mull it over. ‘I don’t wanna be like them,’ she concluded. You nodded your head, opening the book in front of you. Good enough.

--

Back in Jackson the noise of the main street, the laughter and play of the kids, the chatter of women and men standing out on the street, the construction of the new town hall, all of it assaulted Joel’s ears enough that it made it impossible to concentrate. He wanted to get back to the stables, dismount and tend to the horses, then find Tommy as fast as he could.

He found his brother outside the mess hall chewing on an apple. He saw his brother’s expression shift as he rounded on him.

‘Tommy,’ Joel started, gripping his brother by the arm and pulling him to stand more upright, more at attention.

‘Whassgoanon?’ Tommy asked, around a mouthful, seeing the urgency on Joel’s face.

‘Tracks, we found tracks, me and Gollum.’

‘Comin’ere?’ Tommy asked, and Joel shook his head.

‘Don’t know, not sure, hard to tell. Didn’t find anyone, just tracks and some branches. Gollum wanted to try and track ‘em but I said we needed to come back, bring back more men.’

‘You think it was more than one?’

‘Not sure, Gollum didn’t think so but didn’t make sense, what he was sayin’. About a person maybe getting lost, how could he tell that just from the ground?’

‘He was in the army out in France,’ Tommy said, wiping his mouth.

‘This ain’t France,’ Joel grunted.

‘So, you didn’t try and track them?’ Tommy asked, and watched as Joel shook his head. ‘Could have been someone in trouble.’

‘Coulda been a pack of raiders, or an infected.’

‘You heard nothin’?’ Tommy asked, and Joel shook his head again.

‘Looked like fresh tracks, though,’ he said.

Tommy regarded him carefully, noticing now for the first time the worried look in Joel’s eye, the way he was fidgeting, his impatience.

‘You know you coulda tried to find out more,’ Tommy suggested, gently, and watched as his big brother’s eyes darkened.

‘You weren’t out there, you didn’t know. It felt wrong, is all.’ Joel said. ‘We coulda been outnumbered, we coulda been shot in the back of the head never even seen it coming.’

Tommy considered this, considered his brother, what he must have seen, what he must have gone through to get here, to bring Ellie with him, keep her alive. He hadn’t asked what happened to Tess, hadn’t pressed for the details. He knew that his brother would give them to him if he felt like it, and that Tommy would probably wait forever.

‘Brother, it’s OK if you ah…if you’re not…’

‘I’m doin’ fine, just don’t want to go running off after a pack of raiders because Gollum don’t reckon there’s a threat.’

‘I get that,’ Tommy said.

‘So you comin’ or what?’ Joel asked, finding it hard to stand in one place all of a sudden.

‘To look at some branches and some dirt however many miles outside these walls?’ Tommy asked, and saw the way Joel’s eyes were darting around, back to the stables, over to the gates. ‘Nah, brother, if they’re out there they ain’t getting’ in here.’

‘Just wanted backup, thought it would be better,’ Joel said. He could feel heat on his cheeks, his tummy twisting and unsettled in a strange way.

‘Y’know she’s safe here,’ Tommy said, and Joel grunted, tired of the conversation, of being condescended to by his idiot brother, soft after years of living behind a secure gate.

‘I know it,’ he said, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice. ‘Told ya I was fine.’

--

Ellie was getting tired even though you’d only been working for two or so hours, the light turning golden as the afternoon settled in. You’d sat her up at the kitchen table but now you realised she was feeling restless, that the walls were closing in on her. You’d been going over World War I, in the lead up to the Great Depression, but she was struggling with all the different countries and you’d started to realise you maybe needed to get her an atlas first. It wasn’t the first time you’d been confronted with trying to teach the whole of human history to kids without any frame of reference with which to understand. But you persisted, because they needed to know it, because they were going to carry the history of the world in their words and their stories, because without them knowing, without them holding it, humanity would finally be wiped clear.

‘Maybe let’s switch it up,’ you said to Ellie, who was slumping over on her forearms, her chin resting in her hands.

‘Yes please,’ she said.

‘How about we do some botany?’ you asked, and she couldn’t hide her disappointment.

‘What’s that mean?’ she asked, barely raising her head.

‘It means let’s go sit outside, sit in the sun for a while.’

The Miller house was one of the originals in Jackson, which meant that it still had a little fenced area out back, where years and years ago someone might have been able to grill while watching their kids play under a sprinkler on a hot day. It also meant, though, that it was overgrown, the plants long having gone to seed, the grass thick and wild. You sat with Ellie on the edge of the porch, looking out at the weeds and the wildflowers. It reminded you of her.

‘Ok, so let’s talk about how plants pollenate,’ you said, picking a flower and dropping it into Ellie’s hands. ‘The thing about plants is that they need each other to grow. Flowers reproduce like humans do, so that means they need…’

‘Wait,’ Ellie said, her face incredulous. ‘Are you saying flowers have penises?’

‘Umm…well kind of?’ you said, trying to be serious as she broke out into fits of giggles.

‘This whole yard is full of dicks?’

‘Stamens,’ you said, and Ellie grinned again. ‘And other flowers make umm, well kind of like eggs I guess, that need the pollen that the stamen produce.’

‘This is sick,’ Ellie said, and you were trying not to grin at her, the warmth of the sun on your skin making you forget that you were supposed to be the serious adult in this situation.

‘It’s nature, Ellie.’

‘So out there right now,’ Ellie said, gesturing again to the yard, ‘is a plant orgy?’

You paused.

‘I mean…’ you started, and it was enough for Ellie to see that she was right, and she was howling then, doubled over with giggles.

‘Grossssssss,’ she said, and you were again reminded of how young she was, how exposed to such terrors in so many ways and so innocent of others.

‘I haven’t told you the best bit,’ you said, about to regret it but going for it anyway. ‘The pollen can’t easily get to the eggs without help, so things like bees or beetles or sometimes animals pass by the flowers and spread it around.’

‘Oh my god it’s a floral threesome,’ Ellie said, and you were trying not to giggle now, Ellie’s laughter creating little bubbles of joy in the air between you such that you couldn’t resist them, let them envelope you.

‘Are you learning anything right now?’ you asked, and Ellie shook her head.

‘Just that the world’s more fucked up than I thought,’ she said. You sighed.

‘What about cordyceps?’ she asked, suddenly, and you saw her pull on her sleeve. ‘Is that like…is that an orgy too? Inside people?’

Her face was serious now, and you felt the conversation shift.

‘No, fungus is what they actually call asexual, it doesn’t do the pollen thing, it does spores.’

Ellie considered this for a moment, and you watched the cogs turn in her head. ‘That seems right,’ she said, eventually. ‘There’s nothing sexy about those clicking motherfuckers.’

‘Ok, language,’ you said, and she glared at you, offended. ‘Sorry but I am here to do a job.’

‘I’m right though,’ she said, crushing the flower you’d given her in her fingers, rubbing the pollen between her palms, rolling it into a kind of paste.

--

Joel was not fine. Down at the mess hall he kept seeing Gollum and his younger friends, the bunch of them huddled over a map of the area, tracing the river up by the dam to see if they could work out where a person might wonder if they got lost. It was stupid, Joel knew any person coming up this way was coming because they had heard of the fabled safe haven beyond the gates, where the infected couldn’t tread and where raiders were kept at bay. Where there was safety and children and the world was going on, this tiny little piece of heaven that would surely welcome any comers brave enough to walk their way up to it.

He chewed his dinner like it had personally insulted him, wondering briefly where Ellie was. Wasn’t like her to miss dinner, but she was also starting to make some of her own friends, arcing away from him in that way that teenage girls do, and he was fighting down the panic, the searing abandonment, to let her go and be at home here, to find herself a place. Everything that had gone down in Salt Lake was to give her this, a chance at a future, at a normal life. He wasn’t going to mess it up now just because he missed her.

He'd been thinking of her the moment Guillaume said he wanted to keep going, knew in his bones, in his sinew, that if they were set upon he wouldn’t be fast enough, wouldn’t be able to get back to Jackson on his own, to warn the town, to send it into lockdown. Guillaume had a chance, but not if there were more than a handful of them and not if Joel had already fallen. Joel knew that his body and Guillaume’s would be lost to the mud they’d be left in when they were slaughtered where they stood. Then it would be on to Jackson, to Ellie and Tommy and Maria asleep in their beds.

He felt it starting to grip him, the tight little hand of panic wrapping itself up in his lower intestine and tugging, the shift in his heartrate sending tremors into his hands. Ellie tucked up in her bed thinking her dad was out there protecting her, not knowing the walls were being breached as she slept. Joel tried to swallow, found that his throat was too dry, dropped his spoon onto his plate and reached up to pull at his collar, give himself some room. Ellie’s blood seeping into her sheets, her last gasping breath wondering where her daddy was. Joel coughed, felt like his throat was closing, his ears ringing loud enough to drown out the mess hall around him. Blood on his shirt and on his arms, hands held tight and firm over punctured skin.

Joel stood up so fast he nearly kicked his chair over, the food turning sour in his gut as he strode out of the mess hall. Time to get air, time to get home, time to find Ellie and put her safe in the house, stand by the door and stop anyone from entering. He got home in record time, his heart thumping hard and insistent in his chest. He just needed to see her for a second, make sure she was alright, and then he would be able to breathe again.

Pulling open his front door hard enough to take it off the hinges, he called for her, his voice bouncing down the hall. He called again, his boots thumping into the living room, finding it empty, feeling his mind starting to unravel, his thoughts whirring faster than he could catch them. He tried again, preparing to take to the stairs when he heard the backdoor swinging open.

‘You finally home old man?’ she called, and he turned towards it, his legs carrying him in the direction of her voice before he’d even really thought about it.

‘Ellie?’ he called again, rounding the corner to find her standing, bare foot and smiling in the last of the afternoon light.

‘You eat already?’ she asked, and he felt the slack return to his muscles, the breath expand again into the bottom of his lungs. He felt shaky and woozy, wanted to sit down and also pull her to him, check her over just to try and ease his racing mind.

‘I could go and get something,’ you called from over her shoulder, and Joel felt his stomach drop, again, peering around his daughter as he saw you perched on the edge of the porch, a textbook in your lap and a notepad on the ground in front of you, covered in Ellie’s scrawl.

‘Hi Joel,’ you said, when he came into view. You waved to him, shyly, and tried very hard not to take it personally when he just panted in your general direction.

‘You’re being weird,’ Ellie observed, and Joel turned his eyes back to her. His heart was still racing, his hands still trembling, but he was home and so was Ellie, and now so were you, and he had interrupted a moment of innocence, a moment ripped from the future he had bought for Ellie with blood, and he was a fool and a coward and a very, very tired one at that.

‘Ate already, but you guys keep learnin’,’ he said, his voice gravelly and unsure. He rested his hand on his chest, right at the base of his sternum, and tried to breathe into it.

‘You OK?’ you asked, moving to stand up, but he held his hands up to you.

‘No, stay,’ he said, moving back from the door and into the house, his feet carrying him into the kitchen. ‘I won’t threaten to cook for you, let me go back to the mess and get you somethin’. Both of you somethin’.’

After he was gone, Ellie turned to you.

‘He was being weird,’ she repeated.

--

Joel sat on the couch in the living room, listening to you and Ellie chat. You’d been at his place almost all day, teaching and entertaining his girl, and you didn’t seem to be tired at all. Joel was exhausted, his bones creaking. He still felt out of sorts, a knot in his stomach at the thought of someone prowling outside the walls. He had to remember what Tommy had said, that they weren’t going to get in unless invited. He had to put trust in other people to believe it, though, and he’d learned long ago that’s not how you stay alive.

He heard Ellie giggling again, and he tuned back in to your conversation.

‘Does Joel know about the plant dicks?’ Ellie was asking, and he was up and heading in.

‘Do I know about the what?’ he asked, and he turned to you, saw that you were furiously blushing. You’d both finished your stew, were now just sitting at the table, Ellie leaning all the way back on her chair.

‘Flowers have dicks and they’re constantly orgy-ing each other,’ Ellie said.

‘Orgy’s not a verb,’ you said, because you were going to make this conversation educational if it fucking killed you.

‘What the hell you girls been doin’ all day?’ Joel asked, pretending to be offended. Ellie laughed, seeing through it immediately.

‘Nothin’ you need to worry about anymore, old man,’ she said, and she laughed again when Joel swatted her comment away. You couldn’t help noticing, because you were trained to watch, that Ellie started dropping her g’s when Joel was around.

Joel pulled out a chair and sat down beside you, glancing down at the books piled up, now closed, on the table.

‘She been good to ya today?’ he asked you, nodding his head towards Ellie.

‘She did a great job,’ you said, really meaning it. ‘I didn’t expect to be here so long, I’m sorry if I’ve overstayed.’

He waved this comment away, too.

‘Happy to have you here looking after her, feel better knowin’ she’s got someone here.’

‘I’m sittin’ right here y’know,’ Ellie said, and you turned to her.

‘Sorry, I used to hate when the adults talked about me like I wasn’t there, that’s my bad,’ you said. She nodded at you, accepting your apology.

‘Canna go see Dina?’ she asked Joel, and he nodded.

‘It’s late, don’t be long,’ he called after her, but she was already up and heading down the hall.

‘She really did do well today,’ you said to him, and he nodded at you.

‘She’s a bright girl,’ he replied. You heard the front door slam, taking it as your cue to leave.

‘Wait,’ Joel said, reaching out and nearly taking your arm, stopping himself just in time. ‘I wanted to…ask you somethin’.’

‘Course,’ you said, sitting back down.

‘You ever get…I mean you work in that schoolhouse, and it’s so…the whole place here it’s just like…’

He was floundering, and he knew it, and he couldn’t stop it.

‘I had a hard time when I first got here,’ you said, throwing him a lifeline that he snatched up, held fast to his chest. ‘It felt like…I don’t know, like a mirage?’

Joel nodded. ‘Keep waitin’ to wake up, back in some forest somewhere.’

‘Yeah, I remember that,’ you said. ‘I mean it’s been a while, but I remember that feeling. Not being able to trust it.’

You watched as Joel stared down at his own hands, picking at the cuticles. You sensed he wanted to say more, and also that he wasn’t going to allow himself to. You waited.

 ‘I felt like that, in your schoolhouse,’ he said, trying to explain in a way that would make sense, hoping you would understand enough that he didn’t have to say it out loud. ‘Took me back to before. Couldn’t believe my eyes, felt like time travel. Would have spun me out ‘cept you were there.’

‘What did I do?’ you asked, surprised.

‘Don’t rightly know, but you did it,’ he said, simply.

‘In the schoolhouse, you felt like it was before? It felt too normal?’ you asked, and he nodded.

‘Too comfortable,’ he agreed.

‘Give it time, maybe?’ you suggested.

‘Just want her to do good here,’ he said, and you knew he meant Ellie, and that he was keeping you here at his kitchen table, telling you this, so that you would come back, so that you would keep trying for her. You didn’t know what he’d done to get her here, but you knew it must have been terrible because it couldn’t have been anything else, and now he was asking you to make it worth it, and you were surprised by how fervently you wanted to.

‘She will, and you will too,’ you said, and you realised you’d reached out and put your hand on his, and that his eyes had travelled to yours, and now you were gazing at each other, a little bit of shock on both of your faces at the electricity pumping out of your hand and into his skin, at the weight and the heat of it. Joel felt it travelling up his arm and into his chest, felt it start to cauterise a wound he hadn’t realised he was carrying. He cleared his throat, and you pulled back, sliding your hand to your chair and sitting on it lest it reached out to this man in front of you of its own accord again.

‘Didn’t mean to lay all that on ya,’ he said, feeling exposed, suddenly. Shy. You were too warm and too kind and too close in his kitchen. He’d just meant to thank you. Now he was stumblin’ over his words.

‘It’s OK,’ you said, feeling the shift in him, again, the way he was closing off. ‘But I better get going, I’m on the wall tomorrow.’

‘Yeah? You do that, too?’

‘I do, I like it. I feel like I’m helping, like I’m maybe keeping people safe.’ You were standing, gathering your books into your arms. Joel stood, too, his full height and his full breadth expanding into the air around you. ‘Never seen much, sometimes a clicker or two, one time thought it was a man coming up on all fours. Turned out to be a badger.’ Joel grinned, huffing out a quiet laugh.

‘They can be ferocious.’

‘Thank you!’ you exclaimed. ‘Everyone laughed at me, but you want a badger running around Jackson? No, you do not.’

Joel was laughing now, buoyed somewhat by your indignation. ‘No ma’am,’ he said, smiling warmly at you in a way that made your tummy flip.

‘You got the day off?’ you asked, and he nodded. ‘What’re you gonna do with your time?’

His smile faltered. He wasn’t entirely sure, if he was honest. You sensed his hesitation, kicking yourself for prying. ‘That’ll help,’ you said, ‘if you can get a hobby, find something you like, it’ll feel normal quicker. Doesn’t have to be for anyone but you, you already do enough.’

‘Used to like whittlin’, I guess,’ he said. ‘Been a while, probably cut my damn finger off.’

‘That sounds great,’ you replied. ‘Relaxing.’

Your arms were getting tired from the books, but you didn’t want to go just yet, not until he was feeling better, not until you’d managed to get the slightly haunted look off his face. He was nodding at you, but he still seemed unsure. ‘If you wanna, I could use some figurines for the classroom,’ you said, thinking wildly.

‘Oh yeah?’ he said, and you nodded your head.

‘Tried to teach them about the ocean last week. You know how hard it is to describe a whale to kids that haven’t seen anything bigger than whatever they can catch in the lake?’

Joel was smiling again, now, and you felt the warmth of it on your face. ‘No pressure, though,’ you raced to say, suddenly worried you’d accidentally given him another job.

He shook his head, dismissing your concerns. ‘Might need to start smaller than a whale,’ he said. ‘Seein’ as how I’d need a whole lot of wood.’

‘I’ll take whatever you can give me,’ you said. ‘Any sea creature you can. Just please, not a flower. I’ve heard enough about flower penises for a long while.’

He laughed, then, a big boisterous full-sized thing. It set your heart racing, pulled a smile onto your lips. You heard Ellie’s laughter in it, saw her smile as you sat on the back porch in the last light of the afternoon. You saw the wildflowers and the long grass in it, the shock of gold against a perfectly blue sky.

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[a-dauntless-daffodil]

*grabs the Vanguard Vaggie idea and scuttles back under her goblin rug*

OKAY BUT

Imagine, like after they retreat back to heaven, the other exorcists...start talking. They start talking *behind Lute's back*.

At first it's pain and bitterness and betrayal at Vaggie fighting them. 'How could she do this? How could she hurt us?!'

Then, maybe during some hit and run nonsense that Lute has them doing, the conversation shifts. They start noticing that Vaggie doesnt go for the kill unless she has to. Doesn't maim. She always gives them the chance to run, to go home... And they start talking. They talk about those better times with the Vanguard. They wonder aloud why she fights for hell. And maybe, just maybe, they talk about how they miss her. They miss Vaggie. They miss having that feeling of her looking out for them.

I wonder how long it might take for one of them to linger. To lower their weapon. To take off their mask.

Even then, it takes a long time for the first exorcist to *stay* after they should have retreated. For them to ask for a place to stay. But as more and more start to come to Vaggie, to the *Vanguard*, and ask for a home...charlie cant help but be grinning as she holds Vaggie's hand.

ayyyyeeeeeee!!!!

what if there was that slooooow realization that when Vaggie was around, their vanguard, they all felt more like a team together. she liked things done Right and done Well- wasn't bothered with competing- took training and exterminations Seriously- kept them all sharp sure but also turned something that was just Adam's shits and giggles, just a GAME, into a purpose and a duty again. something to be proud of and do their BEST at (while still having fun)

so yeah when Adam and Lute come back with her halo saying she's sided with hell, betrayed them all, damned herself and gets to rot there with them- there's that anger. oh they HATE her for doing that-

because they miss her

and things were better, they all felt better, when she'd been around, and that's gone now and it's her fault

or adam and lute say so anyway

can you IMAGINE in this au, the shift when Lute 1v1s Vaggie... and doesn't come back to heaven with her head?? DOESN't beat her? and Adam's DEAD?

and so are so many of them actually- dead exorcists that vaggie helped kill, that vaggie helped fight off

why?

three years her being in hell and she'd never fought any of them or hurt any of her sisters when they came flying down- (and she COULD have) (used to be one of the BEST after all) it's only when they're sent after her HOME that she fights, almost as if-

as if killing isn't what she wants to do anymore, if she can help it

thats. not the same as turning against them. not the same as her siding with hell- even so lute and adam still wanted her dead, and even then, she'd let lute LIVE...

is that weakness and betrayal?

but she's not weak, if lute couldn't kill her. and she never killed any of them until they came after her. is that still betrayal?

or is it something else

is there anything kind of betrayal here. are they on the wrong side of it...

im not sure, if any of them would take off a mask willingly- risk hell-

i KNOW that even ONE moment of hesitation would get lute turning on them, just like she did with vaggie- worse maybe, now very aware of the danger of letting fallen angels live- HER mistake, not killing vaggie when she had the chance all those years ago

and if a wounded and abandoned exorcist staggered to the gate's of the hazbin hotel? if some of her other sisters went looking for her- KNOWING this time what the supposed 'betrayal' and 'sin' had been?

(a moment of hesitation)

(before one of them drops her weapon to knock on the hotel door)

yeah. they'd find charlie running to help them inside. probably already pulling out bandages- a demon with first aid gear in her pockets, always carried just in case, nothing like they were expecting-

they'd find their Vangaurd waiting there too, having gone ahead and made things safe for them to follow, just like always

that'd be pretty sweet

[iknowshocker]

fav bonkai trope?

oof anon sorry for the wait!! i think you asked twice thank you for saying it again i didn't mean for it to get buried i have so many thoughts here pls i don't even know where to start 🙈

tropes i love to read with them:

enemies to lovers like obviously this is what we had what we wanted what we all deserved so i'll eat that up every single time with hardly any notes lmao

enemies to friends to lovers there's something SO wholesome to reading them grow to like each other as friends first because i think the layers of things they have in common/what they could learn from each other before getting physically/romantically intimate are endless. (this is kind of what i went for in Hits Different)

i tend to want a slooooow burn every time (unless they hook up in the cave lmao) i think realistically it would take bonnie a while to admit her feelings and kai a while to wrap his head around his so slow burn with lots of tension fits them so well

let me just also add any time they're together but in denial about it lmao like let them be idiots and totally dating for months before they finally both go ....ohhhh

i love a modern!au where he's a scary outcast dork and she's a the preppy cheerleader like you simply cannot go wrong there lol

i've only read a few modern!aus where they have the true age gap between them and i always feel SO guilty because i nearly always vibe with it even though ive gone on record totally crucifying ric for loving caroline lmao

badassbennett!bonnie and covenleader!kai power couple for the win just any time people let them be scary together im sat

little trope-y details i love to find sprinkled in:

anything and everything to do with their scars/healing them/acknowledging them/touching them

bonnie finding out he helped stop her from hurting herself on her birthday

kai being protective of her/hating the way the mfg treats her OR bonnie softening to him and noticing the way everyone is with him and being like "hmm, maybe we were slightly too harsh"

teaching each other magic i love love love 18 years trapped in prison with nothing but grimoires for company kai teaching bonnie who never really had a formal magical education ahhhhhh give it to me nowwww

running the coven together ayoooo

oof when they hyphenate and become bennett-parker's send help

when they have kids and the kids are scary powerful lmaooo like imagine a world where legacies is two sets of gemini witch twins, hope michaelson, and delena's human kids like ??? (you're getting one from me soon but shh just imagine for now)

that's all i've got for now anon lol what are yours??

[bababaka]

Tell me a story. And i'll tell you a thousand more - Bade x reader

Summary: Hollywood Arts, the most privilleged arts school in the USA. And amongst many young talented teens, you were chosen to enter it. To be study there and be part of it. You couldn't believe it.

"Holy shit! I got in!"

This will change your life! And you are determined to make the most of it.

Warnings: swear words, not edited completely, i just needed to get this out of drafts, i will later edit.. And... that's it i guess? Like, bullying, mean teachers, but nothing much i guess. Oh, i also used google translate. So yeah. Have fun.

Author's note: so, i had this in my drafts for a while. I always had a crush on these two, and nobody wrote a fic with those two that fulfilled my need for them, so... here i am. Trying to mash my thoughts together and write something at least nice or ok. Im trying to write well. Don't have high expectations, im not a seasoned writer yet. Might never be. Also, unfortunately for me and you guys, this is a multichapter fanfiction. Sooo, you'll have to bear with me with slooooow updates. And im sorry for that. Anyways, enough chit chat, i present you, the chapter one to this mess.

Chapter 1 : I got in!

“Hollywood Arts”. The most privileged arts school in the United States of America. Only the most talented people passed the test. The list of competitors was huge. But, here you were, Y/N Y/L/N, in front of the school gates. You had passed the test, thousands of people competing against each other, and you had succeeded.

Honestly, it seemed too good to be true. The majesty of the construction, students, certainly in their second and third year, full of confidence, dancing, singing, playing, drawing, acting and even proclaiming poetry.

This was too much to digest.

You could barely believe it when you read the email, your mother cheering and shouting in the background, while you remained frozen staring at the computer, reading and re-reading your school admission.

The best arts school in the country.

You entered.

Holy shit! I entered!

You have always been passionate about dancing.

It all started when your mother caught you in your room dancing to “hips don’t lie” in a completely clumsy and enthusiastic way. She then decided to take you to dance classes. You were 4 years old.

Years passed and you fell in love.

Dancing was expressing yourself. Tell a story. Saying what words were sometimes unable to express. Sadness. Happiness. Emotion. Desire. Anger. Feelings in their purest form.

And then, you discovered ballet.

Ballet made your heart race in a way nothing else did. The slow and elegant steps, fast and rigorous. Dancing made you feel alive, happy, ecstatic.

At the height of your 10 years, watching a small part of the film your mother was watching, Black Swan, before her noticing your presence and kicking you out to your room, you found yourself trapped, in a trance, enchanted by the dance, by the way how the actress moved, how she leapt into the air and landed softly on the stage.

The next day, you begged your mother to take you to ballet classes.

At first, it was difficult. The dance classes previously were fun, relaxed. Here, they asked for excellence. Your teacher was strict and classmates were mean. There were many days when you came home crying or upset. Your mother tried to change classes, convince you to go back to dance classes, but you were stubborn. And you were more than determined to show everyone, your teacher, your classmates, that you were good, that you could be the best. So you did what you could, trained and trained, danced until your toes grew calluses and you could no longer support yourself properly.

It was difficult, but now, more than ever, you saw the results of your efforts. Oh, how you would love to see the faces of the girls who tried to get into the school but failed. You did it.

#Suckit

You would love to rub it in each of their faces. But, you didn't have time for that. What you had to do was take a deep breath, enter those gates and find where your first class would be.

Here we go.

The hallways were crazy, lost students like you walked by, friends who hadn't seen each other for the entire vacation and others who argued, dissatisfied with the classes they fell into.

Although you felt tempted to ask one of the students, you thought it would be safer to ask an adult. Supervisor, coordinator, any adult. A teacher, janitor.

You didn't trust students, especially at a talent school, the ego and arrogance must be astronomical.

You watched Glee. You didn't want to end up in a crackhouse.

But unfortunately, the hallways were full of teenagers, and there was no teacher, sign, or voices coming out of speakers magically guiding you in the direction of your next class.

You look around, searching for someone who was as lost as you. You didn't want to be the only idiot who didn't know their way around.

You find something similar.

A boy your age, talking and gesturing. He seemed to be asking a paralyzed girl for directions. She didn't even seem to be paying attention.

You didn't know exactly why she was perplexed, maybe he was saying absurd things, but you wouldn't be surprised if the cause of the paralysis was the boy's beauty.

He was beautiful. Dark skin, brown hair, delicate features, not to the point of being androgynous, but of being harmonious, pleasing to the eye. A relaxed brown look, although it is becoming confused and dull.

You decided to step in and save the girl the embarrassment of being caught drooling, and, as a bonus, get the information you so desperately wanted. The direction for your next class, acting.

– Excuse me, uh, I'm lost. Could you help me?

This seemed to work. The boy's posture relaxed, and the girl, in turn, came out of her trance and began to glare at you, shooting lasers from her eyes.

The boy smiled. And, wow. He had incredibly white teeth, and it looked like you were the only girl in the world, the tiny curve of his mouth pulled you in like he was the center of the Earth. The look that had a charm, brown like melted chocolate and all you wanted was to dive in and get lost in them.

Perhaps you have entered a trance.

But as soon as he started talking, you forced yourself to pay attention and not make a fool of yourself.

– I'm also lost. I was asking her – he turned to the “laser beam look”, who immediately stopped with the murderous expression. – But I don’t think you know, do you?

– What? I know! Of course I know! Nobody knows more than me! – and then she started walking, supposedly in the direction of the room where the boy had his class. – You're a first year, right? – she asked the pretty boy, completely ignoring you.

He looked at you sideways.

– Uh, yes, yes, I am. – She nods, and turns forward, determined, as she starts talking without stopping.

She says her name, Trina Vega, how she got into school, how she is so talented at so many things, how popular she was, and that they would make a great couple. At this part, you were shocked, eyes widening quickly, mouth falling open. She was… direct.

And maybe a little clueless, considering that the boy started to walk more slowly, putting distance between him and Trina, and standing next to you.

He leans into your side.

– She's a little… eccentric…

You laugh.

– That may be an understatement. – You look at Trina, who continued to talk. – Look, she hasn't even noticed that you're not paying attention, or even close to her.

It was his turn to laugh.

– Yeah… – He clears his throat. – I'm Beck, nice to meet you. – He stops for a moment, and extends his hand to you.

You say your name and take his hand, shaking it. Soon he started walking again so as not to lose sight of Trina, who was still talking.

– You’re a first year too, right? – You nod in response. – Yeah, I imagined it. Which course did you enroll in?

– Dance, more specifically, ballet. You?

– Cool. I came to do drama, acting.

– Cool. – You smile, he reciprocates.

For a moment, you forgot what you were saying, going and even thinking. He was cute, handsome and had a nice voice to listen to, something rare coming from a teenager. The short hair thrown to the side, looked soft, made you want to run your fingers through the strands.

The cute boy's small, happy smile was damaging your brain, because the world disappeared around him and you couldn't think about anything else.

Until, finally, Trina realized that Beck wasn't close to her, much less listening to what she was saying.

– Hey! – she called. You turned to her, who had a frown that turned into a forced smile. – We arrived, and you didn’t tell me your name. – She leans over and smiles at Beck.

You were ignored, again.

– Oh, it's Beck. And this is. – He tries to introduce you, say you name and be polite. But Trina interrups him, muttering “whatever” and heading back to the door.

Well, that was nice.

– Sikowits, I brought two lost students. – Then the bell rings, and Trina turns to Beck. – I'll see you around, Beck. – He blinked. And gone, probably to his own class.

– Please don't. – Beck says, with a pained expression. But it was too late, Trina couldn't hear him anymore, or at least, she pretended not to.

You sympathized with the situation.

It seems that being too handsome had its downsides.

His attention returned to the teacher who was at the door.

Bald, messy hair and beard, a slightly unbalanced look, layer after layer of clothing, he had a sloppy style. Maybe he was a hippie. Or just weird. It was probably both.

The hippie professor smiled, in a warm, disturbing way (you seriously wondered if that man was sane. You hoped he was).

– Be welcome! What are your names?

Beck withdraws into himself, becoming shy. How cute.

– Beck Oliver.

The please-don't-be-crazy teacher leans over to look at a list that was laid out on the table. The list of student names.

He turns to the boy beside him.

– Oliver? Alberto Oliver?

Beck puts his hand on the back of his head, looks at you sideways, and nods.

– Yes, but I prefer Beck.

– Understood! Come in, come in. – He calls Beck with his hand enthusiastically, the boy enters and sits in one of the chairs. Then, the bald professor turns to you. – Your name?

You say your full name.

– Oh yes. It's here too. Come in and sit down. The class is about to start. I just have to find the lost and innocent sheep that are lost in the corridors.

You made a face when you heard the phrase… He sounded so weird that way…

As long as he didn't kill or abuse anyone and was a good teacher, you wouldn't have a problem.

You entered the room and deciding quickly and safely, you turned to Beck, hoping to find an empty seat next to the boy. But, as expected, all the seats evaporated, and Oliver found himself surrounded by people, mostly girls.

You sighed and sat in the front, next to a girl with red hair (it didn't look natural, but you'd ask later) who had a friendly smile on her face. It seemed like a good option.

You sat down, and introduced yourself. The girl smiled, with her white teeth and a gentle and innocent aura formed around her.

– I'm Cat!

You smiled, enchanted by the redhead's cuteness.

– Cat? Like the animal? – the girl walked away, running her hand through her hair, her brow furrowed.

– What? What do you mean by that?

– No! I'm just saying that cat sounds like a kitten. – You explained yourself, nervously. You didn't want to scare the girl.

– Kittens? I like kittens! They're so cute!

You let out the breath you were holding. Cat returned to the bubble of innocence and happiness that she was at the beginning.

– Yes, they are.

Then, the professor, Sikowitz, if that was really what Trina called him, came back into the room, with a coconut and straw in one hand, and sunglasses in the other.

– Well done, class! I'm not going to ask you to introduce yourselves. You will improvise a scene. You will play the person next to you, I don't care if you don't know each other. Create a character and then live the character!

The Hippie Man asked them one by one to come forward in front of the class.

There were some interesting and funny monologues.

A black boy, with dreadlocks, a beautiful smile and lots of charm, played a shy nerd who stuttered around girls and had a puppet who made derogatory comments about the situation.

The scene was hilarious. Especially when he started interacting with the students while in character.

There were some very good ones.

Beck, who, to your surprise, played one of the girls surrounding him, and, unfortunately for Sikowitz, used the teacher as his scene partner. He was visibly uncomfortable. And the girl too. Shrinking in her chair as Beck performed, exposing how irritating she was.

She'll probably leave the boy alone after this.

Probably.

There was also another girl, brown hair, black leather jacket and pants. She was incredible. Before getting into character, she seemed closed off, grumpy, with a frown on her face. But, as soon as the scene began, her entire expression and body language changed to a more clumsy and agitated girl like a nice but extremely clumsy girl.

And other performances could improve. You were part of the last group. See, you were a dancer, not an actress. You knew you had to take acting classes, but that didn't mean it was your strong point.

You had to play Cat. You weren't horrible, but you could have done better. When he had to face all the attentive eyes of your classmates and the teacher, a chill took over your stomach and a pressure to not make mistakes was placed in your mind. At first, it was difficult, but as the scene developed, your performance improved.

As the last student finished presentation, the teacher stood up, applauding.

– Very good! You have to learn and perfect the ability to transform into a character in a short time, to analyze your character and to transform yourself in the snap of a finger. – He snapped his fingers right in your face, you jerked away reflexively, startling yourself. He smiled. And the bell rang. – Anyway. That's all for today. You even had the chance to socialize and get to know each other. – he said as everyone got up and left. You did the same, gathered your things and stood up. You were at the door when you heard him sigh and murmur:

– Ah, being young, I can remember what it was like to have dreams and hope.

…You were sure this wasn't normal…

You heard your name. You turned around, and saw red hair, you looked down, realizing that Cat was smaller than you. That made her even cuter.

– What class do you have now?

You searched your pockets, in the slim hope of finding your schedule. After long, embarrassing moments, you found it and read it out loud.

– Ballet.

– Oh, I have singing lessons now – Cat seemed to deflate. But only for a few seconds. – Do you want to sit with me at lunch?

You responded quickly, jumping at the opportunity of not having to be alone during lunch.

– Yes of course! – You looked around, remembering Beck, hoping to see him, but in vain, he had already disappeared into the corridors. But, you didn't let that bother, or sadden you, you would invite him to sit with you at lunch, in the low probability of being able to do so before the boy was bombarded by people.

– OK! Until lunch then!

Finding the ballet class was easy. You just followed the smell of pain, tears, deceit and extreme competition.

…Actually, you just followed the girls in buns and leotards.

You entered the room, or rather dance salon. The floor was smooth and black, a large mirror covering the entire wall, a large speaker and a piano at the back of the room.

The teacher, apparently, was not there. But the students were already stretching. Some in groups, others alone.

You saw some faces you had already anticipated. The rich, mean girls who were born doing ballet. The girl obsessed and completely focused on doing her best, making her potentially meaner than the other girls. The pretty boy who, because he does ballet, thinks he's cool and that everyone is in love with him. The boy who feels the need to say all the time that he's not gay, he just likes to express himself through dancing!

However, you also saw other faces you hadn't seen before, and that was a pleasant surprise. Dealing with the same types of people became boring.

Hollywood Arts would be a beginning, not only of your artistic career, but of a social life in ballet. I didn't want to ruin your high school experience with drama, toxicity, and cliques.

But unfortunately, you didn't have the best start. Because while you were analyzing and admiring everything around you, your teacher arrived, and it was then that you noticed, everyone was stretched out and dressed appropriately, while you were still standing, wearing jeans, sneakers and a shirt. No stretching.

It was instantaneous. Not only did the teacher's eyes land on you. The entire room was focused on you.

Shit. You flinched.

– You're late. – The teacher says, approaching you, like a predator approaches its prey. A panther, walking elegantly and silently, with total firmness and confidence, about to attack a beautiful and vulnerable little rabbit. The panther knows that the rabbit is already dead. Only a matter of time for death to actually occur, until the panther snatches the prey.

The bunny becomes alert, realizing the danger. Look around. Pay attention to your ears and sharpen your vision.

– The bell hasn't rung yet and class starts in 3 minutes.

The panther stops. Paying attention to the victim's movements, but at no time revealing their position or losing their calm.

– Exactly. 3 minutes and you're like this. – She points to your clothes, with clear disdain. The rabbit flinches, sensing claws wrapping around its fur. – Without the leotard and without stretching. Unprepared. I start my class on time, warm-ups start when the bell rings. So, miss late, you have – the teacher glanced briefly at the clock and turned her eyes to you. – 2 minutes to put on your clothes and stretch, otherwise you will go to detention and will not be able to participate in this class.

The rabbit begins to struggle, panic arising as it sees the possibility of death right in front of it.

– But just to get to the bathroom takes a minute.

The teacher smiles, in a sadistic and amused way.

– Then, I suggest you run.

Crunch! Fur turning scarlet, sharp fangs tearing flesh, paws playing with the limp, lifeless body.

You took off. Hearing giggles and one last image of the teacher's smile

The predator was sated. For now.

You admitted it. You've never stretched so quickly and inefficiently, nor were you so frivolous when adjusting your tights.

But, it was what you had to offer at that moment.

– Miss late! You have exceeded your time of 2 minutes, but as I am in a good mood I will let it pass. Let it serve as a warning to everyone. Be prepared BEFORE class starts. Otherwise, well, you don't want to find out. Now, don't just stand there, join the warm-up!

And you fumbled a little out of pure nervousness, and heard some giggling around, but after a few minutes, you were already in your element.

The warm-up was brutal.

Yes, of course, you already had years of ballet, but still, the teacher seemed to want you to kill yourself in the warm-up. Because it lasted 40 minutes.

To you, it felt like two hours.

Damn, who warms up for 40 minutes? Well, apparently, your new teacher.

When the warm-up, which lasts longer and is heavier than you're used to, finally ends, you're sweating profusely and out of breath. Some were in the same state as you, others were worse, and a group of girls were in better shape, they were sweaty and out of breath, but still, visibly more composed.

The teacher waited in silence for a few moments. Just analyzing all the students.

The teacher approaches the group of 5 who were sitting on the floor, taking in lots of air, barely avoiding getting sick. Some were coughing.

– Pathetic. – She said, her lips lifting in disgust and disdain. – What would your names be?

The group fumbled among themselves, saying full names, others just trying and failing in between, preferring to breathe. One boy almost threw up.

The teacher put her hands in the air and waved them. Exasperated.

– Stop, stop, stop. Are you by any chance animals? Don't know how to speak one at a time? – she sighs. – What were you thinking when they accepted you? Hmph… Disgusting…

– Why does every ballet teacher have to be mean? – a girl next to you commented quietly. You laughed quietly, bitterly, as you watched the teacher insult the poor young teens on the floor.

– It must be something they need to have on their resume. “Expert in torturing teenagers.” – You responded in an equally silent tone.

– Also, didn’t she have a vote in the admission of students? Why does she complain about the school's admissions system if she is part of it?

You shrugged.

– Some evil plan to destroy our self-esteem?

The girl quickly turned to you, a small smile on her face and an outstretched hand, as subtle as she could without drawing the teacher's attention.

– I'm Daisy.

You introduced yourself.

And in mutual and silent agreement, they turned to the teacher. You feared what would happen if the teacher caught the students talking.

Your attention returned to the scene and you only heard the last two names of the group. All red, from shame or exhaustion, you didn't know. The teacher didn't answer anything, just left them on the floor, recovering, and started walking around the room, quickly passing in front of each student.

– You are… Pathetic. Some more than others. But – she made a show of sighing loudly. – As you were accepted, I will make you true artists, dancers. You must breathe ballet, move with elegance and dexterity at all times, and face the world, the stage without fear. The classes will be difficult, long and will demand determination and strength from each person. And I will not hesitate to take punitive action against those who are not taking this seriously. Because, as your teacher, your performance in the future will reflect on my image. Therefore, now they will imitate me. I'm the best, and so will you.

The teacher pauses, and you can hear the tension in the air, the nervousness and everyone shifting in their seats, anxious.

– Am I understood?

Several voices sounded throughout the room, including yours. All saying yes. The teacher smiled.

– Good. Now, let's start the class.

You swallowed hard, already feeling tired, but still, strangely excited. It would be a challenge, and you loved difficult things.

After painful and sadistic hours (yes, hours!), the class was finally released for lunch, and then afternoon classes.

The teacher informed them that the ballet class had an exclusive bathroom and that if they wanted (but, from the disgusted way she sounded, it seemed more like a requirement) they could take a shower there.

You perked up when you heard this, and most of the students did too. It would be horrible to have to continue at school with all that crust of sweat on your body.

So, after the teacher left, everyone packed their things and went to either take a shower or have lunch.

You were more than ready to head to the bathroom and shower. You were tired, but the sweat on your body bothered you more than fatigue.

– Hey, are you going to eat or take a shower first?

You looked to the side. The girl you talked to after the warm-up. Was it Daphne? Daniela? Delilah? No, that was ridiculous. It was something with D.

– Im going to the shower. I couldn't eat something feeling dirty.

– You sure? As we are being released early, the queue is non-existent to buy… Anything.

– I'm sure. – You smiled, slightly touched by the girl’s kindness. She waved and said goodbye to you, leaving for lunch.

After a long and well-deserved shower, you head to the cafeteria where the food was. Heavens, how hungry you were!

Arriving in the area, you began looking for Cat and Beck. Not surprisingly, you found Beck first. Surrounded by people, girls and boys.

You decide to try to get past the crowd and rescue Beck, who now seems overwhelmed.

You squeeze between people, making your way through elbows and curses, until you reach the center, feeling several hateful looks on you.

Beck's face lights up when he sees you, and he calls your name, approaching you.

– Hey, what are you doing? – he asks, ignoring the entire crowd around him, and you can feel the commotion that this generates. You smile, focusing on nothing more than the boy in front of you.

– Trying to save you from this crowd by inviting you to lunch with me and Cat.

– Oh, please! I would love to.

You swear something happened around you. People cursed him, complained, maybe even hit you, but your brain melted a little when you saw Oliver's smile. A captivating, happy, friendly expression. It seemed like the air around him shimmered and exuded something almost surreal.

What brought you back to reality was a tap on your shoulder.

– So, where are you sitting? – Beck asked and then you realized, the crowd had dissipated and only the pretty boy was by your side.

– Uh, actually, I haven't chosen the table, nor have I found Cat yet. – You then start looking for the redhead. The brunette at his side.

– Ah, I see… Who is Cat? Your pet? Are animals even allowed at school?

You laugh.

– No, no. She's a girl I met today, in drama class, while you were being surrounded by… Everyone…

Beck sighed and nodded in a more crestfallen manner. You stop looking around for a moment, to fix your eyes on him.

– Does this happen a lot? You're famous and I'm the only one who didn't notice?

– No, I'm not famous, at least not yet. I'm just pretty. – He shrugs lightly, as if it weren't a big deal. And you stop walking, and let out a disbelieving laugh. This time, his lips move to form a cocky smile.

– What? Are you going to say i'm not? – he prods you, and you fumble over your words, not wanting to deny it, but certainly not wanting to confirm it either. However, to your relief, he just laughs at your reaction and continues talking. – People have always approached me because of my – he raises his hands to gesture quotation marks with his fingers. - "exotic beauty". Eventually, I just got used to it.

You observe the boy next to you. Really analyzes him.

He didn't seem like the kind of boy who was an asshole, who thought he was better than everyone else, who believed he had everyone at his feet, when he really didn't.

Beck just seemed aware of the reality he found himself in. After all, he was handsome. Short but silky hair, great style of clothing that sold the cool kid look. If you had to guess, he seemed like a relaxed but extremely cunning type of boy. The guy who smiled at everyone, but had a mouth that dripped with venom.

You had your thoughts interrupted by a high-pitched female voice calling your name. Cat. He took one last look at Beck, who maintained a relaxed posture and the remains of a smile.

Well, you deduced, only time will show Oliver's true face, whatever it may be.

– Cat! I was looking for you! – you approached the redhead. She lit up.

– And, did you find me?

– Apparently, you found me. – When saying this, the redhead makes a sad expression.

– Oh, wow, what a shame. – You frowned, not understanding the line of reasoning, but before you could say anything, Cat was already addressing Beck. – Hi, I'm Cat. – she introduced herself, waving energetically.

Beck laughed, like you would laugh at something cute a puppy did, and waved back, but without the redhead's excessive enthusiasm.

You guys go look for a table. And when they find it, they realize they had nothing to eat. Luckily there was a food truck nearby, and everyone ordered something.

At the table, everyone talked about themselves. You revealed that although it inspired you, you never saw the film Black Swan. Cat talked about her love for purple giraffes and her brother. You were worried at that part, you didn't know if the small girl was joking or not.

Beck talked about how he moved from Canada with his parents to Los Angeles just for school, and talked excitedly about how he liked cars and was looking forward to getting his own.

When they heard sobs around them, that's when they left the bubble they were in.

– You're a bitch!

A blonde girl, green eyes, swollen and moist. She was the one who jumped out of her chair and screamed. Despite her anguished expression, she looked firmly at the table in front of her, and the person who was sitting there.

You recognized who it was from your theater class. She had a gothic style. Eyeliner, black nails, combat boots and dark clothes.

The green-eyed goth girl, you noticed, raised her eyebrow and took her eyes in a deliberate and prolonged manner to the bare legs of the girl in front of her.

– I'm not the one with the scraped knees.

She smiled cruelly, and amidst the deadly silence, a few muffled giggles could be heard.

The blonde girl choked. Tries to justify herself, you think she had says about a skateboard, but was unsuccessful. Then she resignes herself to letting out a sob and running away.

The goth turned her smile into a frown, and looked around, the many eyes in her direction. She faced everyone and with a loud, rude and direct voice, she shouted.

– What are you looking at? – and everyone went back to doing what they did before. Well, you asume that everyone had done it, you didn't bother to check. You just kept your attention on the girl. Curious. You wanted to know what had happened. And how she had made someone cry on the first day of school.

You hated this type of attitude, behavior, personality. You might not be the kindest girl in the world, but you certainly weren't cruel. Even when you felt the urge to be.

It was a shame that such a beautiful girl, with brown hair and green eyes, could be so horrible.

You assumed that beauty would spoil a person. You just hoped Beck wouldn't turn out to be that kind of person. Then, you finally returned your gaze to the table, and discovered that you weren't the only one who remained looking at her. The pretty boy also had his sights set on the table that only had one mean girl on it.

– She's mean. – Cat spoke up, breaking the silence as well as Beck's admiration and thoughts.

– She is. – Beck agrees, nonchalant.

You remain silent, taking one last look in the girl's direction.

It doesn't take long before the bell rings. You say goodbye to them both and head towards classes in the afternoon. The part of your curriculum is completely normal and, after theater and ballet classes, terribly boring.

Chemistry, geography and math classes stretched out, as if they had no end, like a rubber band that when it thought it was about to break, it stretched a little more. However, it didn't matter anymore, you were finally free to go home.

You were exhausted, physically, mentally and spiritually. Names of teachers, subjects, exercises, classmates piling up and colliding in your brain. You had absolutely no energy for anything.

Unfortunately for you, however, when you open the door to your house, you come across your mother, waiting, sitting in a chair, almost jumping with excitement. The true image of a puppy anxiously waiting for its owner.

Your heart is heavy, and your body and soul scream with frustration. You just wanted your bed. But, your mother sees you and you simply accept that you would have to stay awake for a few more moments.

Your mother spews questions one after another at you.

"How it was?"

“Have you made friends yet?”

“Are all teachers weird?”

“Is there anyone famous?”

“Did they treat you well?”

"Are you well?"

"Are you hungry? I made dinner!”

While eating, you told your mother everything, it didn't take long for you to get excited too, even though you were tired.

You leave out some details, like teachers and some bad people, but otherwise, you confess everything. The many beautiful people, with a few exceptions, the strange talents and habits you noticed, strange and normal teachers.

However, sleepiness and tiredness manifested itself through yawning and heavy eyes. Your mother, realizing this, immediately sends you up to your room to get some sleep.

After a relaxing shower, you lay down on your bed, comfortable under the blankets.

Ah, finally.

[valraelo]

Hello, it's been a while

my art has improved a little.

I'm not so much into TES anymore (still love it, just not current interest), but I am very into Baldur's Gate 3 which as I'm sure anyone reading this knows is a very easy next step.

Have I finished it? NO! I'm still in ACT I because I'm slooooow with games, but it is really fun.

I'm also finally getting to play DnD and I'd love to share everything involving the characters and stories taking place.

what I'm trying to say is, if anyone is still interested in my arts (yes arts, I do multiple things, most of them badly but what matters is having fun.) let me know, I'd love to share as long as I'm not sharing it with no one.

I thought I couldn't post here after my interests changed but then I thought dang, that's really stupid, I can do whatever I want with my accounts now can't I?

[theworldvsyoshiko]

It's day 240, or 4 years since Ortiz landed, so time for a bit of a status report.

The place is finally a proper settlement now, with a rec room, a 2-sunlamp greenhouse, a hospital, a gene lab, and a full defensive wall.

That thing where they didn't have a real researcher for the first 2.5 years really hurt, though. They were able to build + craft, so they generated plenty of wealth... but they didn't have tech. So now they're getting raids of 15 guys with decent guns, and they have 3-4 people on the frontlines, with normal-quality midgame weapons that they had to buy, and two pieces of armor between them. Between Ortiz and Debby, the two mechanitors, they have a Tunneler and a Scyther, which is a nice start, but not going to defeat any swarms. The marsh killbox is nice, but the kids frankly don't have enough firepower for it to make as big of an impact as it should. If it's three of them in cover vs. 15 enemies who aren't in cover in a ranged fight, neither side is going to enjoy the experience.

Which is to say that a lot of raids are borderline existential threats right now. Yoder is scrambling to learn how to make guns and armor to even things up a bit. Yumi should help too.

And speaking of them...

My goal of making this a really close-knit group has mostly come through. There are only a handful of exceptions.

Ortiz doesn't like Yoder, because she's a misandrist who's married, and he's a man who keeps trying to hit on her anyway. If he'd just stop hitting on her, they'd probably manage to overcome the gender thing.

Debby is the real wild card here. She's mutually attracted to both Yoder and Yumi, and her compatibility with each one is over 2. She's going to end up in a relationship with one of them. My money's currently on Yumi. Yoder tried to convert her a while back and annoyed her into starting a fistfight, so Debby is still nursing a grudge. Yumi is actually Debby's closest friend already... because Debby keeps hitting on Ortiz and Edith and getting turned down, so she's holding a grudge against them, too. You've got some real chips on your shoulder, girl.

Yumi is new enough that she isn't close with anyone but Debby, but she likes everybody but Yoder well enough.

Dalila Ortiz

Ortiz is up to 17 shooting, so she's the colony's main combatant now. Psylink level 3 is pretty great too, but she doesn't have the psycasts to really make good use of that, or the time to meditate much anyway. Other than that, though, she's mediocre-to-decent at everything else. Being competent at most things is still pretty nice, though. Most notably, she's the group's second-best doctor.

Edith Ortiz (née Finch)

Edith's the group's main builder, cook, and gardener, and the secondary researcher (she actually isn't bad at it now.) If she were capable of fighting, she'd be amazing. If she were good at medical stuff, she'd still be great for patching everybody up after fights. As it is, she's just pretty great. There's nothing that she does that somebody else can't do almost as well or better, but since everybody else can fight and often needs to spend entire days doing so, she's the one keeping things running pretty commonly.

Debby Stewart

The group's best crafter, second-best shooter, second-best construction person, and third-best researcher. And the backup mechanitor. Her effectiveness at all of this is hampered a bit by the fact that her spine got nearly ripped in half by a bullet in one of her first fights with the group, and she never really recovered. She walks slooooow. Sometimes she takes so long to reach a fight that it's over by the time she gets there. Once the group has the tech for it, a bionic spine for her is one of the top priorities.

Tycho Yoder

Again, those traits: damn. As predicted, he picked up Shooting pretty well even without any passion in it. He spends 80% of his time researching, but he's also the group's main miner, animal handler, doctor, and artist. The animal handling thing would be a bigger deal in a climate where there were more animals around and keeping animals alive wasn't a pain. It gets so cold that most animals will die of hypothermia outdoors, and grazing isn't an option for most of the year, so animals haven't really been a big part of the group's strategy.

Janine "Yumi" Nobuka

Yumi's still a new arrival, but she'll be helping out with mining and construction, and... I mean, she's here to shoot stuff, mostly. Which is fine, because there's a lot of stuff that needs shot. But there's only so much to say about it right now.

[whysamwhy123]

I don't normally do this but fuck it, I'm Unwell and need the distraction. Here's a random OrangeHook drabble/ficlet whatever that just oozed out of my brain in the last ten minutes. Enjoy? Maybe?

''Damn. Who's that?''

Orange's head turns as Hook takes a seat on the couch next to him. His eyes are fixed on the woman on screen. Orange doesn't blame him.

''Stacy Keibler.''

Orange had been in a nostalgic mood lately so he was watching a bunch of old episodes of Smackdown. He didn't think Hook was paying attention, but he guessed a woman like that is hard to ignore.

Hook hums, transfixed as Stacy makes her entrance, that slooooow way she'd go through the ropes while the cameras loving caressed those long legs of hers.

''I like her,'' Hook says, simply.

Orange lets a little huff of laughter out. ''You like blondes.''

Hook smiles. ''I'm a gentleman.''

Orange shakes his head emphatically. But the young man is too busy ogling Stacy to acknowledge it.

''That was a reference you probably don't get it,'' Hook says. ''You see, there's an old movie called Gentlemen Prefer -''

''I know what it's a reference to,'' Orange cuts him off. This kid, he swears.

Hook still cannot tear his eyes away from the beauty on the screen. Orange is having more fun watching Hook, the way his eyes slowly follow her whenever she's on screen, the way his shoulders lower whenever they cut away and then raise the second she's back. It's like he's watching himself back in his teenage years.

''Those legs,'' Hook astutely observes.

Orange gives him a look and this time, Hook actually glances over and catches it.

He smiles at him, ''What? Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about women like that?''

Orange snorts. ''Kid, I was checking out women while you were still in diapers.'' Orange looks back at the screen and yeah. Yeah. He absolutely cannot blame the kid for staring. ''Specifically that one.''

''Good to know we have even more in common,'' Hook says.

A vague memory occurs to Orange, something he's not entirely sure happened but if it did, it's another weird connection between the person beside him and the person on screen. ''I think your dad put the Taz-mission on her once?''

Hook laughs out loud. ''I'll bet. He was probably mad that she's taller than him.'' He paused briefly. ''Those legs.''

''You already said that.''

''It bares repeating. She a wrestler?''

''Kinda? More of a valet.''

Hook nods and his teeth start to worry his bottom lip for a second. It does something to Orange. Always does.

''I'm thinking I need a valet,'' Hook says.

Orange throws his hands up. ''Alright, you twisted my arm - I'll do it. Let me find a pair of booty shorts and I'll be good to go.''

It earns him another even louder laugh. It also earns him Hook's full attention, Keibler be damned.

''I know that was a joke, but...I'd like to see it.''

Orange cracks up, embarrassingly loud. ''You and no one else. But nah, I think you'd suit 'em better. You've got nicer legs than she does.''

Hook's reaction is priceless - a man torn between his desire to defend the honor of his new crush and his own ego demanding that he take the compliment and run with it. In the end, he settles for a smirk and a shrug. Orange returns the smirk.

There's a single beat, before Hook's on him, hands capturing his face, feverishly kissing him while grinding in his lap.

God bless Stacy Keibler.

[missamyrisa2]

you’re genuinely my tickle crush, and all i want is for you to test just how ticklish and twitchy my sensitive feet and royal rod are… for like hours at a time. 🥺

Awweeeee~!! You're toooo sweet darling but whyyyy would you admit such a thing when we have nothing but time to kill as we sit backstage in the haunted theater~ surelyyy the spirits will enjoy as I pin you to this ancient but puffy soft couch with my wiggly fingers attacking your kicking feet while I climb atop your legs~ Oooh you have so much fight and so many squeals ~ carefulllll you'll definitely wake the dead when I get my makeup brush out and buff each and every one of your toes ~ with my spiky soft mascara wand on detail duty twirling between each one ~ mind the gaps darling, mind the gaps. Sooo many giggles in you my goodnesss~!

And with you nice and weak and the moonbeams pouring in the old vacant building I'll be certainly taking your bottoms ~ ooh yes, stripped away and tossed carelessly into the deep dark corner. You wouldn't dare escape now, who knowwwws what those haunting ghouls would do with such a silly thing ~ and besides, I think even if you weren't tickled so weakk you wouldn't try to get away ~ because that doesn't tickle does it? That feels gooood when I pump your rod so slowlllly softly mmhmmmm up and down and upppp and fast fast fast and slooooow~ squeal for me darling. Let's hear it~ come on, that's just my other hand rubbing your side. Don't you just love that criss crossed sensation? Your cute rod plumping up and so wanting, your belly so bounce ~ you don't know what to feel huh? Let's seee how you do with my feather on your cute peacock cock cock~ and my fingers on your toessss

Mmmhmm ticklish ticklish toesiesssss ticklish toes~! Coochie coo cutie pie. Can you handle my fingers tracing under your toes while my feather kisses under your tip with the slightest but meanest of caresses? Oh you can go ahead and gigglecum but the tickles aren't stopping~! and quiver and writhe all you like tooo I'll just put your feet in my lap and pin your legs with mine and we'll tease and taunt that tickle tip until you can't think straight~ and then maybeeee we'll see who we can wake up by making you gigglecum so softly for meee~<3

[spotsandsocks]

Seven (shh I can’t count) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by @canonicallyobserving911 and @rogerzsteven tysm. It’s been a trying week and I have been particularly unproductive today so maybe this will kick start my enthusiasm- I like this scene so for anyone reading this AU have more than seven sentences at the tournament. It’s a couple of chapters away yet. So don’t get your hopes up slooooow burn

Eddie's head jerks towards the entrance of the tent where Chimney has set up for his treatments. Each House has an area within it but it’s only them here at the moment. Eddie’s side, which he’d rather die than admit was a little sore is forgotten in the unexpected presence of his Prince.

He only has eyes for him so he doesn’t see Chim’s expression or his eye roll or notice him step away discreetly. It’s only Buck he sees.

“Are you badly hurt?”

Buck’s nose wrinkles in a sympathetic wince at the red pattern on his chest where the lance that had taken him out of the competition had landed, his eyes travel across his body and Eddie finds he likes the way they roam as Buck takes a full catalogue of the damage.

The Prince moves closer until he’s right in front of him.

“It looks sore” his voice is gentle and his eyes are fully focused on his injuries. “ I was worried when I saw you fall.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say he’s fine when all the air is sucked from his chest as Buck touches him. Suddenly he’s frozen, not even his chest rises or falls while slightly calloused fingers touch him, only lightly, just the tips grazing agaist the bruise slowly forming on his ribs. Eddie's skin tingles with the contact. The Prince’s fingers gingerly explore his side. Buck appears captivated by the markings and the moment last a little longer until the spell breaks suddenly with a sharp cough off to the side. They both flinch and their sudden loud grab for air happens at the same time. Eddie notices how they both turn towards the source of the noise at the same time. The man leaning against a nearby table looks simultaneously amused and exasperated. Chim nods his head once in Prince Evan’s direction “Your Buckness”.

Tagging some who are reading along and some who might want to share their own 7ish sentences

@alyxmastershipper @buddierights @lostinabuddiehaze @hippolotamus @spaceprincessem @jobairdxx @shortsighted-owl @monsterrae1 @ajunerose @the-likesofus @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @heartbeatdiaz @fiona-fififi @yelenasbuddie @thekristen999 @caroandcats @yawningmicrobe @dickley-buddie

[lemmetreatya]

Onyankopon going reeeeeal slooooow for once and taking his time, chest against yours with one hand on your thigh and one in your hair, thumb stroking your forehead. Painstakingly thrusting in and out, whispering "good girl, mama" when he forces every inch of him inside you and holds it there while he twitches just to drive you crazy. send tweet.

first of all: fuck you.

second of all: thank you.

third of all: i agree. 

content: smut.

Because fuuuuuck, he’d genuinely decide to be a menace that day. Hands taking a grasp through your hair despite him knowing how much that shit irks you. But that’s his goal; To piss you off. To tease you. To indulge in you despite your wants or pleas for more. 

He doesn’t care how much of his weight he’s pressing onto you — he’s in love with the warmness of your breasts against his chest. Isn’t concerned with you pushing against his hand for him to lower the angle of your thigh either — He wants, no needs, to dig deeper inside the warmness of your gooey cunt. It’s where he belongs, he tells himself. And to be quite fair, who’s to tell him elsewise? He’s even aware that his thumb is supposed to be the ‘soothing’ effort of all this. For you, he tells himself, but really it’s for him. Needs to give himself a constant reminder that you’re okay with him being a menace despite your vocal pleas. That you’re okay with his disgraceful behaviour because you consented to it. 

“Ony, I want you to make love to me.” You purposely slur before laughing. 

Your wine drunk giggles always made Onyankopon want to reciprocate them but with the way you were looking up at him with your head in his lap, the man could only form different thoughts. 

“But I always make love to you, baby.” He says back, his hand unable to refrain from caressing just across your forehead. 

But apparently you don’t agree, because instantly you’re shaking your head with a pout.

“No, I’m talking about actually like ‘making love to me’.” Your eyes can’t help but catch his. “I need your dick to make me go crazy the most carefulest way you can.” 

Onyankopon is so determined for you to realise that he indeed can make love to you, and definitely in a way that’s supposed to corrupt your every thought process. And it’s so obvious words of praise come easy to him when it’s you. You’re just so praiseable. Maybe he’ll start a religion for you; Be your sole worshipper and indulge within all your sacraments. No wonder he finds himself commending you for every fat tear that crawls down your cheek and every whine that sounds something akin to his name. 

You’re literally holy. 

[wintaerbaer]

things we don’t say: part 3 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 9.0k

chapter warnings: kook has literally zero chill (i’m so sorry about him), jimin channels his inner dominic toretto, taehyung is so sweet he’s giving me cavities, discussions of infidelity, swear words, namjoon still gives the best hugs

a/n: thanks for the patience in waiting for this one! for those who may have missed it, i ultimately opted to split this into two chapters, so now we’re looking at seven parts and an epilogue. :)

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"I can make you a drink?"

"It's noon."

"So?"

You sigh, slumping on the couch. "I appreciate it, Kook, but I'm just…" You stretch out, pressing your toes into his thigh. "Tired."

The week has gone by in a blur of tears and sleep. You'd taken the rest of the week off, thankful both that you had been carefully banking your PTO in case of an emergency and also for having a manager that prioritizes empathy and mental health. When you'd practically had a breakdown explaining your situation over the phone, she'd quickly granted you the time off—no questions asked—and told you to take care of yourself.

It's been mostly your friends taking care of you, however. After the night you came back from the beach house, you'd been whisked away to the guys' apartment to stay with them, camping out on their pull-out couch, which they’d insisted you could have for as long as you want (Taehyung had pushed you to take his bed, offering to stay in the living room, but you'd begged him not to make you feel worse by displacing him, and he'd eventually acquiesced). Maya and Taehyung had then gone back late the next day to pack you a bag with no Jace encounters.

He'd only texted you once—to provide a weak apology and to let you know he'd clear out of the apartment.

Still, your plan is to stay with the guys for a while; you don't think you could bear to be in your apartment alone right now, especially knowing that Jace has been with someone else in your bed. It's like the image is seared behind your eyelids, tormenting you every time you blink and pushing your mental fortitude to its absolute limit. You haven’t made it a single day without a breakdown, feeling as though you’re constantly trying to walk an emotional tightrope.

Except the tightrope isn’t pulled taut and is also on fire.

That being said, you welcome the distraction of having your friends around. Between Jimin working days, Jungkook working nights, and Taehyung having a flexible schedule with the museum and his photography gigs, someone is always around to spend time with you. Maya’s also taken it upon herself to pop in almost every night with wine, chocolate, or some other variation of breakup food and hang out for a while. You'd feel bad about their attentiveness (you feel sometimes like they're babysitting you), if not for the fact that it's the only thing keeping you remotely sane as you fluctuate between sobs and an overwhelming numbness.

This Sunday afternoon, it's Jungkook's turn to babysit; Taehyung left to run some errands an hour ago, while Jimin slept in late and is currently taking a shower. Jungkook's reclined on the sofa next to you, longs legs stretched out in front of him with his fingers laced behind his head. You'd thrown on a TV movie—some bullshit about a woman who goes through trials of love, only to realize that her perfect man was hidden in plain sight the entire time.

If only life were that fucking easy.

"Do you want an ice cream sundae?" Jungkook suggests as the credits roll. "I can make you an ice cream sundae."

"Are you just suggesting things that make your twelve-year-old brain happy?"

His lower lip pushes out in thought. "No, if I was going to suggest things that cheer me up when I'm sad, I'd offer to go down on you—"

"What the fuck, Kook."

"Which I'm game if you are, but I didn't think you liked me like that."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

"Leave her alone, idiot. She's fragile." Jimin steps into the living room from the hall, fully dressed but still towel drying his hair. He takes in your relaxed forms on the couch—you, halfway burrowed under multiple blankets—and frowns. "You're not dressed yet?"

You blink slowly at him. "Should I be?"

"Yeah, Kook and I are taking you somewhere." He looks over at the man sitting beside you. "You didn't tell her?"

Jungkook's mouth stretches into a wide grin. "Surprise!"

You're still processing what the hell is happening—your plans for today were to park yourself in this spot and not leave—when Jimin strides over and yanks the blankets off of your body.

"Chim!"

"C'mon, get dressed. We have an appointment," he says. "And wear something comfortable. You're gonna love it, I promise."

A half hour later and you’re sitting in the back of Jungkook’s black Mercedes, watching the city pass by outside your window. Now that you’re up, it does feel nice to be out of the apartment instead of wallowing inside on the couch with a tissue box in your lap (which had been the general trend of the past week). Even listening to Jungkook and Jimin bickering about navigation up front helps to distract you from the dread that lingers like a blanket draped over your shoulders. All-in-all, you feel like you’re managing the fallout of your relationship as best as one can—at least when they find their almost-fiancé in bed with another woman. But grieving the loss still means that you’ve barely eaten, barely slept, and it’s not long before you’re dozing off in the backseat, dreaming of college—of sandy brown hair and green eyes.

You wake to Jimin’s hand on your shoulder gently shaking you out of your nap.

“Hey, we’re here.”

You’re on the outskirts of the city, it seems, in front of a squat, gray building that looks almost like a tiny warehouse. Peering up at the neon sign, you read, “Smash City Rage Room?”

“Cool, right?” Jungkook says, leaning against the side of the car.

You can physically feel the lines stretching across your forehead. “I don’t get it. We’re going to…?”

“Break stuff!” He takes your hand to pull you along. “Let’s go!”

You're led into a small, unassuming lobby—flat gray like the outside. Jimin gets you checked in with a burly-looking man behind a desk, who (after you’ve all signed some suspicious-looking release forms) promptly brings the three of you to a back room where you're fitted with protective jumpsuits, helmets, and goggles and instructed to "choose a weapon" from a rack filled with baseball bats and sledgehammers. At this point, Jungkook is practically bouncing out of his skin, the absolute picture of a golden retriever waiting for a ball to be thrown.

"You guys are really trying to distract me by taking me to Kook's version of Disneyland, huh?"

"That depends, is it working?" he says, grasping one of the hammers and weighing it in his hands.

"I'm skeptical but open-minded."

"Perfect!"

He hands you a bat, and your brawny host leads you to your final room—a wide, concrete space with a sturdy table in the middle and piles and piles of objects. Wine glasses, dinner plates, a computer monitor, and even a flat screen TV sit in heaps along the walls amongst some broken shards from previous visitors.

"You're free to smash anything in the room," the muscle man says in a gruff voice, "just no intentional damage to the building's structure. If you need something, you can flag us down through the camera up there," he points to the device in one of the ceiling's corners, "and someone will come check on you. Otherwise, just be safe and have fun. We'll come get you after an hour." Then he's swinging the door shut behind him.

You look blankly at the two men in front of you. "Now what?"

"We smash!" Jungkook says happily, already dragging the flat-screen onto the table. Then, before you can even respond: "Not like that, Y/N. Get your mind out of the gutter." He swings the sledgehammer down onto the TV screen, and it caves in on itself as Jungkook giggles maniacally.

"We thought this might help to let off steam," Jimin says, cracking a smile as he slams his bat into a propped up picture frame. "Try it!"

The two of them watch with wide, expectant eyes as you gingerly pick up a small drinking glass and place it delicately on the table.

"So now I just…?" You halfway lift the baseball bat, peering down at the poor, unassuming glass in front of you.

Jungkook leans forward, eyes eager, gesturing with the hammer in a light swinging motion he's clearly wanting you to mimic.

So you swing, bringing the bat down onto the lip of the glass with a moderate amount of force. It shatters, pieces flying outwards like little slivers of shrapnel.

It feels good.

The guys cheer, and Jimin reaches down to grab a champagne glass, setting it in front of you.

"Now pretend this one is that asshole's balls."

You hesitate, the mention of Jace causing the fist that's been around your heart to squeeze. You're angry with him, sure, fury simmering in your belly even now. But your biggest struggle and the source of all of your pain this week has been wrangling with your lingering feelings. Four years of loving someone are not so easily erased.

But you wish you could wipe it all from your mind.

You wish you could hate him.

"Let it out," Jimin murmurs, as you continue to stare, your hands gripping the bat. "This is the place."

You visualize Jace's face in your mind. His bright green eyes, his crooked smile, the tiny scar on his forehead from when he fell off his bike when he was nine. You can practically hear his voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

And then you see him in bed a week ago, his lips pressed to another woman's neck.

The champagne glass explodes like a small bomb into a million tiny crystals.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jungkook yells, and it’s then that you realize that you were the one who swung the bat.

Your body is a live wire, pumping with adrenaline and a newfound rage. Before you know it, you don’t even have the patience to pick up the objects and place them on the table. Instead, you’re spinning around in a whirlwind, destroying plates and glasses and small kitchen appliances indiscriminately.

“This is for all of the lies about late nights!”

BOOM.

“This is for the fact that I’ve barely been able to breathe this past week!”

CRASH.

“This is for that dumb-ass crooked smile like he thinks he’s the star of some shitty movie!”

WHAM.

“And this is for that stupid, fucking green jacket.”

You channel all of your anger through the bat—every tear, every minute of lost sleep turned into shards of glass and debris. The tears come at some point, but you barely feel them as you scream out your frustrations, Jimin and Jungkook cheering you on the whole time.

It’s not a magical cure-all by any means, but you do feel a tiny bit of relief ease itself into your shoulders.

An hour later, you embrace both men in the parking lot. “Thank you,” you say, “for everything you guys have been doing for me. I needed this.”

Jimin shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Hey, I owed you for that time when I got passed over for promotion, and you brought me to Bar 613 and paid for all my drinks.”

“I just wanted to smash stuff,” Jungkook teases with a grin, but he rubs playfully at your upper back to let you know he’s kidding.

Jimin’s phone chirps with a notification, and he pulls it out of his pocket, squinting at the screen before muttering, “Hmm, Tae’s not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?” you ask, a feeling creeping in that your day of surprise distractions isn’t quite over.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Jimin’s knowing smile twinkles with mischief. “In the meantime, what do you say we get some ice cream?”

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

You’d returned from your rage room and ice cream outing only for Jungkook to swing his car into the “No Parking” zone outside the apartment and promptly kick you out to the curb, a pair of impish smiles flashing at you from the front seats.

“We have strict instructions to stay clear of the apartment for the next several hours,” Jimin chimes. “So we’re going to entertain ourselves for a while.”

You narrow your eyes at them, knowing they’re not going to spill but making a feeble attempt anyway. “What did he do?”

“Go find out!” Jimin says, just as Jungkook shouts, “Bye!” and rolls up the window right in your face.

You enter the building with a sigh, swinging the plastic bag from your wrist that holds the takeout container of rocky road that you’d gotten for Taehyung. A part of you wants to be whiny about your friends making such a fuss for you, working so hard to cheer you up, but at the end of the day, you just feel loved. Tomorrow, you may wake up with a hollow chest, your heart scraped out in the middle of the night as it has been for every day the past week, but for now, you let a little flame of happiness warm your insides.

You do hope, though, that Taehyung didn’t go through too much trouble for whatever he has planned for tonight. He’s already spent a majority of the past week hovering, holding you when you cry, and otherwise keeping a close watch on your moods. And in spite of him trying to be subtle, you’ve noticed how he doesn’t close his bedroom door all the way at night so he can listen for you.

He’s a great friend, the best, but the fact that you care about him, too, means that you don’t necessarily want to burden him, don’t want to be the source of his worry.

It sucks that you’re doing a shit job of it.

Probably just a movie night, you think during the elevator ride up. Like we’d do in college.

But when you slip the key into the lock and slide the door open, your heart immediately leaps into your throat, the bag of ice cream almost slipping from your fingers.

The apartment has been positively upended, furniture rearranged, flipped, stacked, and draped with blankets to create a massive pillow fort in the middle of the living room. It has to be almost eight feet tall, and you wonder what the rest of the rooms look like as you spy all three of the guys’ desk chairs incorporated into the structure—clearly, the entire apartment was raided to create this behemoth. Around the dining room and kitchen, dozens of candles have been placed and lit to give the open space an ambient glow, accentuated by the lowering sun dipping down outside the massive windows.

When the door swings itself to latch shut with a soft click, there’s a rustling sound before Taehyung’s head pops out of the fort, and he beams as he comes to stand in front of you.

“What do you think?” he hums as you continue to stare incredulously at the scene behind him. You try to say something, you should say something, but tears begin to flow over your cheeks instead, causing the room to blur and Taehyung to pull you into a hug. “Okay, I have to admit this is the opposite of what I was going for.”

You press a watery chuckle into his chest. “This is incredible,” you gasp, shifting back to look at him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says. “And that’s not even all. Come look.”

He guides you to the kitchen, where you now notice the counters are littered with all of your favorite comfort foods alongside the snacks you used to share growing up: sugar cookies and popcorn, potato chips and pretzels, brownies and bite-sized chocolates.

“Just like old times. And—“ He lifts the lid off a pot on the stove, and you’re quickly enveloped in the soothing scent of tomatoes and basil. “Spaghetti for dinner.”

It was the first meal you ever made together. In retrospect, the lumpy, acidic sauce you concocted in your parents’ kitchen that day was far from perfect. But at the time, you’d called it the best meal you’d ever eaten, and Taehyung has spent the subsequent years perfecting his own recipe. He doesn’t make it often, but when he does, it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia and warmth.

“And to think, all I brought you was this,” you say sadly, dangling the bag limply from your hand. But Taehyung snatches it from you in a flash, digging in like it’s a Christmas present. When he pulls out the papery white container, he grins like it’s much more than just half-melted ice cream.

“Rocky road?” he asks, smiling even more widely when you nod. “This is amazing, Y/N. Thank you.”

You study him quietly as he puts the ice cream away in the freezer—just to soak in this beautiful, home-shaped human being—and he raises his eyebrows at you when he turns back around.

“What?” he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hide yet another smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you glance away. “Nothing.”

But the truth is, standing here in his kitchen, observing his tender movements as he carefully rearranges the snacks on the counter top—it’s the first time in a week that you’ve been able to breathe. And maybe it’s just because it’s been days of suffocating pressure around your chest, but the air pushing through your lungs now feels sweeter, richer as he looks up to capture your gaze again and gently takes your hand in his.

“Come see the inside.”

He pulls you to the mass of furniture and blankets, sweeping back an opening in the fabric to usher you in, and you gasp as he reveals the pillow fort of your childhood dreams.

It’s massive, tall enough for you to stand comfortably in, with wide walls and a tented ceiling that seems to suggest Taehyung has somehow tethered it to the apartment’s actual ceiling. The floor is absolutely packed with pillows, cushions, and heaps of additional blankets, and if you aren’t mistaken, there’s a literal mattress (maybe two?) buried underneath it all.

But the part that has your throat constricting on a sob, tears streaming once again, is the tiny side table he’s placed to the side, your star lamp glowing on top.

“How did—“ you choke, still taking it all in. The fort, the snacks, the lamp. “How did you—?”

“Found the lamp in your closet when we went to get you that bag of clothes.”

“And,” you wave a weak hand at the scene around you, “all of this?”

“Chugged a couple energy drinks,” he chuckles. “And Maya came by for a bit earlier to lend a hand.”

“Tae,” you say, wiping at your cheeks.

“Y/N.”

“This is…” Beautiful. Magical. Extraordinary. No single word seems adequate enough to describe what you’re feeling, his recreation of your childhood tradition to the nth degree tipping you into a state of practical euphoria after the hell of a week you’ve just had. You’d swear you feel like you’re about to combust with the amount of relief that’s flooding through your body in this moment, anger and grief giving way to joy and an overwhelming sense of fondness for the man in front of you.

You never complete your sentence, but Taehyung still seems to grasp your meaning, reaching out to squeeze your fingers one last time in a gesture of acknowledgment and understanding before he simply says, “Let’s eat.”

The two of you gather yourselves heaping bowls of pasta before burrowing into your pillow fortress, backs pressed up against the couch, which is being used to support one side of it.

“How was the rage room?” Taehyung asks, tomato sauce staining his lips.

“Surprisingly cathartic. But…”

“But?”

You rub at your temple before letting your hand fall in a huff. “Temporary. It all is. Every time I think I’m getting a moment to catch my breath, I feel like I’m being punched in the chest a second later.”

“It’s only been a week,” he says. “You’re grieving. It’s going to take time.”

“I don’t want it to though,” you snap, immediately regretting your tone, even though Taehyung looks unfazed. “I just want to turn it off. He did this terrible thing, and I should hate him for it. I want to hate him for it.”

“But you don’t,” Taehyung says, jaw clenching.

Throat swelling, you choke on the words as they find their way out. “I thought I was going to marry him.” The all-too-familiar pressure in your chest rears its head again, suffocating you from the inside. “We had all these plans.” Your breaths turn shallow, coming out in short, rough pants quickly joined by tears that Taehyung rushes to wipe away.

You’ve never known love could hurt like this until now, and for all intents and purposes, Jace was your first real love. You’d had a smattering of boyfriends in high school, but never anything long term until him—nothing that ever made your heart feel like it was going through a shredder, a blender, and a hurricane all at once when it ended. And it’s not just your idea of him or your relationship that you’re mourning, but also the future that you thought you’d have together. The dreams you had dared to dream when you’d traded ideas of rings and children and white picket fences while tangled together in bed.

Sensing an imminent panic attack, Taehyung pulls you into his lap and loops his arms around you, coasting his hands up and down your back in long strokes. He’s done this every time you’ve broken down around him over the past several days, the physical sensation giving you something else to focus on when the thoughts and memories of your now-ex come flooding through the mental barriers you’ve been trying and failing to construct.

You concentrate instead on the ministrations of Taehyung’s hands, the warmth of his large palms resting over your shirt, the glide of his fingers tracing your spine over and over. His fingertips trail up to your neck (inhale) and back down to your sacrum (exhale) on a loop as you clutch the soft fabric of his own shirt. And as the dread looming under your skin begins to ebb away, you notice how your breathing has synced up, pressed chest to chest like you’re two halves of one whole. It’s calming, the light press of his ribcage expanding against yours, and it serves as enough of a distraction to get yourself under control, your feelings stuffed back into their box for the time being.

When you lean back to look at him, his dark brown eyes map your face, steady as ever.

“Better?”

“Better.” You nod weakly. “But life would still be so much easier if love worked like a switch.”

His brow tilts downward a fraction, a touch of melancholy passing over his face. “If only.”

“That makes me an idiot though, right?” you ask. “To still feel for him even after that.”

“No, it makes you human,” Taehyung says, before his expression suddenly turns grave. “Has he contacted you?”

You sniffle, rubbing at your nose. “Nothing besides that one text saying he would clear out of the apartment.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Listen, I think everything you’re feeling is normal, and you shouldn’t put any pressure on yourself to process it any particular way.” A pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “But please, Y/N. Please promise me you’ll never take him back if he asks.”

Truth be told, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind until now—imagining a teary Jace on your doorstep, begging you to give him just one more chance. In spite of your lingering feelings for him, the image only stirs up a dull rage, disgust burning like acid in your stomach.

“Not a chance,” you say, twining your pinky around his for a brief moment, and he visibly relaxes, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t think I ever want to see him again. But it…it hurts.”

You struggle to pull in a breath that doesn’t want to come, chin dipping down to your chest before Taehyung begins to move. Long fingers reach out to squeeze your hips before nimbly dancing down to your ankles bracketing his legs, where they give you another squeeze. He works his way up your body from there, moving his hands to your knees. Squeeze. Your ribs. Squeeze. Your shoulders. Squeeze. Elbows. Squeeze. Wrists. Squeeze.

He’s pinching each joint of your fingers between the pads of his own when you finally ask, “Tae? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look up, zoned in on his task. “Putting you back together.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Yeah, Hobi and Joon have been giving me lessons.”

You snort, and it appears to be the reaction he was hoping for because he beams up at you as you keen forward with laughter until you’re practically sharing breath, faces mere inches apart.

Time freezes; something in the universe shifts.

Your eyes wander over his face, tracing the paths between details that you subconsciously know are there but which you’re not sure you’ve ever truly looked at: the deep brown of his eyes, the mole on the tip of his nose, the plush curve of his lower lip.

He’s beautiful. It’s something you’ve always been aware of—an obvious fact of life in the same way the sky is blue—but you’re also lucky enough to know that his beauty goes beyond a handsome face. It’s also in the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs with his whole body, the way he always carries crackers in his bag for photo shoots at the park so he can toss some to the ducks.

The way he’ll upend his entire apartment to help heal your broken heart.

Artificial stars dance around the fabric walls like fireflies as you become hyperaware of how his hands have drifted back to your hips, barely there but warm. It’s soothing, you think, to be held between the boundaries of his palms, as if nothing and no one can touch you here. But it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? He’s always been your primary source of comfort, your north star at every turn, propping you up within the safety of your own little world like he does now.

His warmth is a siren’s song that has you shifting closer, your hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders, when his grip on your hips suddenly tightens as he breathes out your name.

“Mmm?”

“We have snacks to get to.”

The bubble pops as Taehyung shifts you off his lap, darting away to the kitchen. You, however, stay firmly rooted to your spot in the blanket fort; your mind whirs, an unfamiliar tingling sensation gently working its way through your nerve endings and making your stomach dip. It’s not at all unpleasant, but you don’t know what to make of it, thoughts turning without reaching any kind of foregone conclusion until Taehyung ducks back under the blanket and into your space, arms overflowing with snack bags.

He smiles at you and your stomach dips again.

But your mind quiets.

He’s your person, you think. Undoubtedly now more than ever as he settles back down next to you like the rock he’s always been.

“Story time?” he murmurs, the light passing across his face as he hands you a bag of your favorite chips. You gently place it in your lap without opening it, still jittery from the way he held you only seconds ago. Watching you with hooded eyes, he frowns at your lack of movement, the way your fingers have stilled on the plastic. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you say, sitting up straighter so he doesn’t feel like you’re ignoring him. “Wouldn’t be a blanket fort without a story, right?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the light on the walls is now radiating from Taehyung himself as he launches into a clearly premeditated narrative about a princess and her devoted, best friend of a knight. After being betrayed by a prince from a neighboring realm, the two embark on an epic journey to restore their own kingdom, traversing mountains and crossing oceans together to retrieve the enchanted crown jewel that the thieving prince had stolen away. Another handsome and charming prince captures the princess’s heart during their adventure, and, once her power is restored, the two marry in the most beautiful and romantic ceremony the kingdom has ever seen.

“And they live happily ever after,” Taehyung says with a flourish. He reaches over to steal a handful of potato chips before slipping a hand behind his head and settling deeper into the mattress. You frown down at him.

“But what about the knight?”

He slides a potato chip between his lips, lifting a dark eyebrow in confusion. “What about him?”

“Where’s his happily ever after?” you ask, almost annoyed on the fictional character’s behalf. “He climbed a mountain and fought a dragon for her. What did the prince do? Just stand there and look hot?”

His expression changes, eyes widening in subtle surprise. “It’s not his story.”

“But—“

“It’s not his story, Y/N.”

He says it with finality, so you drop it, left to grumble internally about what you feel was an unjust ending for the caring and loyal knight.

It was a sweet tale, but you can’t help but think that you would’ve written it differently.

The return to work isn't as bad as you anticipated. Your boss, Jia, noticing your frayed nerves, has been easing you back in slowly with a handful of softball projects just to get you going again. As much as you think you needed that week to cry and wallow, it feels good to get back to some form of normalcy and have work to focus on and keep your mind off of things as much as you can.

The shadows linger though, anxiety grabbing hold of your chest every time you remember you'll be going home to a different apartment that night instead of the one you shared with Jace.

Jimin's been joining you for lunch every day, hanging around outside the office cafeteria before you get there like he's staking you out. You call him out for it on Thursday, and he looks sheepishly down at the table with a nervous chuckle.

"I kinda promised Tae I'd make sure you eat."

"Of course," you sigh. Taehyung's been getting up early every morning to cook both of you breakfast, insisting that it's part of his normal routine.

He forgets that you used to live together, and you know he's more of a granola bar guy in the morning, eager to get himself out the door and moving as soon as possible.

"You're all doing too much for me," you murmur. "You shouldn't have to babysit me like—"

"We don't have to do anything," Jimin says forcefully. "We want to be there for you. We do these things because we care about you."

"I know, but I just…" You swallow hard. "I don't want you all to see me as this broken thing that you need to protect."

Jimin's whole demeanor softens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand. You'd be worried about how this looks—two coworkers holding hands at lunch—if you didn't feel the tears welling up again, the urge to cry sticking itself in your throat like molasses as you try to choke it down.

"Y/N, that's not what we think," he says softly. "You're our friend. And you're hurting. And after the trauma you went through, it's perfectly understandable for you to need a little more attention and care than usual. Honestly, if anything, I'm worried that you seem to be taking things better than expected, and I think that's because you're trying to put a brave face on for us sometimes."

He’s not off-base. Especially after your Distraction Day, you've been doing your best these past few days to bottle everything down so your friends don't worry as much, taking your time to cry in the shower or quietly at night when everyone else is asleep.

"All I'm saying is that you can lean on us. That's what we're here for. And if your tough face can't fool me, you're definitely not fooling Tae. Let him help before he goes crazy with worry.”

Honestly, relying on Tae has been the least of your problems, even though you’re a little concerned about how he’s been waking up earlier than usual for you. That man has been your rock for years, and receiving comfort from him is almost second-nature at this point. It’s how the two of you operate. Everyone else, however…

“I’m fine with Tae,” you tell him. “But I’ve never felt this…vulnerable around the rest of you. It used to just be Tae and I, hiding away from our problems in my room, and now—“

“You have us!” He beams. “That’s a beautiful thing, Y/N, can’t you see? You’re not alone anymore. Not you, not Tae. You have us. All of us. We’re going to get you through this. And if you need a silver lining, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Jungkook and Maya this united against a common enemy before. I could’ve sworn I heard them the other night trying to figure out the best way to slash Jace’s tires without getting caught.”

“Don’t make me cry at work,” you say, blinking furiously to try and clear the sudden moisture from your eyes. “I think Jia is already prepared to send me home if I don’t stop sounding like I’m learning how to breathe for the first time.”

He laughs gently, giving your hand a squeeze before relinquishing it. “It’s going to get better, Y/N. I know I just called you our friend, but really, we’re family.”

The summer presses on in a haze as you focus on just getting through one day, one step at a time: get out of bed, go to work, come home, shower, try to get a few hours of fitful sleep, eat somewhere in between all of that. And before you know it, an entire month has passed.

Taehyung continues to make you breakfast every morning and insists on taking you to your favorite ramen place at least twice a week for dinner, watching you with concerned eyes from across the table. You’d give him shit for it if his worry didn’t feel so justified. If he wasn’t so persistent in making sure your base needs were being met, you’re not entirely sure you can say you wouldn’t be starving yourself in grief. And you know it makes him feel better to see you eating—how happy it makes him to care for others—so you don’t resist when he pushes an extra pancake onto your plate or orders you a second helping of noodles to go.

It’s one of your scheduled ramen nights when you get back from work a little later, a particularly emotional day preventing you from getting your tasks done on time. You drop your bag in the living room with a sigh, thankful that no one is around to ask you how your day was—you’re really not in the mood. Taehyung had sent you a text letting you know that he wanted to take a shower before you head out, needing one after a long day of photographing clients in the baking July heat. You can hear water running in the bathroom, so you assume he must still be in there.

The living room makes you feel vulnerable with its vaulted ceiling and tall windows, like you’re laid bare for the whole world to see. Because of this, you decide to wait for Taehyung in his bedroom, hopeful that you might be able to find some reprieve in his tucked-away space.

You’ve been in Taehyung’s room before, of course, but you’re not sure that you’ve ever taken the time to really peruse. Unlike Jace, Taehyung’s space is neatly organized, and you’re first drawn to the large bookcase that dominates the wall adjacent to the door. He’s stuffed it full of art anthologies: Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet, and Pollock giving way to old photography textbooks on the bottom shelves. About halfway down, you spot the bound collection of his own work that you’d had made for him as a college graduation gift (you got one for yourself too, and he’d blushed beautifully when you asked him to sign it).

Across the room, his bed is carefully made, dark bedding tucked cleanly under the mattress. In place of a nightstand and opposite the dresser, he’s set up a series of box shelves for his photography equipment—you spot lenses and tripods placed alongside gadgets you would have no idea how to use. His desk sits to the left, an impressive PC setup backed by a large cork-board brimming with post-it notes, business cards, and a photograph that has you stopping in your tracks.

The first photograph Taehyung ever took.

It’d been the spring right after you both turned sixteen, and Taehyung had finally saved up enough money from his newspaper job to buy his first camera at the secondhand shop. You’d gone along, bouncing up and down with excitement for him so vigorously that the shopkeeper kept giving you strange looks over the counter.

New toy in hand, Taehyung pulled you to the park, where the cherry blossoms were in full bloom—clusters of pastel pink contrasting wonderfully against the bright blue sky. You bought yourselves some kkwabaegi at a nearby food stall as Taehyung sat on a bench figuring out how to operate the camera. Distracted by the numerous dials and buttons, he didn’t even realize you had returned until you dusted his cheek with a bit of cinnamon sugar, teasing that his cheeks were just as fluffy as the donut you subsequently handed him with a smile.

Snacks finished, you strolled along the petal covered path, chatting about everything and nothing as Taehyung continued to fiddle with the controls.

“Are you going to be able to figure it out?” you asked, skipping ahead to pluck a wildflower out of the grass after several minutes had passed without him taking a single photo.

“Actually, I think I’ve just got it.”

“Really?” you said, turning around to face him and freezing at the sound of a click and the sight of the camera held at the ready in front of his face. His grin was full of mischief as he dropped his arms at your stunned look, and you rushed back to his side to give him a joking shove. “I wasn’t ready, you jerk. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

But Taehyung was still smiling widely, already striding down the path to line up his next shot. “Don’t worry. You looked perfect.”

You’d forgotten about the photograph after that day, as Taehyung never actually showed it to you. You figured that it probably didn’t turn out right, a blurry candid, and was scrapped. Now, looking at it, it’s not his best work, but it’s not nearly as bad as you’d pictured in the moment.

It’s you, backdropped by the pink of the blossoms, with delicate petals dancing around your form. Your eyes are bright and eager as you turn to face him, the corners of your lips upturned in the beginnings of a smile and the small purple flower raised halfway to your chest.

In spite of the struggles you know you were dealing with at home, you look content. Happy.

“Oh, you’re home.”

You jump, spinning around to face where Taehyung suddenly stands just inside the doorway, and you feel something flip low in your belly.

It’s not that you’ve never seen him shirtless—years of going to the beach house together have taken care of that—but here, in the low, intimate light of his bedroom, the sight of his mostly naked body strikes you in a way that it never has before. The veins in his arms and hands pop from the heat of the shower, skin tanned by his time spent outdoors. His dark hair is still wet and, as if on cue, a drop of water falls off the end of a ringlet, your eyes following as it rolls over sharp collarbones, down a toned chest and smooth stomach, and into the towel sitting low on his hips.

Taehyung clears his throat, and one look at his flushed face tells you that your perusal of his torso hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Why are you even looking?

“I—uh—sorry,” you mumble, snapping out of your trance also flustered, words spilling out in a jumble of unexpected nerves. “I had a rough day and just felt so exposed in the living room, and if Jimin or Kook showed up and asked me how I was, I was going to lose it so I came in here as a distraction, and I promise I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything—“

“Y/N, hey.” He crosses the room to where you stand, smiling gently down at you. “I don’t mind.”

You swallow, still looking for something to distract from the fact that you were very obviously just checking him out. “You still have this?” You point at the photo of yourself, and he looks at it, expression overcome with sentimentality.

“Yeah.”

“A reminder of how far you’ve come with your work?”

He turns his eyes back to yours, slow and warm as they settle on you. “A reminder of a perfect day,” he says, voice low, before creases form at his brow. “But your day wasn’t so good?”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and you suck your lips between your teeth in a gesture that is answer enough for him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t push; never pushes. If you told him no, you know that’d be the end of it, and he’d spend the rest of your night together coming up with different threads of conversation to divert your attention. And perhaps it’s this awareness—his consistent and mindful respect of your boundaries—that makes you so willing to open up.

“I just can’t stop asking myself if I missed signs. If I could’ve done something different. Something better.”

“Y/N—“

“We were together four years, Tae. Four fucking years.” You pull in a breath, fighting off the stinging of tears in your eyes. “And in the end, I meant next to nothing to him.”

It’s the part you’ve been struggling with the most, how you gave him years of your life—nearly half of your twenties—and let him dig his fingers into your heart only to pull it apart like clay.

Revealed bits of yourself to him that you’ve only ever showed one other person.

That man stands in front of you now, gently scrutinizing your face as he considers your words. His hands drift your way as if of their own accord, hovering into your space without ever truly touching.

“Would you want to though?” he finally asks.

“What?”

“If you could’ve done something differently. Knowing what you know now.” A pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Would you?”

It’s a fair question, and you know what the right answer is supposed to be. You’re supposed to say that no, that son of a bitch can burn in hell for what he did. He’s trash, you can do better—all of the empty platitudes that are supposed to be expressed when a betrayal like this takes place.

But his actions don’t erase the years you spent together. Don’t mean that what you yourself felt wasn’t real.

And you loved him. You really did.

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung doesn’t exactly seem thrilled by that but nods nonetheless, his fingers wandering back to his sides to fidget with the edges of his towel. “You must know that none of it was your fault, though.”

“But if it was?” you question. “If I could’ve been a better girlfriend, a better partner—“

“It still wouldn’t have justified what he did.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a hint of anger. “Don’t you dare let that asshole make you feel like you deserved it.”

“But—“

“No. No buts,” he says roughly, hands shooting up to grip you around the elbows. “What he did is inexcusable. There’s no making sense of it, and there’s no one to blame but him.”

You know in your heart that what he says is true, but your newfound insecurities have had you questioning your sense of self—that maybe you had a part to play in what happened. A relationship is two people after all, maybe he wouldn’t have cheated if you had—

“You did nothing wrong,” Taehyung continues, reading your mind. “He made an active choice to sleep with someone else. If he had an issue with your relationship, he had a hundred other ways to approach it. He chose to do what he did.” His hands slide up to your shoulders, appraising. “You are kind and thoughtful. Fiercely loyal. Always want what’s best for those around you. You still get breathless for the first snowfall each winter and make the most delicious triple chocolate cake.” Fingers give you a gentle squeeze. “And you never take shit from anyone. Especially people who don’t give you the respect you deserve.”

His words are a balm sinking deep into your skin, but his voice sets something alight in your core, your veins thrumming at the spots where he holds you.

What in the world is this?

“Don’t let him convince you you’re anything less than the incredible person you are,” Taehyung continues, oblivious to your perplexed state. “And if he couldn’t value that, someone else will. Lots of other fish in the sea.”

He holds your stare, gaze boring into you like he can telepathically eliminate every doubt and insecurity rattling around your skull, and a stray voice at the back of your mind thinks that whichever woman eventually gets to wake up to those eyes every morning is going to be so damn lucky.

He frowns, licking his lips again as he finally notices that you’re not altogether with him. “Are you okay?”

Y/N, what the hell?

You give yourself a little shake, playing back what he just said. “I don’t know about that.”

“You’re not okay?”

“No,” you say, taking a step back so you can loosen his grip and clear your head. “About the whole fish thing. I kind of get it now.”

He’s clearly not following. “Get what?”

“Your break from dating,” you say. “Why you wanted to stop for a while.”

He raises a long finger to rub at his bottom lip. “That’s…not quite the same.”

“Why not?”

“There were…” He tilts his head as he considers his word choice, and another drop of water slides down his chest. “Underlying circumstances.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means it’s a story for another time when you’re not trying to deflect by turning this around on me.”

“I’m not deflecting,” you argue. “I’m just saying I understand where you’re coming from now. Dating sucks. People suck.”

He chews at the inside of his lip, studying you. “That wasn’t my intention when I told you that.”

“Yeah, well when you told me that, we didn’t know that my boyfriend was fucking another woman,” you scoff.

He sighs at your crude reminder. “There is a third option, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Just let yourself be,” he says. “You don’t need to rush into anything either way. If something happens, it happens. If not, then no pressure to look for it. But maybe don’t close yourself off from opportunities entirely just because one bastard made a terrible decision.”

“Tae,” you begin with an exhausted, rattling breath. But he cuts you off, already anticipating your protest.

“I just know you, and I know you’ve always believed in love. Dreamed of finding ‘the one’ and settling down.” He wrinkles his nose. “Made that whole wedding mood board after Haneul kissed you for the first time when we were fifteen.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, you helped me cut out the pictures.”

“I did.”

You look at each other for an instant, twin smiles reflected on your faces before yours falls. “I just don’t know.”

“And that’s fine,” he says kindly, gently. “It’s okay to need time, and it’s okay to want to step away from dating for a while. It would just be awful if he ruined that part of you, you know?” His voice lowers even further. “It’s a wonderful part of you.”

You feel warm all over, like the comfiest, fluffiest blanket has been draped around your shoulders.

Honestly, what would you even do without this man?

“You’re a great guy, Tae. Do you know that?”

He blushes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and a tingle runs down your spine before he finally looks away.

“We should get going,” he tells you. “Namjoon and Hobi said they’d meet us.”

You dip your head, the moment gone. “Okay, but I’d recommend putting on some pants first.”

His face turns a deeper shade of red.

“Over here!”

Hoseok waves you down from a table at the back of the restaurant, pulling you in for a hug once you get there, just as he has every time he’s seen you since the incident with Jace. You’re then passed along to Namjoon, who embraces you with almost bone-crushing pressure.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, swaying you side-to-side. You just nod into his chest, giving him a tight squeeze before he releases you so you can slide into the seat next to Taehyung.

Aside from the hugs and the fact that the entire dinner is a ploy by Taehyung to get you to eat, the night feels relatively normal, and you’re grateful for it. Hoseok and Namjoon dramatically complain about the perils of medical school, regaling the two of you with stories about catastrophic anatomy labs and exam mishaps to your and Taehyung’s delight. The first blip comes when Hoseok absent-mindedly mentions an all-nighter of studying for boards while simultaneously working on seating arrangements before he immediately cuts himself off, throwing you a remorseful look.

“It’s fine, Hobi,” you say. “The world doesn’t just stop because my relationship did. And I’m still excited for you and Sunny.”

He nods but still looks apologetic, causing Namjoon to hop in with a change of subject. “Oh, by the way, I have my roommate situation settled.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, I’m moving in with my friend Yoongi at the end of the summer.”

“Your childhood friend?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s the one,” Namjoon confirms with a nod. “We’re planning on having a little housewarming party once we’re settled if you’ll be up for it.”

“Sounds fun,” you say. “And I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s a great guy. Musician. He’s moving into the city for work.”

“Well if you vouch for him, I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

You don’t notice it, but Namjoon gets a glint in his eye. Sipping on his water, he glances between you and Taehyung before saying, “Speaking of great guys, I’d also like to introduce you to someone.”

Taehyung stills beside you; you freeze in equally stunned silence.

Hoseok’s eyes nervously dart to Taehyung then you as he says, “Ah, Namjoon, I don’t think—“

“If you’re up for it, of course.” Namjoon looks only at you, his tone casual as if he doesn’t notice the sudden tension. “He also just got out of a long-term relationship and is kind of a mess about it. I’m thinking it might do both of you good to get back out there in a low pressure situation, especially with someone who understands.”

“I…” You don’t know what to say. You’d meant what you said to Taehyung about taking a break from dating, but you also trust Namjoon. He wouldn’t set you up with a creep, and maybe he does have a point about a low pressure date to at least take that first step.

But isn’t it too soon? You and Jace were together for years, and it’s only been a little over a month. Are you supposed to take more time? Or should you just get that first date over with? It hits you suddenly that you don’t even know how to meet people now that you’re out of school. How do capital-A Adults even find dates? Maybe it would be better to meet up with someone that’s already been vetted by one of your friends instead of some random on a dating app.

Namjoon speaks up again as your mind spins. “It’s entirely up to you. I can give you his number, and if you decide to reach out, great. If not, no harm, no foul.”

Still undecided, you turn for a second opinion. “Tae, what do you think?”

But he’s staring intently at Namjoon, expression indecipherable. Namjoon finally shifts his attention from you to engage in an intense staring contest with Taehyung across the table, the two of them clearly having some kind of silent conversation while Hoseok looks on in obvious discomfort.

You’re sitting there—just trying to figure out what the hell is going on—when Taehyung abruptly faces you, slipping a hand over your knee.

“I think you should go for it.”

His eyes are sincere, his hand hot where it rests on your skin.

“Other fish in the sea, right?”

You blink at him. Well, that’s that then. If there’s anything in the world you have complete faith in, it’s that Taehyung would never lead you astray.

Turning back to Namjoon, you shift so Taehyung’s fingers fall away. “What’s his name?”

Namjoon smiles.

“Seokjin.”

NEXT

a/n: the next two parts are my favorite, and part 4 is already around 85% written so i'll be looking to get that out asap! in the meantime, please consider leaving a like, reblog, or feedback!

taglist is open!

[profchamomile]

//first chamomile off-screen scene in a while! Meant to post this yesterday but didn't finish rip. Hope you enjoy!

//feat. my other character: @kidresearcherindigo

September 20, 2:00pm

"It's good to have you come visit us again," said Director Clavell, walking down the hall with Chamomile in their wheelchair by his side, along with Queenie closeby. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, muuuch better!" said Chamomile, "I recovered a little bit ago; I just wanted to give it a little extra time to make sure it's out of my system. Illness and I do not mix well!"

Clavell nodded. "That's quite understandable," he said, "Though I do wish you had told me. I would have been more than happy to help care for the young Pokemon while you recover."

"Oh it's okay really; I know how busy you tend to be," said Chamomile, waving their hand briefly in a nonchalant manner, "Besides, caring for Pokemon doesn't just stop when you're under the weather, so I consider the experience a key part of my research!"

Clavell stared at them with a concerned expression as they spoke, but then sighed, and smiled. "Your dedication is admirable," he said, "It's safe to say Larry was right about your work ethic. But do try your best not to-"

A horrible wailing sound could be heard from the opposite direction the two were headed.

"Oh dear, what was that??" Asked Chamomile, looking up at Clavell.

"That sounded like Hassel," said Clavell, looking back at the professor, "Sincerest apologies Professor Chamomile, but I have to make sure everything's alright."

"Oh of course; I'll come with you," Chamomile called out as Clavell had already begun to hurry off. They looked over at Queenie, taking out a Luxury Ball with a seashell sticker on it. "Queenie, can we switch?"

"Slooooow," Queenie answered with a definite nod, before Chamomile returned her to her Pokeball. They brought out another Luxury ball that had a fire sticker on it, and brought out Ignis.

"Hi Ignis!" said Chamomile, giving the Arcanine a quick neckscratch as they hooked his harness up to the leash on their wheelchair. Then they pointed to Clavell, who was already some distance ahead. "Ignis, follow!"

Immediately, Ignis began pulling Chamomile wheelchair, running just fast enough to follow right behind Clavell as the three turned the corner to rush over to the art room.

Upon entering the art room, Hassel could be seen sitting on the floor, with at least 20 Grafaiai climbing all over him, and a crowd of students watching.

"H- Hassel??" Clavell stared at the sight, rather startled at the sight of the art teacher absolutely covered in poison-type Pokemon. "What happened?"

"It's alright, it's alright!" Indigo, a student known for their tomfoolery around the school, stepped forward with their arms spread out between Clavell and Hassel. "Their hands are clean! We all made sure of it!"

Chamomile looked around at the room, noticing the other students, as well as the canvases and plates piled with various berries. They had recognized several of the students - Arven, Penny, Nemona, and several oddly dressed students that they'd come to know as 'Team Star' members.

Nemona waved at Chamomile. "Hola Professor~," she said, "Did you bring the baby Pokémon with you?"

"Hey Nemona," said Chamomile, waving back, "I did, yes, but they're busy Pokeball training right now. I'll let them out in the schoolyard later!"

"But on the topic of... This, however," they continued, gesturing at all the canvases, "Is this the 'Grafaiai Painting Contest' I saw Indigo advertising online?"

"Yyyyup," said Arven, "This is the Great Grafaiai Paintathon!"

"We're uh... Just here to help supervise, honestly," added Penny, her tone slightly quiet. "Plus I wanted to support Team Star's poison crew."

"The what?" Clavell looked over at Chamomile in confusion.

"Grafaiai painting contest," Indigo chimed in, "I planned to do this during lunch hour so it didn't disrupt class time, all the Grafaiais are owned by Trainers, and they all painted on only the canvases so there was no damage to the room! That means it's legal riiiiiiight?"

"Well, I... I suppose so, yes," said Clavell, "But I do wish I had been notified of this event. I would have happily approved it and helped spread word, you know, a simple lunchtime activity like this doesn't have to be kept secret."

"Well I would have," said Indigo, "But that would risk having Hassel find out about it, and we really wanted it to be a surprise!"

"They planned this for meeeeee...." Hassel managed to get out, still sobbing on the floor yet otherwise unfazed by the Grafaiais using him as a playground.

"Yeah, check it out!" A Team Star grunt walked over to one of the canvases and picked it up, turning it around to show Clavell. The picture appeared to be a rather goofy portrait that vaguely bore a resemblance to the art teacher himself. "This is what my Grafaiai, Acryllic, did! We already come here any time we can to paint; Acryllic's crazy about Señor Hassel!"

"Same here!" said another student, walking over to a canvas to reveal another painting. This one looked more like a Grafaiai painted with Hassel's colors. "I think mine thinks of Hassel as a big Grafaiai because he can paint!"

One by one, more students went over to show Clavell and Chamomile their Grafaiai's painting, and sure enough, every single one was a depiction of Sr. Hassel himself.

"Everyone did it to show respect for Sr. Hassel," explained Arven, "It was all Indigo's idea, too; we just helped set up. I provided the berries..."

"I helped get word out," said Penny.

"And I got the room set up for it all!" exclaimed Nemona.

"Awwww!" Chamomile grinned, putting one hand on their cheek. "That's so sweet! And might I say, you've got some talented contestants!"

"It's the... N- nicest thing my students have ever done for me," said Hassel, momentarily calming his cries before they picked back up again. "But I DON'T HAVE ROOM TO DISPLAY THEM ALLLLLLL!"

"Yeahhhh, honestly this event ended up being way bigger than I thought," said Indigo, placing a hand on their chin. "Didn't realize Grafaiai was such a popular Pokemon among art students."

"I mean to be fair... Most of the Poison Crew in Team Star are art students," explained Penny, "Anyway... Maybe you could take some of them home, señor Hassel?"

"But... They all deserve recognition," said Hassel, gently hugging an armful of Grafaiai, "These Grafaiai worked so hard; they should get to enjoy the fruits of their labors!"

"I mean..." Indigo walked over to a plateful of berries set down on a table next to a canvas stand, picked up an aspear berry and shrugged. "I think they did!"

Arven snickered.

Clavell laughed for a second before clearing his throat. "Well, since they did work so hard on it, I'm sure we can arrange a proper display for it."

"Let's get a display case," one student called out.

"We can put them in the lobby," said another.

"Let's display them at the center of Mesagoza!" a third student suggested.

"Let's ask Brassius for a place to display them in Artazon," suggested Nemona.

"Nah, let's go bigger," said Indigo, "How about Levincia?"

"Your students are ambitious, Director," said Chamomile with a chuckle, as the students continued suggesting methods to display the paintings, "You should be proud!"

"Oh, believe me," said Clavell as he watched the students discuss among themselves with a fond smile, "They're the pride and joy of my career."

Hassel smiled at the director's words and took a moment to recollect himself before standing up. While most of the Grafaiai let go of him and skittered away to either return to their trainers or eat any leftover berries, there were a few that still clung to his arms.

"I couldn't agree more, Director Clavell," said Hassel, before he turned to the students. "I must say, while I'm extraordinarily flattered that you all wish for these displays to be presented with such grandeur, I would quite prefer that they do not stray far from this room."

"That way, I would be able to see them every day," he continued, "And be reminded of how much this class means to everyone here. Even the little ones." Hassel booped the nose of one of the Grafaiai who had still been clinging to his arm.

"Well, in that case..." Arven stepped forward. "How about we put a display in the hallway, just outside of the classroom?"

Chamomile clasped their hands together joyfully. "Oh that's a wonderful idea, Arven!" They said, before smiling at the Director. "Wouldn't you agree, Clavell?"

"Yeah Director, could we do it??" Nemona put her hands together and stared at Clavell with a pleading face. "Pleeeeaaaaaase?"

"Prettly pleeeeaaaase?" Indigo immediately joined in, standing next to Nemona, also pleading. One of the Grafaiai still clinging to Hasssel jumped off and revealed itself to be a Zoroark by transforming into a second Indigo and to join in on the pleading.

"C'mon Director, please?" said Arven, now joining in on the pleading, "Do it for your favorite students!"

"Or do it for Sr. Hassel," said Penny, taking on a more subtle yet apparent pleading expression of her own."You know it'd make him reeeaaaally happy!"

"Yeah Director, come on, can we do it?"

"Pretty please with a cheri berry on top?"

"It'd look so great out there!"

The rest of the students joined in, shouting various pleas to sway the director. Many of their Grafaiais also joined in, staring at the Director, staring as though they were trying to pull off the move 'Baby Doll Eyes'.

"Wh-..." The Director had been stunned speechless, as he looked over to Professor Chamomile, who simply smiled back.

"Now, how can you say no to those faces?" they said, playfully nudging Clavell's arm, "I think they deserve this.

Clavell laughed. "But of course, of course," he said, "It is indeed a marvelous idea! Hassel, what do you think of it?"

"Wholeheartedly, I couldn't agree more," said Hassel. "We'll set up a display first thing tomorrow."

The students all cheered in victory. Indigo high-fived their doppelganger, who finally revealed themself to be Luna, the shiny Zoroark.

At that moment, the school bell rang over the speakers.

"Alright, time for everyone to get to class," said Hassel, "I can handle cleaning up, as this setup should work just fine for my next class. I'll just switch out the canvases."

As the students recalled their Pokemon and waved goodbye to the adults and made their way out of the class, Clavell approached Hassel, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Would you like some help cleaning up?" He asked, "We can set the artworks wherever you see fit."

Chamomile looked over to their arcanine, bringing out his pokeball. "Ignis, can we switch?"

Ignis let out a quiet "boof" in confirmation before Chamomile returned him to his Pokéball and brought out Queenie once again.

"Hi Queenie," said Chamomile.

"Slooooow," Queenie greeted.

Chamomile turned back to Hassel. "We can help too, if you'd like!"

"That would be much appreciated," said Hassel with a thankful smile, before he walked over to one of the canvases as his rotom phone flew out of his pocket. "I just want to photograph all these artworks. I simply must show Brassie!"

"Of course," said Clavell, picking up some of the empty berry plates. "I do have to say, that seemed to have brought out quite a bit of emotions, even for you."

"Even for him??" Asked Chamomile, seeming genuinely surprised by the implication that such a reaction was not an uncommon occurrence. Then they looked over at Hassel, with an embarrassed and apologetic expression. "S- sorry, I don't mean to be rude! You just... Seemed so stoic when we first met during my job interview."

Hassel laughed. "It's alright; I've been often told I give off that impression," he said, "But truthfully, it's as Clavell said earlier: the students are my pride and joy of this career. I get overjoyed when I see how much they've learned and grown as people, and, well, it's hard to contain all that emotion."

"But it is also true that this was indeed quite overwhelming, even for me," he continued, as he took a moment to pick up one of the canvases and examine the painting. "It was around this time last year that I almost quit teaching altogether."

"Ah yes, I remember," said Clavell, "It's quite hard to believe that had a whole year!"

"What happened?" asked Chamomile, as they they went around collecting some of the supplies that were still out with Queenie's help.

"Well you see, I come from a prestigious family of dragon tamers," Hassel explained, "I was meant to be the heir to family and lead it to greatness, as according to my relatives. However, I felt that the life was not fit for me, so I ran away when I was but a child."

Chamomile listened intently in silence, as Hassel explained.

"I vowed to make a living with music," said Hassel, his tone becoming more enthusiastic, "But as I grew up, everything I had experienced led me astray from that dream, and I found that my true calling was in art and inspiring others to take their lives and make it their own, rather than follow a predetermined path laid out for them!"

"In result, I became a teacher, many years ago, and found it to be a rewarding experience. Now, fast forward to about a year ago, a relative of mine came to me, and told me that my father - the current leader of my family, was in poor health." Hassel crossed his arms as his expression grew more annoyed. "Before long I had found out that the story my relative spun was a great exaggeration, but at the time I had truly believed it, and I was so close to resigning so that I could tend to my father and fulfill the role that my family had decided for me from the very beginning."

"Funny enough, many of the students who participated in this surprise event were the same ones who filled me with the courage to decline my family's request for me to return. And to this day, I do not regret that decision." He took a moment to quickly wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes before he continued speaking. "And yet... Having these students express their gratitude with such a-... A grand gesture-..."

Upon hearing some soft sobbing, Hassel looked over at Chamomile to see that there were tears already streaming down their own face. "Oh... Moved by my story, are you, young professor?"

Clavell looked over at Chamomile with a concerned expression. "Are you alright, Mx. Chamomile?"

"Y- yeah, I'm alright..." Chamomile quickly wiped away their own tears and took a deep breath. "I suppose it just took me by surprise, that our experiences are so similar."

"Is that so?" asked Hassel, raising his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head in fascination.

"Yeah... But um-" Chamomile fidgeted with their sleeves bashfully. "It's a part of my past that I would prefer stays in my past."

"Ah." Hassel held up a hand with the palm facing Chamomile's direction. "Say no more, I completely understand. For what it's worth however, whatever you had gone through, I'm glad that your path led you to us."

"I agree," said Director Clavell, "It's been a pleasure working with you so far."

"Please, you're giving me too much credit," said Chamomile, "I've barely even started."

"That may be true," said Hassel, "But your field of research is quite inspiring. I look forward to the potential you bring for the future of Pokemon care!"

"Thank you," said Chamomile, "I'll try my best!"

[bunnylafee]

Hi! It's been a while I know.

Monday June 24th I got the pleasure of taking my beautiful and amazing girlfriend on a date! The food was delicious, the service was slooooow. Normally doesn't take that long but that's fine. More time to spend with my wonderful girlfriend.

I'm suppose to be asleep right now so I can be up early to see her again. I just am sooo happy feeling because I got to spend time with her outside of a professional setting. I got to be.. real with her and just kinda let my walls down a tiny bit.

I'm trying my best with everyone but shit happens.

I'm trying to be the best version of myself for everyone but in the process, losing me a bit. I don't know.

I just wanna be a good girlfriend and wife.