#it's not important to the story or anything

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 17/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 17 :

Paris was grey that morning.

The kind of grey that soaked through wool and bone. That made the Seine look like smoke and the streets like a sigh.

Lando didn’t notice. Not really.

He stepped out of the car across from the Palais Garnier with a heartbeat he could hear in his throat. Cold air clung to him. His fingers were stuffed into the sleeves of a coat that wasn’t warm enough, his curls flattened by wind and worry.

He looked up at the gilded facade, the statues and columns, the massive green dome rising like it held all the stories in the world. The building seemed to breathe with history and elegance, like it knew he didn’t belong here.

But he went in anyway.

The woman at the front desk stopped him before he’d even made it past the first velvet rope.

“I’m sorry, monsieur. This entrance is for staff and registered company members only.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not… I’m not trying to sneak in or anything. I just—” He hesitated, suddenly aware of how stupid he sounded. “I’m looking for someone.”

She raised a brow.

“Ariana Riverria.”

The name landed like a note played too softly on a grand piano.

The woman blinked once. Her voice stayed polite. “Mademoiselle Riverria is in rehearsal. Visitors aren’t permitted inside the studios.”

“I know. I’m not trying to interrupt. I just… I thought maybe I could wait?” he asked, quieter now. “Just in the lobby. I won’t cause any trouble. I just need to see her. Just for a minute.”

Something in his eyes must have reached her, the guilt, the longing, the grief still bleeding under the skin.

She sighed.

“You can sit. But you’ll have to wait until classes end. Maybe someone can pass a message, if she comes by the desk.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

He took a seat on one of the antique benches, hands clenched together between his knees. Time slowed. The walls stretched. People came and went, dancers, staff, tourists with quiet steps and velvet voices.

And Lando waited.

Hours passed.

Every time a girl with dark hair in a long coat crossed the marble floor, he sat up straighter, heart thudding, only to deflate again when it wasn’t her.

Rumors started.

Who’s the guy in the corner?

He’s been here all morning.

Is he okay?

Some whispered he looked familiar.

Others said he was handsome. Some girls smiled at him. One even asked if he was waiting for someone important. He just nodded.

The woman at the desk checked on him once. Slid a bottle of water across the counter with a faint smile. “Still nothing,” she murmured.

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

By late afternoon, the sky had gone gold behind the stained-glass windows. The lamps flickered on, and the lobby glowed.

He had stopped checking his phone hours ago.

He had stopped trying to rehearse what he’d say, too. The speech had dissolved into dust somewhere around the fifth hour. All that was left was a feeling, sharp, aching, restless.

And then…

The doors opened again.

Footsteps. Light ones.

And Lando knew, before he saw her face that it was her.

Ariana stepped into the lobby in her long black coat, hair tucked into a soft scarf, ballet shoes in her gym bag hanging off one shoulder.

She paused.

Her body stilled, not with surprise, but something else.

Something colder.

Lando stood slowly, legs stiff, heart pounding like it had been waiting for this cue all day.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The marble floor between them felt endless.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

The words he’d rehearsed “I’m sorry,” “I was wrong,” “I miss you,” “I love you” all of them collapsed inside his mouth.

He looked at her like a man who had been crawling through a desert and finally found water.

She looked at him like she wasn’t sure what to say.

His voice, when it came, was rough. Quiet. Scared.

“Can we talk?”

A pause.

“Please?”

They didn’t speak again until they were alone.

Ariana led him to a side corridor, past the main rehearsal halls, to a small room tucked behind a velvet curtain, a warm-up studio, empty now. The light was soft, slanting through the tall windows in amber streaks. Dust floated in the air like breath held too long.

She dropped her bag in the corner.

He didn’t sit.

Neither did she.

They just stood there, ten feet apart, hearts louder than their voices.

Lando swallowed hard.

“I didn’t come here to fix everything in one conversation,” he said. “I came because… I couldn’t live with the way we ended.”

She didn’t interrupt.

“I said things I didn’t mean. I said things out of fear, not truth. I let jealousy get in my head, and I let doubt speak for me instead of love. And that’s not who I want to be. Not with you.”

He looked up, eyes glassy.

“You were honest with me. In your way. Quiet, careful, soft. And I… I didn’t know how to handle that. I wanted loud proof. Concrete answers. I didn’t know how to listen to silence.”

Still, she said nothing.

“I should’ve asked instead of assuming. Should’ve trusted you when you gave me every reason to. I let something from before define something we were still building. And I know now, that was the worst thing I could do.”

A pause.

He stepped closer, slow, not too close.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Every morning. Every night. Every time I look at my phone and hope to see your name. Every time someone asks if I’m okay and I want to say your name instead of answering.”

Finally, Ariana spoke, voice steady, but hushed.

“I left because I had to. Not because I wanted to.”

Lando nodded, wordless.

“I left because… I gave you the most fragile piece of me. I gave you the part I swore I’d never give anyone again. And the first time it cracked, you dropped it.”

She stepped toward him now, arms still crossed, but closer.

“I know you didn’t mean to. I know you were scared. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

He exhaled, jaw clenched. “I know.”

“It wasn’t about you being jealous. Not really. It was about being asked to prove something I’d already shown you every day I was with you. In the way I held your hand when no one was looking. In the way I let you into my world even when I was still learning how to feel safe again.”

She looked away, then back.

“And when you questioned that... it felt like everything I feared was true. That love is never enough. That even when I give everything, it won’t be believed.”

Lando’s voice cracked. “I believed it. I just… I panicked.”

“I know.”

They stood in that truth for a while.

Then Lando spoke again, quieter now, voice shaking like a branch about to snap.

“I saw the post,” he said. “About Marc.”

Ariana’s eyes flickered.

“I saw what the Royal Ballet said. I saw everything people are saying.” He looked away for a second, like it burned to remember. “God, Ariana. I didn’t know. I didn’t want to believe you were still with him, but I let what I saw online—what he wanted people to see—convince me.”

He looked at her again, fully, with nothing to hide behind. “I’m so sorry. For the way I reacted. For not seeing the truth. For not asking.”

Ariana’s shoulders rose slightly, then lowered. Her voice came quiet. “I know. I saw your texts.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Then she stepped back slightly, not away, just enough to breathe.

“When we were together… Marc lied. He cheated. He said things that hurt. He’d lose his temper sometimes. But it never got too bad. Not then…”

She paused.

Lando’s throat worked around the lump that rose. “That’s already too much, Ariana.”

Her eyes lifted to his, suddenly more tired than anything else. “It was worse after I left him.”

Lando stilled.

“That’s when he showed who he really was. He started making calls. Quiet ones. Blocking me from auditions. Dropping comments to directors. He told people we were still together. Told me I had to act like it, if I wanted to stay ‘relevant’ in the company. That I owed him, for everything he helped me get.”

Lando’s chest felt like it might split open. “Jesus, Ari…”

She kept going. Not coldly. Not with pity. Just fact.

“He manipulated every room he walked into. And I let it go on for months."

Lando’s jaw tightened. “That’s—Ariana, that’s… horrible. I'm so sorry really, I should've been better."

She looked up at him, tired but calm.

“I’m glad it’s out now. I’m glad he’s fired. But I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I don’t want to think about him.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Okay. I understand.”

Then, softly, like she didn’t want the words to exist yet she says “I miss you too you know ?"

His breath hitched.

“But,” she added, eyes meeting his, “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

Lando nodded.

“I don’t expect you to. Not yet.”

She blinked. Surprised by how easily he accepted that.

“But I’m going to earn it,” he said. “With showing up. With doing the hard work of being better.”

He stepped closer now, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, not touching, but there.

“Because I know it now. It’s you. It’s always been you. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need. Because in my world, the noise, the chaos, the spotlight, you were the only thing that ever felt quiet.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then, a small smile tugged at her lips. Sad. Soft. Real.

Her voice broke on the edges.

“You matter to me too, Lando. That’s why it hurt so much.”

His eyes brimmed again. “Then let me try.”

She looked at him for a long time, studying him not like a stranger, but like someone she still recognized beneath the cracks.

Finally, she whispered, “Okay.”

The walk back to her apartment was quiet.

Not the uncomfortable kind, not anymore, but the kind that breathes. That lets two people simply exist beside one another, hearts still sore, but beating in sync again.

It was dusk in Paris. The sky the color of a bruised peach, buildings blushed in soft golds. The world was winding down. But for Lando, something was just beginning again.

Ariana didn’t say much on the way. He didn’t need her to.

He was too focused on the way her hand kept brushing his, not quite holding it, not yet, but close enough that he could feel her warmth and knew that maybe, someday soon, she’d let him hold it again.

When they reached her door, she paused with her key in hand.

Then she looked at him. Quiet. Unsure.

“Do you want to come up?”

He blinked.

He hadn’t expected that. Not yet.

But his chest tightened with something warm.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”

She opened the door and let him inside.

Her parisian apartment was... just like her.

Not just decorated by her, but inhabited by her essence. Every detail, from the neatly stacked books to the ballet shoes strung quietly by the window, the old records beside the player, the soft rugs, the muted tones, the corner full of candles she probably lit when the city felt too loud, it all spoke of her.

And suddenly, he understood.

This wasn’t just a space.

This was how she spoke. How she’d always spoken.

It hit him like a wave.

She never needed to say “I love you” ten times a day. She didn’t need grand gestures or big declarations. Ariana spoke in acts of trust. In proximity. In letting him in, literally, figuratively, entirely.

He saw it now.

She had let him in when she first texted him back.

When she agreed to see him again after the gala.

When she met his friends despite the fact she hated loud people and unfamiliar faces.

When she let him kiss her for the first time in front of her favorite painting and then again in the quietness of her appartement. When she tried karting with him even though the sound of engines made her flinch.

When she introduced him to her cat.

And as if summoned by thought, the small white ball of fluff strutted into the room from the hallway, blue eyes icy and unblinking, tail held with the arrogant posture only cats could pull off.

Lando froze.

The cat blinked at him. Judging. Displeased.

Ariana bit her lip, amused. “She remember you.”

“She always stare like that?”

“I think she knows you are the reason why I was sad lately.”

He sighed. ��Perfect.”

Aria padded closer, then sat dramatically at Ariana’s feet, pressed herself to her like she was claiming her back from him.

Lando stared.

The cat glared.

It felt like a test.

“Do you want to pet her?” Ariana asked, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He shifted awkwardly. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ve never owned a cat?”

“I’ve barely been in a room with one that didn’t try to claw my face off.”

Ariana crouched down, stroked Aria’s head. The cat purred instantly, leaning into her hand. Then she looked back up at Lando, still amused.

“She’s soft,” Ariana said gently. “But she doesn’t like sudden movements. She doesn’t chase affection. You have to earn it.”

He swallowed.

“Ironic. That reminds me of someone”

Ariana said nothing. Just waited.

So he moved. Slowly.

Kneeling down beside them. His hand hovered, then, with all the hesitance of a man defusing a bomb, he reached forward and brushed a single finger along Aria’s back.

She blinked.

Didn’t move.

He tried again, this time with his whole hand.

And she… tolerated it.

It was the smallest of victories. But when he looked up, Ariana was smiling.

Really smiling.

Something soft and tired and almost proud.

He sat back on his heels, sighing. “I’m trying, you know.”

“I know,” she said.

He leaned against the couch, let his head fall back with a long exhale. His voice, when it came next, was quiet, nearly a whisper.

“I didn’t understand before.”

Ariana sat down beside him.

“Understand what?” she asked.

“You. The way you show love.”

She looked at him.

He turned toward her, eyes earnest, hand still tingling from the pressure of Aria’s fur.

“I kept expecting you to say things the way I would. To scream when you were angry. To cry when you were sad. To tell me exactly what you felt when you felt it.”

He swallowed.

“But you were loving me the whole time. Just… differently.”

Ariana was quiet.

“You let me into your world. Slowly. Carefully. And I missed it. I was too loud to hear you.”

“You were scared,” she said gently.

He nodded. “But I let the fear make me cruel.”

They sat in that silence, the kind that no longer felt empty, just shared.

Finally, she said:

“I wasn’t asking you to be perfect. Just… patient.”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her hair slightly messy from rehearsal, her cheeks still pink from the walk, her hand now resting close to his on the cushion.

“I can be patient,” he said. “I’ll take it one day at a time. One breath. One pet of that terrifying little fur demon.”

She laughed.

And it broke something open in both of them.

Aria jumped up beside them, curled beside Ariana’s thigh, and let Lando exist in her presence without complaint.

Which, for a cat like her, was practically a love letter.

Ariana smiled again, softly this time.

“You’re learning,” she whispered.

Lando smiled too. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Because you’re worth it.”

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1

Tell me if you want to be add to the taglist !

[boyfhee]

MUNDANE

( 장르를 ) husband jake x reader ★ fluff, skinship─────i don’t know what this is. enjoy i guess

you think jake looks the prettiest in the little, mundane things he does every day.

no, he looks handsome all the time, really. although, there is a different kind of intimacy in the domesticity of having him around and watching him do the usual chores.

he gets out of bed, hair mussed and catches you staring at him. when he is out of the shower, you’re still staring at him, and when he is in front of the mirrors, fixing the cuffs of his shirt or fixing his belt through the loops of his trousers and fastening it— or better when he’s taking it off— only to get surprised when he catches you gawking at him again.

you watch him when he is carrying heavy stuff around the house— boxes, weights, anything, like they are air. how easily you can basically see his muscles flex at the movement, and it doesn’t help that he prefers to wear tank tops around the house.

worse— he carries you around with so much ease. you say you are tired and he would carry you all the way inside from the car. you don’t have to bother yourself with the stairs anyway. he would carry you from the bathroom to the bedroom after washing your hair, and he would pick you up and put you on the counter so you can shave his face.

sim jaeyun knows he is hot and sexy and it’s everything that makes you lose your mind.

and the way he runs his hand through his hair as a habit, the way he messes it up a little when he’s frustrated, or the way he ties it in a bun while cooking— cooking, which rather feels like a heavenly dance with the way the kitchen lights reflect off his skin, making him look angelic. there’s an apron, only an apron covering his bare chest, most of the time, or an undershirt on your lucky days— or not.

you think he does it on purpose, there’s no way he doesn’t know you’re crazy for him. his innocent smile melts your heart, while his hands that trace over your waist every time you pass by tell a whole different story.

but you would argue that he looks the best in his glasses, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, doing taxes and going through bills as he is right now.

there’s addiction in his fluid movements as he goes over calculations in his mind and works with the numbers, flipping through the papers. you can barely do anything else except sliding onto his lap, drawing an amused but not so surprised expression out of him.

“not now, baby. this is important,” he leans back on the chair, pushing his glasses up. jaeyun also looks pretty when he is looking at you with a serious expression.

and you love to tick him off, at times. “i know,”

he sighs at your antics, squinting his eyes at you. “where did you even spend seven hundred dollars—”

and he can question you as much as he wants if he is going to look at you with those half-lidded bedroom eyes, but you are in a mood for something else right now. “just shut up and kiss me, jaeyun,”

and like the good husband he is, he complies, tugging you closer by your waist. “as you wish, darling,”

[jackoquako]

Burning from the Inside

Yan! Batfamily x neglected! male! meta! Reader

Chapter one: Enter the Manor

Summary: The first few months of living in the manor and your impressions of the inhabitants. Word Count: 2805 Reading Time: 11:14 (mins:secs) Notes: Uh yeah this was meant to be maybe like 1000 words max. Oopsies 😬. I thought I’d do an honorable mention of @sitepathos and their series Gold to Mold bc while the influence may not be obvious, that story was one of my main influences to finally write the story in my head. Also any OOC behavior can be chalked up to the characters being emotionally inept (Bruce), not fully capable of raising a child that’s not Robin (Bruce again), or deal with their own emotional baggage of not being Robin anymore (dick). Also it’s important to note that I do look through the interactions with my fic and block profiles that only use she/her or say “cis girl”. The idea of being used as a tool for someone else’s gratification makes me uncomfortable and this is my blog, I do what I want. No current release date for the second chapter, it’ll get done when it gets done I guess.. 🤷‍♂️😓 Warnings: written in first person, talks of a young child (11) dealing with depression but the word isn’t used. Aggressive behavior from an adult to a child, and neglect from a parental figure.

Navigation

Masterlist

Prologue | Chapter 1 (you are here) | Next Chapter ->

The first week in the manor was actually rather.. nice. The car Alfred had taken you to the manor in was a shiny black, the interior coated in an oil-like black leather that made noise when you moved on it. There’d been a bag of fast food waiting for you in the back seat of the car when Alfred ushered you in. You’d devoured the meal hastily- not out of any sort of food deprivation or malnutrition, but because it never seemed like you could sate your appetite. No matter what, you were always a little hungry, a little more ravenous than the other boys your age. He’d talked sparingly as he drove, rarely talking his eyes off the road. It seemed like he understood. Unlike the cops and the foster families and the social workers, Alfred didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “that must hurt”. He didn’t really say anything about it at all. 

He’d asked you what your favorite color was, what style of decoration you’d want for your room, if you enjoyed your current clothes and style or if you’d rather have something else, and other similar questions. It was slow going, moving your mouth to form answers. Since the house fire, you’d grown to be unlike your past self, retracting into your shell like a snail, and barely speaking unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t seem to mind silence, though. It made a knot in your shoulders, that you never noticed, come loose.

The ride wasn’t very long, or maybe it was, you didn’t pay much attention to the time. It didn’t feel like a long ride. You’d spent the majority of it resting your head on the car door and staring out the window, watching buildings and trees pass by. The squat, brick buildings of mom-and-pop businesses of the town you’d been moved to gradually gave way to towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, although that eventually fell away to a thinned forest and big houses that stood proud among manicured lawns. The houses faded away too, leaving miles of sprawling woods the only thing to look at. Watching the trees pass by was a rather calming experience, your heartbeat slow and steady in your chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling that ever-present heat under your skin settle, like a cat laying in the sun. It never left, like a permanent fever, but it could calm down, it could go dormant for the moment. 

The car rolled to a stop and you opened your eyes. A mansion stood alone in the middle of the woods, a driveway leading up to it and ending in a roundabout with a fountain in the middle. The front of the house was framed by well-loved hedges and flower beds which bloomed with brilliant white and red flowers. The house- mansion- itself was a deep red brick, the stone worn by weather, and framed by snow-white columns of marble. It was imposing, looming over the surrounding trees. Alfred stepped out of the car and moved around to the side, opening the door for you.

“Master yn, we have arrived.” He said with that same kind, elegant manner he’d greeted you with, back at the social worker’s office. 

As you climbed out of the car, Alfred moved back to the trunk and opened it, grabbing your singular bag of belongings before closing the trunk. He walked to the pristine marble stairs that led up to the tall mahogany  doors, the gravel crunching under his shiny black shoes. You followed loosely behind him, looking around at the outside of the house. The thought hadn’t quite managed to break through the fog that always seemed to cloud your mind nowadays, but it suddenly dawned on you that this isn’t exactly a normal foster family. You hurried to the door when Alfred held it open for you, stopping only for a moment to glance down at the outdoor mat resting outside the door. It was black with a gold logo printed onto it; the logo looked like a highly stylized W with an E beside it. An unsettled feeling rested in your stomach at the sight of it and you couldn’t quite grasp why. 

Entering the mansion, you were struck with the smell of cleaner and, very faintly, cologne. It smelled like an expensive store, the kind of place you and your mom would walk past on the way to your usual shopping area. The entryway had an open doorway that offered a small glimpse into the rest of the manor. A grand staircase ran down the side of the wall, the room entirely lit by a chandelier hanging from the high vaulted ceiling. Alfred moves past you, closing the door behind you both, and talks while gesturing for you to follow him up the grand staircase.

He’d taken you down a long hall that was lined with closed doors, explaining where everything was located whilst walking.

“Now, Master Bruce’s bedroom is.. further down the hall.”

You must’ve given him a curious look as you both arrived at your new room. Alfred opened the door for you, allowing you to enter in front of him.

“He wishes to give you space during this time.”

Your stomach churned at those words. They were perfectly designed, like what a PR team would tell their talent to say after screwing up massively. It left a sour taste in your mouth and you couldn’t quite meet Alfred’s gaze after hearing that. You looked around the room as Alfred set down your bag on the bed. It was much larger than anywhere you’d lived before, considering both foster homes and your real home. 

Despite the size, though, the room was bare of any decoration. A single twin bed laid under the brightness of the single window in the room, only blinds blocking the sunlight. Along the far right wall stood a sturdy wooden dresser and mirror. The walls were a blank white wallpaper and the floor was the same shiny deep-colored wood as the hallway outside. There was no side table for the bed, no carpet despite how cold the floor would definitely get, no posters or paintings, just the bare necessities. It was the picture of utilitarian. Alfred spoke up, clearing his throat as if he was embarrassed.

“Unfortunately, we were unable to source more furniture before your arrival.” He said with the same elegance as everything else he’d said, despite his expression figuratively shouting how upset he was about what he was saying. 

It intrigued you more than it should’ve. You shrugged and went to the window, pulling down one of the blinds to look outside.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not. You didn’t turn to look back at Alfred as you spoke, nor did you look back when you heard his fancy dress shoes shuffle against the floor. You heard the door creak.

“I’ll let you settle in, sir.”

You heard the door shut behind Alfred as he left. The minute you were alone, you fell back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

The first few weeks had been rather boring, admittedly. You’d often stay in your room for days at a time, only wandering out to explore the house when you got bored of staring at the ceiling. You’d stroll up and down the halls, discovering the library, the private study that Bruce Wayne used, the various staff quarters, and more guest bedrooms than you thought was possible. None of it really excited you, though. A numbness had invaded your mind and made you into a living ghost, something human in name only. You no longer looked in mirrors and spoke very little, if at all. Not like there were very many people to talk to.

Bruce Wayne was as elusive as rain in the desert. He flitted about the manor, only ever coming home very late at night and leaving in the morning. You didn’t really want to know what he was doing so late in the evening, but you figured you’d find out about it someday. Secrets between you and your mom didn’t last very long, so most family secrets should be the same. 

The very few times you interacted with Bruce Wayne, he seemed distracted or discomforted by your presence, like he was seeing your mother, not you. If you happened to be in the kitchen when he came in, he’d stare at you for a long moment before attempting some sort of small talk. When you didn’t respond, he’d just leave. After the first three days, he avoided you completely. Maybe it was because you were both orphans or maybe there was just something unsettling about you, but Bruce Wayne didn’t want you in his house. Maybe he saw the same in-humanness that the foster families saw. Whatever was wrong with you was palpable, apparently.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only person in the manor who avoided you. 

Richard Grayson was, according to google, an orphan Bruce Wayne took in. Grayson didn’t care for your presence either. He was eighteen and seemed to be genuinely disgusted by you. Maybe he saw something too. Or maybe he was just a dick. The first incident with Grayson happened not too long after you moved in. You’d been wandering towards the direction of the kitchen when the front door burst open. He’d stood in the doorway, framed by the light around him, like an action figure in a commercial, all stoic and proud. You stopped to look at him and he looked back, like two animals spooked by the other’s existence. He’d scowled and glared down at you, crossing his arms as he approached. The rude dick left the door open behind him. 

“What are you, another one of Bruce’s new bratty orphans?” His words dripped with anger and annoyance, like you were ruining something just by the virtue of being here. He scoffed before you could even respond and stomped off. 

Luckily for you, though, Grayson didn’t live in the manor. He had his own apartment he’d disappear to for weeks. It was bliss, not having him around constantly. Living with Bruce Wayne already had your blood pressure high and your fuse short, but having someone as outright about their dislike of you- over something that you didn’t even understand- that made your blood boil. You had to physically stop yourself from launching yourself at Grayson every time he looked at you like you were a cockroach. 

But there were redeeming inhabitants in the manor. One of which was Alfred. He never forced you to talk if you didn’t feel like it, which you often didn’t. When you crawled out of your room for food once a day, he’d prepare a meal for you whilst telling you a story. You enjoyed his stories; the stories reminded you of your mother.

“Once, when I was in the SAS,” He’d begin, chopping vegetables into fine little cubes and tossing them into a pan. He’d grab fresh herbs from somewhere and begin chopping those as well.

“There were two new recruits.” He focused on what he was doing as you rested your head on your palm and stood leaning on the dinner table. “And they thought they were just the sneakiest men in the platoon.”

Once the herbs were diced, he’d add them to the sizzling pan, and stir the concoction. The action sent a flurry of floral scents in the air, filling the kitchen with an inviting aroma. 

Alfred continued whilst stirring the contents of the pan. “So the rest of us had dared them; said ‘if you’re really that good at sneaking around, then sneak up to one of the rabbits on base and put a ribbon on it.’”

“And by god, they did.” Alfred chuckled to himself as he turned off the burner and continued to stir, reaching over to the spice rack and picking out multiple bottles and sprinkling the contents into the pan. “They snuck out of the barracks that night and went out into the woods without any of us knowing.”

He gestured for you to sit at the bar and grabbed a plate from a cabinet, snatching a fork from an adjacent drawer. “By the time we all woke up and began our own duties, there were about twelve rabbits running around the base with little ribbon bow ties tied around their necks!”

Laughing softly to himself, Alfred scooped out the cooked vegetable stir-fry onto the plate and brought it over to you along with the fork. He’d sat with you as you ate, talking about other stories from his time in the SAS and his time working for Martha and Thomas Wayne. His genuine kindness made it almost worth it to be living in the manor.

The other inhabitant who didn't mind you being in the manor- and even seemed to like you being around- was Jason Todd. You’d met him while wandering around the manor like you often did. You’d just found the library for the first time when he popped up out of nowhere, appearing from behind a plush seat like a character from a horror movie. He’d bounded over to you like an excited puppy and began speaking a mile a minute. At first he’d put on this hyper-masculine deep voice that didn’t match his face or his age at all.

“Hey! Who are you?” He’d looked down his nose at you and you quickly realized that he, despite already being the same height as you, had stood on his tiptoes specifically so he could look down his nose at you. 

Fixing him with the same blank stare you’d used on everyone, you answered simply. That numbness you’d grown accustomed to made it hard to put energy into your voice. “(Y/N).”

He blinked once, then twice, and then the facade broke. His voice softened into what you assumed was its normal state and he slowly lowered himself to his usual height. Tilting this way and that, he examined you with an almost-suspicious expression. 

“Oh.” He suddenly light up with recognition. “You must be the other kid B took in. I’m Jason.” He pointed to himself with a prideful smile. “How come I haven’t seen you around?” The question was innocently curious, only prying on accident. 

You stared blankly, no response leaving your lips as you stood still. He tilted his head and frowned, shrugging as he looked away, feigning disinterest.

“Strong and silent type, huh?” He nodded to himself as he said the words, still looking at some random book on the bookshelf. “I can work with that.”

And he did.

Jason’s friendship was unlike your relationship with Alfred. In the fogginess of apathy- depression, you realized- he cut through the clouds like a lighthouse. He’d follow you around when you left your room, finding you every time like he had a compass implanted in his head or something, and it exclusively led to you. You’d be just wandering, sometimes taking paths you already walked before, sometimes carving completely new wear patterns in the carpet, and he’d sidle right up next to you and begin talking.

Just like Alfred, he did the talking for the two of you, but he was different. Jason would pause occasionally after cracking a joke, glancing at you to see if you laughed, smiling if he saw you reacted at all. It was like he understood you in a way Alfred didn’t, like he’d been in your shoes before. Sometimes while walking through the halls of the manor, he’d take your hand and lead you to some unspecified place. Occasionally it was the library, but most of the time it was places you’d never gone before, like the rooftop, the garden, and the theater room. 

Eventually, you learned through his one-sided conversations that Jason was only two years older than you at 13, and that he’d lived in crime alley. You didn’t really know where that was, but it sounded like a rough place to live. After a few months of being Jason’s unofficial sidekick, you began talking again. He never made a big deal out of it, but you could see his eyes light up when he finally got a response, even if they were one-worded at best. He’d cracked the hardened shell of emptiness that formed around your heart. The constant rejection by Wayne and Grayson didn’t help, neither did the gentle approach from Alfred, if you were being honest, but Jason had cracked it. He’d pulled you out of a ship you didn’t know had already sunk. And the first embers of happiness began to spark up again once more, even if it was faint. For the first time in a really long time, you had a friend.

And you had all the time in the world to get to know each other better. 

[platoniclace]

Not to derail or anything, but I get these same exact feelings about a lot of postmodern literature.

Like, I can completely understand the argument that life isn't always roses and candy, there's real shit that happens and needs to be discussed. We should absolutely put the hard stuff into our stories. But!! For the love of all that is good in this world, can we just destroy the nihilistic, hopeless attitude that has permeated art?

As a writer myself (who has also studied stupid amounts of English literature), I will never balk from putting hard topics and concepts into my own writing. I will also read about hard things a lot. Tbh, you can drag me through hell and back so long as there is some kind of HOPE. We should never, NEVER get rid of hope, and we should never scoff at art or writing that's been created for the sake of beauty and joy. Not everything has to make a point or take a stand. It's important to do so, but eliminating all things bright and beautiful just kills the human spirit. Can we get back to creating things that lift our eyes up? That inspire? That give us some sense of greater pleasure and purpose?

I'm so done with the edgelord, self-aggrandized bullshit that's entirely focused on portraying the worst and most degenerate of humanity. It's gross, it's hopeless, and it leaves people feeling worse off.

And for the love of God, can people who hate specific genres of literature just stop writing those genres and trying to pass it off as a "new twist?" It's painfully clear you hate this and just want to make fun of it. Just stop.

We just need balance, okay? Okay.

i never realized how much i hate modern art until i took a class in modern art

it’s so pretentious. like half of the pieces we’ve looked at have been purportedly commenting on elitism in art and income disparities when the piece itself sold for thousands of dollars to be put in a museum for rich people to look at. you’re supposed to look at barren canvases with vague splotches of color and meditate on the nature of life, navelgazing for an hour. bitch I can do that in my own home for free. most of the time the pieces themselves don’t require any skill, it’s just an asshole with some bright idea that ~~~no one has ever thought of before~~~ (which is bullshit, originality is a myth) and the gall to pretend that they’re saying something meaningful. A bunch of postmodernists specialize in literal plagiarism but with a different title. wow so edgy. really thought provoking. you sure are making a statement that’s relevant and people care about.

the most egregious example is this bullshit:

this is an overhead view of a plaza wherein some famous guy was commissioned to design a public art piece for. The brick and nonfunctional fountain was already there. The sculpture? a literal wall of iron bisecting the courtyard. this guy was paid over 100k to design this. 

Now, this is located in a city, smack dab in the middle of a bunch of office buildings. Workers who had to spend 8 hours a day 5 days a week doing menial desk jobs had to look at this ugly piece of shit. You want to have a nice picnic during lunch break with your work buddies? tough shit. You get tilted arc instead fucko. You can’t see from one end of the courtyard to another because some dick thought rebar sheet metal was more important. It also impeded movement between the buildings so that you have to go around this fucking obstacle instead of just fucking walking from one side to the other. 

So yeah, these workers got pissed, because you’re making an ugly place even uglier for obscene amounts of money without thinking about the ppl who actually have to look at it every day (who had no say in the design). There have been countless studies done on stress and related health problems in office workers and having to look at ugly as sin shit like this piece of work actually contributes to stress and decreases mental and physical health (as opposed to pretty scenery or plants etc). 

When the designer was told what people thought of his masterpiece, he threw an absolute shitfit. “art doesn’t have to be pretty”, he said. “art isn’t for the public”. 

while it is absolutely true that art doesn’t have to be aesthetically pleasing to be meaningful or relevant, putting this fucking monstrosity in a place where people are forced to look at it day in day out, in addition to the ugly buildings and streets and shit that comprises the rest of their lives is just kind of a dick move. Yes, people are painfully aware that life and art and all that shit isn’t always pretty. they’re the ones who have to live with that fact, not some pompous asshole who thinks he’s god’s gift to man because he put some metal wall in a plaza. 

And yeah, not all art is for the public. Art can be self-expression or just for your own enjoyment. But if you are being commissioned by the state, paid hundereds of thousands of tax dollars to make a PUBLIC art piece, yeah, it’s for the public! saying that other people have no say in what that public art piece looks like, implying that if other people don’t like your art that they just Don’t Understand True Art TM, is this hugely egotistical self-masturbatory elitism that puts the artist above the working people (when like the whole point of art is supposed to be disrupting this kind of bullshit thinking). 

But that’s not even the best part. This fucking douchebag, upon being told that people don’t want this metal wall in their courtyard and that they want him to move it, freaks the FUCK out about how he “designed it just for this space and taking it out of its context would destroy it”. Which like, yeah context is important when understanding the meaning of a piece. but literally the only meaning of this piece was “i got paid obscene amounts of money and im gonna use it to make the ugliest thing i can think of literally just because”. If you move it out of the context of the plaza it wouldn’t be impeding foot traffic or being an eyesore to the workers who are forced to spend their days there, which is destroying the purpose of the work. So in the end this guy opts to have the piece destroyed rather than moved because he can’t stand to have his ~~~high art~~~ removed from its PurposeTM which is to be unpleasant. i dont give a single goddamn fuck about ‘advancing sculpture’ or whatever the fuck, if it’s causing people stress on top of their already stressful lives just because you thought it would be great to create this atrocity in a place where no one can escape from, you’re not ‘advancing’ anything, you’re just being a dick.

So now the space has been converted to a rather plesant little oasis with plants and lots of benches. 

anyways thats my dissertation on how much i hate contemporary art and find it to lack relevance or meaning to the people it supposedly represents or defends. it takes itself too seriously and imposes arbitrary and hypocritical statements on the nature of art at the expense of any real substance. in the world we live in, pretty things for the sake of being pretty, having stories that are entertaining and engaging and relatable, having fun and feeling good in a world that devalues those things, etc. are far more impactful and radical than anything sitting in a museum created by some millionaire who jacks off to their “fine art”. thanks for coming to my ted talk have a good night

[tonellivision]

rule three

authors note: this is my first story, so have some grace for my terrible writing. This is not based on my life, BUT i am a camp counsellor, so this is what I got the idea from.

setting: canadian cottage country

pairing: kimi antonelli x fem!reader

warnings: flirting, angst, slow-burn, fluff, reader is canadian (this doesn't matter to the plot), very light swearing, angry confession, death threats? (it's a joke), not proofread

word count: 10.3k (my bad)

summary: y/n has three rules to survive living at camp for a summer, and they work pretty well considering she has been going back for the last 4 years. the rules are simple: have fun, do not get caught up in drama and most importantly, do not fall for someone at camp. but what happens when she meets a boy that could make her break the most important of the three.

rules were great.

my rules made sure my camp life wasn't complete crap.

my rules had made sure that my second, third and fourth summers working at camp went perfectly, and i was sure they were going to make sure i had another wonderful year.

they were very simple:

have fun

don't get involved in drama

DO NOT fall for someone at camp

– june 22nd –

i had been driving on the back roads for nearly an hour after exiting the highway, on which i had also been driving on for several hours before. now, i was surrounded by trees, my arm sat on the open window, noah kahan playing through the speaker of my crv. my car was packed full of everything i’d need for the summer, my exams had finished a couple weeks before, i had graduated a few days after that and now, I was going to my favourite place on earth. life was good. as i drove, i passed familiar mail boxes, towering maples, and gravel driveways. soon, i saw the rustic sign which displayed the camp's name in big bold letters which made me smile softly, knowing i was nearly at my home away from home.

i turned down the dirt road and drove even further into the woods. i knew there was a large lake through the trees ahead (simply because i had lived here for 4 summers), but the trees were so dense, i couldn’t see anything. rays of sunshine shone through the thick ceiling of leaves, keeping my car in the shade haphazardly.

i adored my job as a camp counsellor. if i didn’t, i wouldn’t be coming back. i adored pouring into the kids lives over the summer, bonding with them, making bracelets, swimming, sitting by the bond fire. sure, the pay was ass and my sleep schedule was never healthy but there were pros and cons to every job.

as i pulled into the main clearing, i could already see the other staff bustling about. there were a lot of returnees but i saw a few new faces. i drove passed the dining hall, shouting a few “heys” and “hellos” to my friends out the window. most were dragging suitcases and other things they had brought from home down to the cabins, a cody, carter, heather and jenna (who must have already unpacked) were playing spikeball in the field, and luke, julia and a few others were just lounging on the hammocks chatting and catching up about their school year. i drove into my parking spot, which was really just an empty bit of grass by the edge of the woods, hopped out of my car, flipped my shades in front of my eyes and opened up my trunk to begin unloading everything.

although i had tried to pack as light as possible for the almost 10 weeks i’d be here, there was still a ton of stuff. one big suitcase, a laundry basket packed full of essentials i knew i'd need, my bedding, my guitar and a few extras. i huffed and decided to begin with the suitcase. I had just started to pull the suitcase out, when a voice came from behind me, making me jump and nearly drop it.

“need a hand?” the voice said. it was heavily accented, italian probably? i wasn’t sure. i turned and was greeted with probably the most attractive boy i had ever seen in my life. he had gorgeous curls and a charming smile and these soft brown eyes and- oh no. i cut off my thoughts and i quickly recovered, hoping my face hadn’t displayed the wave of fear that i washed over me when i realised there was, in fact, someone here that may cause me to break rule three. “i’m kimi, by the way”

“oh! that would actually be fantastic. i'm y/n” i said smiling and sticking out my hand, knowing that this boy would be my downfall.

— july 1st —

we had been at camp for over a week now. we spent the first week prepping, cleaning and training for when the kids arrived, so when they arrived on the 29th we were ready. we were three days into the first actual camp week, and things had been great. i had gotten assigned the twelve-to-thirteen-year-old girls, and they were awesome. super energetic, funny, but unfortunately, not blind.

they had seen me and kimi talking and obviously began teasing as soon as they realised. i had finally managed to calm their giggles and explain that coworkers do, in fact, have to speak to each other, and it is not a sign of me wanting him to be my boyfriend, but kimi decided he was going to have a staring problem.

the first few days, his eyes would drift to me. i could feel them on me, but i managed to keep my eyes away from his. not only did my campers notice kimis eyes, but even worse, HIS campers noticed. so now i had to not only deal with nine twelve-to-thirteen-year-old girls trying to get me to admit i liked kimi, but i also had to listen to another nine pre-teen boys screeching at kimi to “use his italian rizz to seduce her” (an: this is a direct quote i experience this summer, im being so fr rn).

aside from this whole fiasco, the week had been going great. i had already bonded pretty well with my campers, we had gone tubing, swimming, played capture the flag, all the stereotypical camp activities. and of course, today was canada day, so that meant bonfire, red and white themed snacks and fireworks.

the sun was just starting to dip behind the trees when we got to the bonfire. the air smelled like woodsmoke and bug spray, and the mosquitoes were already beginning their nightly war against everyones ankles. my campers had rushed off to grab s’mores supplies and claim the best log seats, shouting over each other about who could roast their marshmallow the best. i let them go. they were good kids. loud, chaotic, a little too observant for my liking, but good.

i took a seat at one of the logs at the back. quieter, in the dark away from the fire light, more peaceful. of course, the moment i pulled out my guitar, a handful of my girls immediately perched around me like ducklings, asking for me to play different songs.

i started strumming a song i was pretty sure none of them would know but i knew the other counsellors loved. death wish love was just something soft to keep their chaos level from climbing too high. i didn’t even get through half a verse before the whispers started.

“miss y/n, he’s staring again.” kiana whispered.

i didn’t look up. i didn’t have to. i already knew who “he” was. i could feel his gaze from across the firepit like it was physically leaning on me. perhaps that was a tad bit dramatic. but accurate.

“i’m sure he’s just zoning out,” i said, not looking up from my guitar. “there’s fire. it’s hypnotic.”

giggles. always with the giggles.

“yeah, sure, he’s zoning out into your soul,” layla sassed.

i sighed. deeply. “go toast your marshmallows before i make you clean the latrines tomorrow.”

that scattered them fast enough.

i continued quietly strumming and singing softly, hoping to seem far to busy to care about the boy across from me.

kimi was across the fire pit, sitting on a log with his boys, pretending to be engaged in whatever story one of them was telling about catching a frog or making a leaf boat, but he wasn’t slick. i could feel his eyes on me. again.

the first firework went off with a bang that made the younger campers squeal and the older ones cheer like it was a soccer game. i stopped playing, just resting the guitar on my lap, letting the kids get lost in the colours. it was quiet for a few seconds.

peaceful.

then someone sat down next to me.

i didn’t have to look to know who it was.

not peaceful.

“you’re good with them,” he said after a beat, voice low enough that only i could hear it.

i shrugged. “bribery and thinly veiled threats work wonders.”

he huffed a laugh.

“you have a pretty voice too,” he said. i felt the tips of my ears heat up.

i turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at me this time. he was staring straight ahead, his profile all soft angles and flickering shadows from the firelight. he looked calm. he looked—ugh. he looked good. so good.

“you're really bad at being subtle,” i muttered.

he smiled, barely. “maybe.”

we sat like that for a while. i should have moved. everything in my body said move. but i didn’t. i didn’t move away, and he didn’t either.

— july 15th —

wednesday was the counselors' first day off. a few of the kids’ parents had come up to visit for the day, taking them away from camp for little day trips and lakeside lunches, which meant one thing: blissful, precious silence. the directors took charge of the stragglers who hadn’t been picked up, and the rest of us got the green light to do whatever we wanted as long as we were back before curfew and didn’t, quote, "get arrested or start a forest fire."

so naturally, that’s how i found myself crammed into the old camp van with seven other half-sweaty, half-hyper counselors and one very worn-out air freshener dangling from the mirror. kimi was driving, which should’ve been illegal, honestly. not because he was bad at it—he was actually really good—but because there was something about him driving with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses on, window down, wind ruffling his curls, that made it really hard to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

i was in the middle seat, squished between julia and heather, trying very hard not to look at kimi in the rearview mirror. or out the window reflection. or literally anywhere near his direction. it was fine. totally fine.

carter was in shotgun when he spoke “town run? or beach first?”

“town,” jenna said immediately from the back. “we need snacks. and i need dry shampoo or i’ll actually die.”

“respectfully,” luke added next to her, “you already kind of look like a victorian ghost.”

jenna whacked him over the head with her empty gatorade bottle, and cody attempted to restrain luke, who had started trying to yank the bottle from jennas hands.

“honestly, why do we need campers when we already have you too,” i said, rolling my eyes playfully. kimi just grinned and turned the van toward the highway.

the town was tiny, one of those classic one-street, general-store-and-ice-cream kind of towns, but it was basically a major metropolitan city to us after being stuck in the woods for weeks. we pulled up to the general store called Buck n Wilsons General Store but the sign was missing the B and G so it was uck n Wilson eneral Store.

“okay, you’re with me,” julia said, dragging jenna and carter toward the toiletries aisle. cody and luke bee-lined for the cold drinks. heather disappeared without a word. wow. fantastic.

i lingered by the door, pretending to look at a rack of keychains but mostly just needing a second to reset from the body heat of the van.

“you coming, tesoro?”

i blinked. “sorry—what?”

i turned, halfway expecting i misheard him or he was talking to someone else. but no—there was kimi, holding a handbasket, giving me that stupid little smirk like he knew what he was doing.

“did you just—what?” i asked.

he tilted his head. “tesoro. you don’t know what that means?”

“should i…?.”

“it means… like… treasure, sweetheart, or something like that. i think that's the english equivalent”

i stared at him. he looked way too casual about the fact that he just casually called me sweetheart. in his native language. while standing next to a rack of beef jerky and car air fresheners. i felt my cheeks dust with colour.

“right,” i said slowly. “that’s… normal coworker talk.”

he grinned. his stupid grin. and i swear i felt my stomach do an actual backflip, which was dumb, because this wasn’t a rom-com and i wasn’t about to fall for the guy who’d just spent the last two weeks accidentally making my campers think i was secretly dating him.

we wandered down the candy aisle together. i kept my eyes very fixed on a display of sour peach rings, hoping my face would stop feeling like it was on fire. kimi noticed this too.

“you like these?” he asked, holding up the peach rings.

“julia does. she always eats any of the packs i bring back to camp.”

he raised an eyebrow. “didn’t ask that. i asked if you liked them.”

“… maybe.”

he tossed pack into my hand before i could stop him.

and yeah, maybe i did spend the next five minutes walking through the store like i was completely fine, like i wasn’t still thinking about that stupid word and the way he said it.

but i didn’t like him. i didn’t. i was not breaking rule 3.

i just needed a snack.

that’s all.

— july 23rd —

sneaking out after the campers were all asleep was a pretty common occurrence. the campers slept like the dead due to how much energy they spent throughout the day, so it was very easy thing to accomplish. were we good role models? absolutely not, but you know, we were still kids too.

i slipped out of my cabin and made my way down to the dock. the dock was my spot. it always has been. just far enough away from camp that i could breathe again, with the lake stretching out in front of me like a secret. i was already picturing myself sitting at the edge, toes dipped in the water, maybe humming a song under my breath—until i spotted someone already in my spot.

i paused, squinting.

a figure. hoodie. legs stretched out. confident posture.

of course.

i sighed, louder than i had meant to, and sure enough, he turned his head just slightly like he’d been waiting for that. even in the dark, i could feel the smirk on his face.

“you’re in my seat,” i said flatly, already considering turning back.

“oh no,” kimi said, stretching out a little more like he was making himself comfortable on purpose. “don’t tell me this whole dock belongs to you now.”

“it’s an unspoken rule,” i muttered. “everyone knows it.”

“funny,” he said. “i must’ve missed that part in training week.”

i hovered for a second, fully ready to turn and go sulk by the archery range or something, but then he said—

“wait. stay.”

i blinked. “why?”

“because i’d rather not sit out here alone like a weirdo. it’s less depressing if you’re here.”

“you are a weirdo,” i muttered, but didn’t move. he didn’t deny it—just patted the space beside him without looking at me. bold.

but i obliged. i sat next to him, letting my crocs graze the top of the water. we sat in silence. goodness, i hated it.

“so, what do you do?” i asked, breaking the silence.

“hmm?”

“like what are you going back to? after camp i mean? like school? a job?” i asked

he glanced over at me, a little grin playing on his lips. “i drive.”

i stared at him. “okay. vague.”

he shrugged. “it’s the truth.”

“like what—uber?”

he snorted. “no.”

“pizza delivery?”

“worse.”

i tilted my head. “then what?”

“formula one.”

i blinked. “like… racing? like… cars?”

kimi nodded, eyes fixed on the water like this was just some casual little hobby he was telling me about.

“formula one,” he repeated, like i didn’t hear him the first time.

i scoffed, a small smile playing on my lips. “you’re joking”

“i’m not.” he reassured me. “you can google it if you want”

“no, it’s okay, i believe you…” i said.

i mean, i knew formula one was a big deal—fast cars, european guys with accents, monaco and champagne or whatever. i wasn’t an expert or anything, but i’d heard of charles leclerc. and lewis hamilton. mostly because of cars 2 and tiktok,

i played it off though. i'm not sure why. maybe i just didn't want him to know that i knew it was a big deal.

“huh,” i said, trying to sound cool. chill. unbothered. “that’s… neat.”

he huffed a laugh. “neat?”

“i mean, it’s no camp counselor,” i said sarcastically, pulling my knees to my chest. “but sure.”

in the moonlight, i can see him smile.

we sat there for a while, the silence settling around us like an old friend. it was nice—too nice, almost. the kind of nice that made you want to close your eyes and just breathe, but that also made you wonder why the hell you felt so comfortable. he stretched beside me and let his fingers rest on mine. thank goodness for the darkness, because my cheeks were probably pink at this moment. but i didnt move my fingers. and he didn’t either.

“so,” kimi said, breaking the silence. “what about you? what’s your big plan after camp?”

i glanced over at him. “plan?”

“yeah, you’re training for something, right?”

“i’m training to be a medic,” i said, feeling the words roll off my tongue easily. “already finished half of my training, actually. graduated early. i was supposed to graduate next year, but i graduated this year.”

his eyebrow arched slightly. “graduated early?”

i shrugged, not really seeing what the big deal was. “yeah. but i don’t want to work in a hospital. that’s not my thing. i want to be an onsite medic, for places like camps, events, stuff like that.”

“not a fan of hospitals?” he asked, his voice softer now, more interested.

i shook my head. “hospitals are too… sterile? too much red tape. i’ve always liked the idea of being in the field, more hands-on. i’m already a trained lifeguard, so i know how to keep calm in high-pressure situations. but working in a hospital just feels… too boxed-in, you know?”

the quiet stretched again, but this time it felt different—comfortable. he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t trying to get too deep, but there was a warmth in his eyes like he actually cared about the answer. it was nice, but… maybe too nice. and that’s when he threw me off again.

“so,” he started, breaking the quiet. “do you have a boyfriend?”

i blinked, caught completely off guard. “what?”

“you know,” he said, leaning back a little, casually. “someone back home.”

my stomach dropped for a second, but i couldn’t let him see that. i let out a short laugh and looked away, trying to cover the sudden wave of unease. “no…why?”

“i don’t know,” he said, the smirk back in place. “just curious. you seem like someone who would have someone by now.”

i felt my face flush slightly, but i fought the heat creeping up my neck. “well, i’m not exactly looking for someone, and… people don't really pay attention to me.”

the awkward silence came back. what do you even say to follow up after that?

“so, you’re not staying in canada after the summer, then?” i asked, trying to sound casual, but something about the way i said it made my throat feel tight. it wasn’t like i wanted him to stay. it wasn’t like i was planning on visiting or something, but something about the idea of him leaving felt like it hit a little closer to home than i was willing to admit.

he paused, glancing at me sideways. “yeah. i’ve got pre-season training after summer, then the racing season starts in march.” he shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the water, the casual air about him making the words somehow sting more than i expected.

i tried to mask my disappointment with a quick, forced smile, but i wasn’t fooling anyone. least of all myself. "right," i said, staring at the ripples in the lake. "guess you’ve got a whole world to go back to."

it was stupid to feel anything about it, i told myself. i didn’t even like him. so why did it feel like a weight in my chest when i thought about him leaving?

kimi didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything about it. we just sat there, side by side, both lost in our thoughts, the quiet stretching longer than before.

— july 27th —

it was dusk and the lake looked like glass, all soft purples and pinks reflecting off the water like someone had dropped a watercolor palette on the sky. today was another counsellor off day. we had a few volunteers come up to deal with the kids for the day while we took some time to ourselves. the air smelled like sunscreen and pine, and it was warm in that sticky, end-of-july kind of way where no one really bothered with towels anymore because you were just going to end up wet again anyway.

i was sitting cross-legged at the edge of the dock with heather and jenna, our legs dangling over the water, damp from earlier swimming and now slowly drying under the setting sun. we had lemonade in plastic cups and were trading gossip in low voices, like we were thirteen again at a sleepover.

“i’m just saying,” heather said, sipping dramatically, “if kimi stares at you any harder during breakfast, the table’s going to catch fire.”

“he’s not staring,” i muttered, picking at a bow on my swim top.

“he absolutely is,” jenna added. “he doesn’t even blink when you walk into the dining hall.”

“i think he just has one of those… intense faces,” i said, already hating how lame that sounded.

heather gave me a look. “babe. be serious.”

i shrugged. “it’s not like it means anything. he’s just flirty with everyone. that’s his thing.”

“right,” jenna said with a knowing smirk. “and you just happen to blush every time he talks to you because you’re allergic to compliments.”

“i’m not blushing right now,” i shot back.

“because he’s not here,” heather said.

i rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to argue—but i didn’t get the chance.

strong arms suddenly wrapped around my waist and i let out a shriek, my cup of lemonade launching into the air.

“what the—kimi!”

before i could protest any further, i was lifted completely off the dock.

“no, no, no—don’t you dare—!”

he started towards the end of the dock which made me shriek more, my arms went instinctively around his neck, holding on tight in the name of self-preservation.

“oh, now you want to be close to me?” he teased, walking us steadily toward the edge of the dock.

“you’re insane. put me down—gently.”

“i was going to,” he said innocently, “but then you started holding on like your life depended on it. can’t say i hate it.”

“you are impossible,” i hissed.

“i’ve been called worse.”

he then tried to throw me off, but this was made difficult because due to how i was clinging to him like a koala.

he huffed. and then, he didn’t throw me in.

he just… fell.

pulled us both down into the lake with one solid, dramatic step, like he couldn’t bear to let go of me either.

the water was shock-cold against the warm air, wrapping around us in a whoosh of bubbles and sunken laughter. i hadn’t realized how tightly i’d been holding onto him until we hit the water—and even then, i didn’t let go.

we hovered there under the surface, still tangled together, limbs brushing. i felt his hand steady on my back, the soft pressure of his chest against mine. he looked at me underwater, amused, and something warm stirred in my stomach.

then—light as a whisper—his mouth brushed the edge of my jaw. too soft to be on purpose. too lingering to be an accident.

i blinked at him through the water.

and then we broke the surface, gasping and laughing. i pushed my wet hair out of my face and splashed him.

“you’re ridiculous,” i said, half out of breath.

“you liked it,” he grinned, swimming backward, smug and soaked.

behind us, heather and jenna were howling with laughter, someone was already yelling, “called it!” and i dove under the water, swimming to shore, hoping to hide the heat rising in my cheeks.

pretended it didn’t mean anything.

pretended it wasn’t everything.

— august 1st —

breakfast at camp was always chaotic in a familiar, comforting way—wooden benches scraping against the floor, the smell of slightly-burnt toast, kids yelling over one another about what table got pancakes first. organized chaos.

i sat at my usual table with my girls, doing my best to mediate a very passionate debate about whether ketchup belonged on eggs (it did) while keeping an eye on the one camper who always tried to sneak a third juice box.

everything was normal. or at least it should’ve been.

until i felt it again.

the staring.

i didn’t have to look. i knew. kimi’s eyes drifted across the dining hall and landed on me like i was the only person eating breakfast in a room of a hundred. and for some reason, he still hadn’t figured out how not to make it obvious.

i took a sip of my lukewarm coffee, very purposely not looking in his direction. if i didn’t look, i could pretend it wasn’t happening. that was the game. denial was key.

but of course, his campers had zero interest in subtlety.

“broooo, stop looking at her!” one of his boys, landon, shrieked loud enough for half the room to hear, voice cracking halfway through.

i didn’t flinch. didn’t blink. just nodded along as one of my girls described a dream that featured a dinosaur, her dad, and tate mcrae.

“she’s not even at our table, man, focus on your oatmeal!” jake added.

i bit down on the inside of my cheek, eyes trained firmly on the center of my table, nodding like i was still deeply invested in a camper’s retelling of her dream from last night.

“i think he’s trying to use his italian rizz again,” noah whispered—but not really whispered—like the concept of volume was optional.

adam wacked noah's hat, which was backwards, off. “his italian rizz doesn’t work when he stares through her skull, bro. she’s not, like, telekenesis or whatever that mind-reading power is.”

“do you think it works better in another language?” levi asked.

“ciao bella, you wanna share a canoe?” landon mimicked, throwing on the worst italian accent i’d ever heard in my life. the entire table burst into laughter. i heard kimi mumble something that must have been some curse word.

i pressed my lips together and absolutely did not smile. nope. not even a twitch. i was focused. ketchup-on-eggs level of focused.

“ma che cavolo…” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was a daily occurrence (it was). “i’m literally not even looking,” he muttered.

“you were literally staring,” noah said, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“no i’m not!” kimi snapped, voice cracking just slightly in a way that did nothing to help his case. “ragazzi! basta! just eat your cereal!”

“bro, he’s blushing!” jake yelled.

“dude, she’s gonna notice, and then you’ll have to move back to italy from embarrassment.”

“ask her out already! you’re so slow!”

kimi groaned again, sliding down in his seat like he wanted to disappear into the floor. “dio mio…”

and then—disaster struck.

one of his campers, matthew, a thirteen-year-old with absolutely no self-preservation instinct, shout across the hall, straight at my table, specifically at the girl directly across from me, “HEY LAYLA! ASK Y/N OUT FOR KIMI, HES SCARE-” he was cut off by kimi covering his mouth with his hand but the damage was already done.

my campers paused. then all hell broke loose. and it wasn’t even just our table. the sheer volume of the commotion had gotten the attention of all the other tables.

“i told you he was staring at her yesterday during canoe check-in!” another girl howled, slapping the table. “you didn’t believe me!”

“guys, guys—ask her if she’ll go on a date with him!”

“should we write it on a napkin?? pass it over like in class?!”

“NO,” I said firmly, but of course, my face betrayed me by turning an absolutely traitorous shade of red. “guys, eat your eggs.”

i refused to look over at kimi. i didn’t have to. i felt the heat coming off of him. the entire dining hall was vibrating, and there was no escape.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Landon yelled, spinning around and ordering like a tiny general. “SHE’S RIGHT THERE! SHE MIGHT HEAR! HAVE SOME RESPECT!”

i took a deep breath. calm. cool. professional. unbothered.

my campers, the lovely girls they were, quietly whispered, trying to keep it a secret, as if the entire dining hall wasn’t jittering, “so do you like him?”

“i don’t even know what you’re talking about,” i said, taking a very casual sip of my coffee.

then i choked on it.

because from across the room, kimi finally looked up, cheeks red, muttered something in italian that sounded vaguely like a prayer, and grinned at me.

I did not like him. i had rules to keep.

— august 6th —

it was almost 2:45 a.m. when the unmistakable sound of muffled giggles and the creak of cabin floorboards yanked me from my sleep.

at first, i thought one of the girls was sneaking off to the bathroom. but then came the second sound—quick footsteps just outside the door, followed by a suspiciously soft thunk.

i sat up, immediately suspicious.

then came more whispering. another thunk. a laugh—quickly shushed.

groaning, i dragged myself out of bed, still wrapped in my favourite hoodie and matching grey sweatpants, hair a mess and eyes barely open. i shoved my feet into my crocs and stumbled to the door with every intention of scaring off whatever little monsters were giggling outside.

i yanked the door open.

bad move.

WHOOSH.

a full bucket of freezing water dumped straight on my head.

everything stopped. my breath caught in my throat. cold soaked through every layer in an instant.

my hoodie clung to my arms like wet seaweed, and my sweatpants were sagging from the water weight. i stood there, stunned, dripping, homicidal.

slowly, i looked up at the porch roof. a bucket lay upside-down near the edge.

on the path, frozen mid-step, stood alex—kimi’s personal twelve-year-old goblin of a camper—eyes wide with horror.

“oh my—,” he whispered. “it wasn’t supposed to fall—”

i stepped off the porch like a ghost straight from a horror movie.

alex let out a strangled squeak and scrambled backward.

behind him, more campers peeked from behind trees and bushes, giggling—until they saw my face.

“abort mission!” landon hissed from the shadows.

“dude. fix it.”

jake shoved kimi forward like a peace offering. “flirt with her- grovel- i don’t know!”

kimi stumbled a little, catching his balance as he stepped between me and alex. he looked like he was about to say something clever—but then his eyes landed on me.

and lingered.

i peeled off my hoodie with an angry huff, wringing it out with both hands. my t-shirt underneath was soaked too, clinging to my body like a bodysuit.

kimi blinked once. then again. his eyes dropped before he caught himself and immediately snapped his gaze up and to the side, ears going red.

“wow,” he said, clearing his throat, “that shirt is—um—very… absorbent.”

i raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over my chest automatically, which only made his jaw tighten as he visibly forced himself to keep eye contact.

“okay,” he muttered, voice pitching awkwardly. “let me fix this.”

he pulled his hoodie off in one quick motion and stepped closer, holding it out to me like an offering to an angry deity. it was still warm, soft, and smelled like smoke, pine, and whatever stupid cologne he pretended was just “soap.”

“you think a hoodie’s gonna fix this?” i said flatly, still dripping.

“well… it’s one of my favourites,” he replied, trying to smile. “only the prettiest, scariest girl at camp gets to wear it.”

i stared at him.

“that’s you,” he added quickly. “just to be clear.”

i snatched it from him and tugged it over my head, shivering slightly as the warmth sank into my skin. his fingers brushed my arm as he helped untwist the sleeve, and i hated how nice it felt. how easy he was to like when he wasn’t being an agent of chaos.

“better?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“no.” but my voice cracked slightly from the cold.

“you know,” he said, still lingering a step too close, “i could make it up to you. a muffin? maybe your own hoodie? one that hasn’t been part of a war crime?”

i sighed.

“you’re lucky i’m too tired to commit actual murder.”

he grinned. “means i’ve got a shot.”

from the bushes, one of the kids whispered, “he’s winning.”

“GO TO BED,” i barked, and they scattered.

kimi stayed a second longer, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking at me like he wanted to say something else but didn’t know how.

“you gonna be warm enough?” he asked finally.

“i’m fine.”

“you sure? you’re not gonna slip in your crocs and drown in a puddle?”

i shot him a glare over my shoulder and turned back toward my cabin.

but i didn’t give the hoodie back.

and maybe—just maybe—i didn’t totally hate how warm it was.

— august 11th —

the woods were quieter than usual.

darkness was draping itself over the trees, the moonlight shining through certain bare spots in the woods, bugs hummed everywhere and nowhere at the same time, the air heavy summer humidity that made your shirt stick to your back by the time you'd gone five steps. kimi walked beside me, talking about some gossip his mom had updated him on from back home.

we were supposed to be looking for campers, tagging the ones hiding in the woods for the big camp-wide game so they’d have to run back to base and start over. “night watchers.” sounded dramatic. for me,  it was a nice excuse to walk in the dark and pretend i wasn’t entirely aware of every time his hand brushed mine.

“i feel like we’re the villains of this game,” i said, scanning the trees. “just walking around, destroying dreams and catching kids in the act.”

“you say that like it’s not the best part,” kimi replied, his voice casual. he was twirling his flashlight in his hand like it was just an accessory, not something he was actually using. “we’re the final boss. very powerful.”

i rolled my eyes. “you and this power complex again.”

he smirked. “i’m just saying… the kids scream when they see me. that’s impact.”

“that’s trauma,” i corrected. “you’re lucky they’re not in therapy already.”

he laughed, and i glanced over at him—just a quick peek. of course, he was already looking at me. of course. his eyes crinkled a little when he smiled, and i hated that i noticed that. i also hated that i didn’t look away fast enough.

“you like being out here with me,” he said suddenly.

i blinked. “what?”

“you do,” he said, grinning wider now. “you always end up paired with me on these shifts.”

“yeah, well, the directors seem to think we work well together,” i stammered.

“mmm,” he hummed. “i’m sure that's the only reason.”

i kicked a rock off the path, face heating against my will. “don’t flatter yourself, antonelli.”

“too late,” he said with a shrug. “you like me.”

“i like not running,” i corrected. “this is the laziest job and you just happen to show up every time i’m assigned it. that’s all.”

“you’re flustered.”

“i’m not!”

he laughed, smug and just a little too close. i shoved his shoulder.

god, he was so annoying.

“you’re one to talk about flustered,” i said, straightening a little. “remember breakfast?”

that stopped him. “breakfast?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you forgot,” I said, turning to grin at him now, the confidence slowly crawling back into my voice. “You staring at me from across the dining hall like it was the most subtle thing in the world. Your campers screamed at you.”

Kimi groaned. “That was not my fault.”

“Uh-huh. Because you definitely didn’t have the world’s worst staring problem.”

“I did not have a—”

“‘Broooo, stop looking at her!’” I mimicked in my best high-pitched camper voice.

He buried his face in his hands for a second. “They’re demons.”

“‘He’s trying to use his Italian rizz again!’” I added dramatically.

He dropped his hands with a groan. “You’re evil.”

“I’m accurate.”

“You loved it.”

I opened my mouth to argue—but couldn’t. He caught that, too. Of course he did.

“See?” he said, nudging my shoulder with his. “You liked it.”

I scoffed. “Please. I had to explain what the word rizz meant to the directors.”

“I made you blush, didn’t I?”

“You made yourself blush.”

“No way,” he said. “You did first.”

I shook my head, but I could feel the color creeping into my cheeks again. I looked away.

He leaned in a little, not touching but closer now. “You're blushing right now, cara mia.”

I shoved his arm. “Stop calling me things I don’t understand!”

He just grinned. “Would you rather I translate it?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Kimi—”

“It means ‘my dear.’”

Oh.

I blinked at him, my mouth going dry. “That’s—why would you—”

“I told you,” he said, tilting his head with a faux-innocent shrug, “you like me.”

“I—” I choked on the word and shook my head fast. “You’re delusional.”

“You’re in denial.”

I sped up my pace to get away from the smugness radiating off of him, but he easily matched my steps, his grin only getting bigger.

“You so are.”

“I’m literally just here to tag campers,” I muttered. “This is my job.”

“And I’m just here for the game,” he said lightly.

I glanced sideways at him.

We both knew we were lying.

— august 21st —

i don’t know when it shifted.

maybe it was gradual—like water warming under a flame, slow enough that i didn’t notice until it was too hot to touch.

but it hit me all at once.

i was brushing sand off my legs after waterfront, still damp from swimming, and someone said his name—just in passing. a joke. something dumb about how he helped carry a canoe like it was nothing. everyone laughed. i smiled too, automatically. like muscle memory.

and then it hit me.

i like him.

not the heehee haha kind of like i had been telling myself it was. not the kind of like where you tell your friends he's hot and tease each other when he walks by. not a surface-level crush you nurse for fun during the summer and forget by september.

i actually like him.

i felt it like a wave slamming into my chest, all salt and pressure. i sat down on the edge of the dock like my knees gave out.

oh no.

i like the way he notices things. how he always grabs an extra juice box at breakfast because he knows i never get one.

i like the way his voice sounds when he says my name, even if i pretend not to notice.

i like the way he looks at me like i’m someone worth staring at.

and i hate that i like that.

because he’s leaving.

of course he’s leaving.

this is camp. summer. temporary. that’s the whole point.

and he’s not staying in canada.

he said it like it was nothing. just a fact. like saying he didn’t like olives.

i should’ve listened more closely when he said he wasn't staying.

he’s not even trying to stay.

he’s not mine.

he never was.

i pressed my hands to my face and groaned, low and quiet, like if i got the sound out of my chest it might take the feelings with it.

stupid. so stupid.

i don’t want this. i don’t want to care about someone who’s already halfway gone.

i don't want to be the girl who falls for the summer boy with the smile and the accent and the stupid curly hair.

i want to go back.

back to teasing him and pretending like none of it mattered.

back to not looking forward to night watcher shifts.

back to pretending i didn’t feel anything.

i have to kill this feeling. now.

so that’s the new plan.

i’ll avoid him. not in a dramatic, over-the-top way. just… enough. i won’t sit next to him. i won’t stay behind when he lingers after staff meetings. i won’t walk with him after curfew or laugh at his dumb one-liners or let my eyes meet his across the dining hall.

i’ll let it fade.

it has to fade.

because the alternative—

the alternative is letting myself fall harder for someone who’s already made it clear he’s not staying.

and i can’t do that.

not again. the rules were in place for a reason.

so no more late-night dock talks.

no more brush-of-the-shoulder, is-this-flirting or not moments.

no more getting soft because he says cara mia in a voice that makes my name feel different.

i’ll be fine.

i just have to forget i ever liked him in the first place.

Easy.

— August 25th —

camp was quiet in the strangest way.

the kind of quiet that felt wrong. no shouting across the field, no whistles, no splashing at the waterfront, no kids trying to convince me that brushing their teeth “technically” counted as showering.

just leftover tan lines, half-zipped duffel bags, and the smell of the last campfire still hanging in the air.

cleanup week was always a little depressing, but i didn’t mind the work. scrubbing out cabins, hauling lost and found bins, folding half-destroyed t-shirts into boxes for next year, it kept my hands busy.

which was good. because my head was a mess.

i hadn’t talked to kimi in three days.

not really.

sure, there had been a few hellos, a nod here and there. but nothing real. no quiet late-night conversations or casually bumping shoulders on the path.

because i was trying not to. on purpose.

it shouldn’t have mattered anymore. the campers were gone. camp was wrapping up. in a few days, we’d all be scattered—back to cities, universities, real life. he’d be back on a plane. probably already had a suitcase half-packed.

so why did it still ache when i saw him out of the corner of my eye?

why did i still know the exact sound of his laugh from across the dining hall when the staff was eating their leftover pizza and pretending they weren’t about to cry when they left this place?

i was elbow-deep in a plastic bin of sports equipment when i felt someone behind me. not footsteps—just the weight of presence.

i didn’t turn around.

but of course.

“did i do something?”

his voice was soft. careful.

i took my time adjusting the dodgeballs, hoping maybe he’d give up.

he didn’t.

“because if i did, i want to fix it,” he added. “but i feel like you’ve been—”

he paused, searching for the word.

“—distant.”

i forced a laugh, short and hollow. “i’ve been busy.”

“right,” he said, clearly not buying it. “busy avoiding me?”

i finally looked up. he was standing just a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, hair a little messy like he’d just taken off his hat. he looked… confused. and a little frustrated.

i shrugged. “it’s the end of the summer. everyone’s doing their own thing.”

“that’s not what this is,” he said, stepping closer. “come on. i know you.”

those words—i know you—they hit me right in the gut.

because he did.

i didn’t say anything. i just turned back to the bin and started aggressively re-rolling a soccer jersey that was never going to fold properly.

“you don’t even look at me anymore,” he said quietly. “did i say something wrong?”

“no.”

“then what is it?” he asked, more desperate now. “you were fine last week. and now you act like i’m… like i don’t even exist.”

i squeezed my eyes shut for a second and inhaled. big mistake. he smelled like lake water and camp laundry detergent. and that stupid cologne.

“i don’t want to do this right now,” i said, trying to keep my voice steady.

kimi stepped closer. “why not?”

“because you’re leaving,” i said sharply, finally turning to look at him, eyes hot. “okay? you’re not staying. and i don’t want to make things more complicated than they already are.”

he blinked, stunned silent for a moment.

i hadn’t meant to say it like that.

“i’m not asking you to make things complicated,” he said softly.

“no, but i made it complicated,” i shot back, trying to shove the lid on the bin. “and now i need to uncomplicate it.”

his eyes searched mine like he wanted to argue, but i didn’t let him. i grabbed the bin, hauled it to the storage closet, and didn’t look back.

i needed space. i needed logic. i needed a time machine to take me back before i let myself fall for the one person who was never going to stay. i needed to go back to when i started breaking rule 3 and slap some sense into her.

and most of all, i needed this summer to end.

before i did something stupid.

like ask him to stay.

— august 26th —

nine weeks. nine weeks of working with him. nine weeks of stupid jokes. nine weeks of our cabins pranking each other. nine weeks of him stealing my bug spray because he didn't bring any from italy. nine weeks of long talks at the fires after our campers had all gone to sleep. nine weeks of lingering touches. nine weeks of flirting. nine weeks of flustered sighs. nine weeks of teasing from campers. nine weeks of ignoring said teasing. nine weeks of the damn feelings not leaving, but not having enough willpower to distance myself from him.

i was back on the end of the dock, my toes dangling in the water, breathing in the fresh air. the lake was beautiful tonight. calm, reflecting the clear night sky. it was quiet, the only sounds coming from crickets in the woods and quiet laughter and voices from a fire across the little bay we were situated on. the other counsellors had all gone to sleep after the late night bonfire party we had to celebrate the end of the summer. i took in a deep breath, letting my hands run gently over the smooth wood of the dock. it was always bittersweet to leave camp, but this time was particularly bad.

i buried my head in my hands. gosh, i was so damn stupid. i had that feeling in my chest, like that tightness you have when you need to sob.

we only had two more days at camp until we went home. It had only been a day since our conversation. I hated ignoring kimi. i knew it bothered him. hell, it probably bothered me more. but i knew i had to detach from him before i went home. i needed to get rid of the feelings which had been bubbling up over the past nine weeks. i shouldn’t have let the feelings develop in the first place, but now, i was in a situation where every time i saw his face, the tips of my ears felt hot, i could feel the butterflies in my stomach and my heart began pounding ridiculously fast.

stolen glances, lingering touches, teasing, subtle flirting. what the hell was i thinking?

it could never work. Maybe if i had known that he was a formula one driver from the very beginning, i could have stopped myself from liking him. Why did he have to be a formula one race-car driver? and why did he have to be a damn good one too? Before him, i didn't know much about formula one, except for charles leclerc from the tiktok edits that popped up on my fyp and hamilton from cars, but he patiently and passionately explained it. I learn about the paddock, the pits, the other drivers. I knew things now. he'd be driving for mercedes this coming march, travelling around the world, probably getting with those drop dead gorgeous models who walked around the paddock.

maybe i let myself like him because at the time, i didn’t realise how impossible the situation was until it was too late.

maybe i let myself like him because i didn’t know he would be travelling for practically the entire year.

maybe i let myself like him because i thought maybe, just maybe, there's a chance this could work. but there wasn’t, and i was stupid for thinking otherwise.

i knew he was behind me before he spoke. kimi was a quiet walker, but you can’t silence the vibrations sent by your feet through a dock. i stayed silent though, not saying anything, not moving, silently praying he'd just leave.

“why are you ignoring me?” kimi’s voice cut through the silence. i breathed in softly and didn’t move, keeping my head forward, watching the moon's reflection in the still waters.

“i told you. i dont want to make things more complicated.” i said simply, trying to keep my voice steady but there was a subtle shake in the last few words. i could hear him huff in frustration before marching over and sitting next to me, letting the tips of his sandals dip in the water.

“y/n.” he said heatedly. angry? maybe. but there was something else there too. “look at me. What did i do?” he was pleading.

i looked at him. goodness, he was beautiful. everything about him made my heart beat quicker and i was forced to calm my breathing. “You did nothing, kimi. i’m fine.”

"no, somethings wrong,” he countered.

“kimi, there's nothin-” i began, but was quickly cut off.

“no, it's not nothing. suddenly you just don’t want to speak to me, look at me, or even be in the same room.” he shot back. he was angry, but i could still hear the pleading in his voice. he was hurt. i didn't want to hurt him, but i knew i couldn’t tell him why i had to.

“i don’t know, i’m just tired-” i mumbled feebly, turning away again, when i felt kimi’s hand grab mine, pulling my attention back to his face.

“no, you’re not. something else is going on. i’ve seen you tired, and you are never like this! you have never acted like this when you’re tired. i’m leaving in two days and you can’t even look at me!” he insisted. his voice had the shake mine did.

i didn’t answer and he pushed again. i could feel the tears welling in my eyes. no. i could not cry. not tonight. not over a stupid boy. even if that boy was the sweetest person in the whole world.

“y/n whats-” i got up at his words and started walking down the dock but he was faster, getting up after me and grabbing my wrist gently. “-wrong?”

“what if i don’t want to get hurt, kimi?” i snapped, and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“what do you mean?! by me? i would never hurt you-” he started, but this time i cut him off.

“you’re leaving me kimi! i mean you’re going off to be a formula one driver, and you won’t have time for me anymore, and i’ll see you with some other girl-” i caught myself. crap. i felt a few of the tears beginning to fall. i pursed my lips, looking down. i tried to pull my wrist away, but he held me firm.

“w-what are you talking ab-”

i couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“i like you, dammit! Not just a little crush! Not just one I can be teased about! I genuinely have feelings for you, and it is physically sickening how far gone i am. and now you’re going off to your mercedes drivers training, then you will g-go to formula one and i’ll never see you again, and i’ll have to watch you succeed from here, with some rich girl on your arm that won’t be me. And I hate it,” I spat, pacing back and forth at the edge of the dock.

he opens his mouth to interject but i raise a finger "I'm not done."

“i hate feeling this way. i hate you making me feel this way. i hate how you stare at me like it means something when you’re just going to leave in a few days. i hate that you’re so damn perfect and i can’t get you out of my head. i hate the way you make me laugh when i’m supposed to be mad at you, and i hate how i’ve started thinking about you at night when i know i’m not supposed to. and i hate this damn pit in my stomach because i know it’s never going to happen. you’re leaving. you’re going back to that stupid, perfect life of yours, and i’m stuck here. and it’s killing me,” i breathed in and he looked like he was about to say something but i continued.

“i’ve been ignoring it for weeks, pretending like this didn’t matter because i knew it was just gonna hurt when you left. but then you kept looking at me—looking at me like i was the only one in the world who mattered, and i started to believe it! and now i’m here, standing in front of you, and i’m trying to convince myself that it’s just some stupid crush, or maybe it’s just this summer heat that’s getting to me, but it’s not. it’s real. and it fucking terrifies me.” i stopped in my tracks, chest heaving, crying.

he opens his mouth to interject but i raise a finger "i'm not done."

i took another breath before starting my rant again. “i don’t want to fall for you. i don’t. you’re leaving, kimi. and i’ve been so stupid because i thought maybe, just maybe, i could make it through the last days of camp without really feeling anything for you. but now i do. and i can’t—i can’t—watch you walk away without feeling like i’m breaking into a million pieces. you’re everything i’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to want.”

i could see his face change, the hurt there, but there was something else too—a softness in his eyes that didn’t match the anger and frustration in my voice.

“you’re so fucking selfish, kimi,” i spat out, the words bitter on my tongue. “you come into my life like it’s just this temporary thing, like i’m some game you can play with for a few weeks, and i’m supposed to act like everything’s fine while you go back to your perfect little life and forget about me! well, i’m not fine, okay? i’m not okay. and i’m not just some passing thing for you to fixate on until the end of the summer and then leave behind.”

“i let myself actually like you,” i said, my voice cracking. “and that was so stupid, because this isn’t real. it’s just camp, and you’re just—this perfect, impossible thing that i can’t have, and i hate that i let you get under my skin. i hate that i care—”

but i didn’t finish the sentence.

because suddenly, kimi’s hands were cupping my face and his mouth was on mine and everything—every word, every fight, every glance across the dining hall—fell away like it had just been waiting for this moment to crash.

i froze for a second, mid-breath, mid-heartbeat, before my body finally caught up with what was happening and i kissed him back. hard.

it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t soft or slow or sweet. it was weeks of tension, of looking and not touching, of biting our tongues and pretending and denying and wanting. it was angry and messy and real.

when he finally pulled away, i was breathless and stunned, his forehead pressed against mine.

“you talk too much,” he whispered.

my heart was doing backflips. i tried to glare. “you’re one to talk.”

he laughed, just a little, and didn’t move. “you’re wrong, you know.”

“about what?”

“about this being camp. about this not being real.” he pulled back to look at me fully, eyes wide and shining. “i’m not letting you go just because the summer ends.”

“kimi, you have to.”

“no, listen.” his hands dropped to my shoulders like he needed to hold onto something solid. “you said you want to be an onsite medic. come with me.”

“what?”

“formula one teams travel with medics. we need people like you. i need someone like you. i’ll talk to the team doctor, or i’ll talk to toto. or—i don’t know—i’ll fake an injury just so they have to bring you. you’re smart, you’re trained, you’re already halfway there.”

i blinked. “you want me to—what—follow you across the world?”

“if that’s what it takes.” he was rambling now, his voice shaking a little with adrenaline. “or—or we do long distance. i’ll fly you out when you want to come. i’ll come back during the break. i’ll do long-distance. i’ll come back here in the winter. i’ll quit if i have to—”

“kimi—”

“i don’t care how we make it work, i just know i want to. i want you. i’m serious. i’ll give them excuses or fake injuries or learn how to crash a car safely if it means they have to bring you to me. i want you there. or here. or wherever you want to be, as long as you let me be in it with you.”

my brain had officially short-circuited.

“be my girlfriend,” he said, without even hesitating. “please. i’m asking you now before i lose the nerve.”

i stared at him, heart racing. “you’re serious.”

“i’ve never been more serious,” he said, breathless. “and you can still say no, if that’s what you want. but i’m in. i’ve been in. since, like, week two.”

i laughed—stupid, giddy, overwhelmed laughter—and shook my head. “you’re insane.”

“only for you,” he said, grinning. “say yes.”

i didn’t answer.

i just kissed him again.

this time it was slower, my eyes fluttered shut. i felt his hands on my cheeks, his thumbs wiping the tears which had fallen down my cheeks. one of his hands moved to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss with a content sigh. the other slid down to my ass, which made me roll my eyes and move his hand up to my lower back. i could feel him smiling against my lips. my hands moved to his hair, letting my fingers tangle in his curls. i felt his tongue swipe my lower lip, almost begging for an entrance. i would have rolled my eyes again but instead i gave him what he wanted, opening my mouth just enough for him to slip his tongue into my mouth and keep kissing me. my one hand was tangled in his hair, and the other moved to slide down the front of his hoodie. i heard him hum with contentment as i kept kissing him. when we finally broke the kiss, i wrapped my arms around him and hid my face in his chest. he held me tight. i didn't even realise i was still crying, maybe from the rant, maybe the weeks of tension and yearning, but he held me tight, tracing circles on my back, his chin resting on the top of my head, occasionally pressing kisses to it, mumbling stuff in italian which i still couldn’t understand. i felt his chest rising slowly and steadily, his fingers running down the back of my sweatshirt. and we stayed like that for a while, me in his arms, slowly pulling myself together, and kimi holding me as if i would sprint into the lake if he let go.

“so, you didn’t answer my question,” he said into my hair, his voice low and warm. “can i be your boyfriend… please?”

i didn’t look up. i couldn’t. my face was still buried in his hoodie, my emotions barely under control. but i gave a small nod, a soft hum of approval vibrating in my throat.

“use your words, mi vida,” he murmured in my ear, his hand gently finding my chin and tilting it until i was forced to meet his eyes.

“yes, kimi,” i said, breath catching. “i would love that.”

his gaze softened. one hand moved from my chin to my cheek, brushing away a stray tear. and then—he laughed. quiet, breathy, affectionate.

“stop laughing at me!” i protested, though the corner of my mouth was already tugging into a smile.

“i’m not—” he tried to defend, still laughing, “i just didn’t expect you to be crying when i finally asked you out.”

i rolled my eyes but leaned into his touch anyway, my heart doing that fluttery thing it had no business doing.

“you know you made me break my third rule?” i said, voice barely above a whisper.

he smirked. “yeah, i heard about that one. ‘don’t fall for anyone at camp,’ right?” he stepped closer, arms sliding fully around me. “didn’t really go that well for you, huh?”

“oh, shut up,” i muttered, burying my face back into his chest to hide the smile i couldn’t stop.

maybe breaking my rules was a little okay.

© all works belong to tonellivision. please do not copy, translate or reupload to third party websites or feed my work to ai, character bots or recommend on tiktok/ twitter.

[cintasvel]

i've been thinking about the last shot of andor a lot and there's been a lot of debate about how it was handled, particularly within the constraints of bix and her role this season. regardless of personal opinion, gilroy has said the shot was supposed to be hopeful and i get it. you fight today for the children of tomorrow so they can live peacefully. i think, regardless of how i feel about bix's story as a whole, i can get behind that. as cliche as it may be.

what i can't really get behind is star war's commitment to signifying hope for its characters in the most heteronormative way imaginable. each and every single time. it is so incredibly boring and it's been done so many times. let's not insult one another by pretending star wars doesn't have mothers in it and that motherhood doesn't get addressed often. padme is a mother. mon is a mother. maarva is a mother. leia is a mother. hera is a mother. there are a lot of mothers in star wars. motherhood and its connection in signifying hope runs deep within star wars.

what makes it particularly awful this time around is there are actual, canonical, queer characters in andor and, as expected, they do not get even a minuscule amount of hope in comparison to the heterosexual characters around them. cinta's arc happens entirely off screen before she's killed off in the most insulting way you can imagine and vel is relegated to being a megaphone around yavin to encourage cassian and bix into their roles. that's not to say i don't love faye marsay and what she did with her limited screentime. she really fucking sold that vel's lost her will to live for anything but the rebellion. but if we're making an anti-fascist show, you can't just ignore how you handle your queer and poc characters. you just can't.

my point is, the traditional family has always been the pinnacle of hope for star wars. and it's fine. but it completely ignores that for many people -- queer or otherwise -- the traditional family isn't that. vel's entire character screams that isn't that for her by her two most important connections being cinta, her girlfriend and mon, her cousin. the finale does try and balance this with vel reaching out to kleya and her being a constant source of connection and family with mon. but let's be honest with one another, it doesn't hit as hard as it could have if cinta and vel had been alive and together. or, if we really needed to kill them both ('everyone dies in this show' comments truly have aged like milk lmao) if they had sacrificed themselves fighting for that tomorrow. not because romance is inherently 'more important' than platonic relationships, but because cinta is a HUGE part of vel's character and vice versa for vel. you truly cannot have one without the other because andor never tried to write either of them otherwise. vel gets away with a little more because she's mon mothma's cousin and her beef with kleya and luthen helps bring tension and resolve to that. but cinta? outside of her threadbare backstory, vel is all she has (which is tragic by itself).

i've gone off topic a little, but my point is, vel's ending in andor shows her as a rebel commander willing to fight for what she truly believes in. outside of the title, this is not a huge jump from the vel of s1 (arc-wise, personality and character is a whole other story). the major difference is that vel no longer has the hope of fighting for a better life with cinta like she had in s1. instead she is the sole queer person in the cast (i'm sorry kleya fans, i love our girl but headcanons do not count here) and has to live with this utterly senseless tragedy until she's dead. now, i love doomed yuri (and for the billionth time, i am not asking for velcinta to be treated with kids gloves) and i'm well aware cassian/bix also gets this ending, but the difference between how vel and cinta are treated and portrayed compared to their heterosexual counterparts is so staggeringly different. like, you need to be willingly obtuse not to see how.

as a white lady, i'm not going to too deeply into how misogyny and racism plays a key part here -- someone far more clever than i no doubt will -- but if you think cinta's arc was well-respected in compared to the white women of andor (her background literally parallels kleya's, but guess who gets that examined. not cinta!) then i just really don't know what to say to convince you otherwise. it's not even about her being a minor character (kleya was too in s1). it's about how qwoc are only used as tools to further their white counterparts because their stories aren't worth examining by themselves. as much as i tell myself i'd kill for a cinta novel/comic, i know it's not going to happen because that would require cinta to be considered worthy of exploring. and i don't know if lucasfilm publishing will ever think that. maybe i'm wrong! i'd like to be proven wrong!

and so, vel's arc (or lack of it) and the mishandling of cinta is ultimately, why that last shot just didn't land for me. even as i understand why it was there and what it signifies and can even get behind it... i just don't think hope = the children of tomorrow hits for me as much as it used to, even though it's still incredibly relevant.

this was a lot of rambling. maybe it doesn't make sense or maybe i'm entirely wrong. but i think yeah. it's an okay shot. it's probably not what i'd end my anti-fascist show on though when you've not taken the time to examine (or care) why queer characters are only allowed to be miserable. it's 2025, man.

[teaboot]

in WHAT universe is rising of the shield hero less of a dissapointment than spy x family? ppl glaze sxf a bit too much but theres few anime worse than Incel Isekai 20472.

anyway. if you want something actually good, frieren, odd taxi, and my roommate is a cat. havent watched ascendance of a bookworm yet but i hear incredible things.

Oh yeah no ROTSH felt like ABSOLUTE dogshit episodes 1-5ish, I have no idea why I kept watching cause the MC was so cringe but I’m enjoying it quite a lot now! (I was actually checking my inbox before catching the next ep, lol)

I’m actually really happy with how they showed the MC’s immaturity and flaws and all the stupid and confusing common isekai tropes in a realistic light- And I’m kinda sorry you didn’t keep watching too ‘cause it absolutely lays bare all that stupid “chosen one” crap about halfway through s1. You stop cringing at the awful stupid incel asshole shit E3 or so and start GENUINELY LIKING him, which is wild!

It’s not perfect media obviously- I kinda REALLY don’t like some of it- but it focuses a lot on personal responsibility and thoughtfulness and working within the context of your environment, learning to heal relationships, and the importance of diplomacy and communication.

What I REALLY like is the central theme that being a hero doesn’t mean everything you do is correct- but that people WANT TO BELIEVE everything you do is correct, so being a symbol isn’t so much a ritzy ride as it is a HUGE responsibility that one shouldn’t be eager for.

Also, I don’t want to give any spoilers, but I’m at a point now where they’re starting to touch on the idea that there’s a difference between fighting for an idea and fighting for PEOPLE, and I’ve never really seen that done well before so between that and the twist here that’s being foreshadowed I’m genuinely SUPER EXCITED to see where they’re going with it.

Also- even WITH all the “pretty girls love the hero” trope- if you watch long enough you’ll notice how they PLAY with the trope without investing in it. There’s genuine respect between the characters, and several times the MC makes it clear he sees some of them as family, that he’s not into kids and it’s creepy when others are, and there’s no fanservice panty shots or surprise “oops I’m naked” shit. It really does show by example how a REAL good-hearted protagonist should- or would hopefully- realistically act in the circumstances of an unrealistic isekai type series. There’s been pretty much zero actual romance or any interest in romance shown by the character after episode 1-2. (At least as of s2e1)

And I love that! It’s incredibly character-driven. It feels like the MC genuinely might fuck up, that there are real stakes, that the correct path is unclear, and I want to see if what I’m hoping for will happen. The MC is selfish and closed-off and heartless sometimes and TOTALLY has a cruel and pragmatic streak, and the narrative takes full advantage of that to force him to confront those issues. Some of his vices are even advantageous, as they would be in real life!

Spy X Family didn’t do anything for me. It appeared to be what it said on the tin. I never got any real sense of stakes or depth or personal development, or of reoccurring thematic elements or symbolism or overlying message, or any kind of statement that was poignant or meaningful. It came off as a fun story, but not anything exceptional or different.

I couldn’t bring myself to care much because it was pretty clear that the good guys were right and they were gonna pull something off and have a happy ending and live a cute little family life with a mom and a dad and a daughter and a dog. It was never surprising or curious and I never felt emotionally intrigued or invested or attached.

They’re both enjoyable, but I like Rise of the Shield Hero more because it’s been proving me wrong in exciting ways and making me think about why I feel the way I do, and I like that in a series.

Spy X Family is fine, I don’t think it’s BAD, it just didn’t scratch the itch for me personally.

If you watched like 15 eps and hated it the whole time that’s fair but if you stopped at e2 I’d super recommend giving it another shot!

[tawked]

If I'm being honest, I actually prefer the version of Jason Todd who had a whole arc where the trauma of being Robin during one of Batman's dumb and edgy eras drove him a lil nuts and made him violent, reckless, whatever.

It is a central plot point in A Death in the Family, a comic that while I actively believe no one should read because it is cartoonishly racist, some (me) consider pretty important to understanding the circumstances surrounding Jason Todd's death.

This is consistent with his appearances in earlier stories, forming a character arc wherein he becomes increasingly violent and reckless due to the trauma of his early childhood in poverty and the increasing exposure to violence inherent in being Robin, filtered through the strictly anti-Robin lens of writer Jim Starlin.

Batman #411, he has what is obviously a violent trauma response after finding out Two-Face single parentified his mother.

Batman #422, Batman needs to pull him off a pimp after said pimp threatened his bottom bitch.

Batman #424. I posted this once and someone told me with their whole chest they actually for real believed this dude slipped and Todd didn't kill him which is how I realized that there's a whole generation of Batman fans who do not recognize 1970s-80s action movie tropes. An extremely humbling moment for me lol.

Anyway, notice the sequential nature of the issue numbers.

Now, I sincerely do not want to be a bitch here, but I don't know how else to say this.

The reason Jason Todd is not a violent loose cannon in his earliest appearances, even post-Crisis, is that characters later in their arc are not the same as characters at the beginning of their arc.

These two dudes, who yes are the same dude, have very different relationships with the concept of violent revenge. One of them even cut his own head off in a spooky metaphor cave that taught him about how violent revenge means destroying a part of yourself. The other dude just saw his parents gettin weenie roasted and is mad about that. To reiterate my point, they are the same dude.

But in fandom we have this weird thing where we flat reject this concept of Jason by insisting that no, this characterization was just later writers like Marv Wolfman being haters and retroactively character assassinating him through Tim Drake or something.

We insist on who he was at the beginning of his arc as if he should not, could not, would not on a boat, could not, would not, should not with a goat, develop into anything but who he was at that moment. I have never seen anything else like it in comics or in other fandom. Character development that is just so flat rejected and avoided, in a medium where we usually celebrate development because characters are usually set more or less in stone until the next big reboot event.

And look, if I'm being absolutely honest with you, the smooth clean safe not a wildcard roundhouse kick freak version of Todd that fandom has created is so fucking boring to me.

He is, to me, by far the worst version of the character.

To me, Jason Todd was this Robin specifically:

Batman: The Cult.

That's not Dick Grayson. That's not TIm Drake. That's not Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Carrie Kelley, or whatever other version of Robin.

Jason Todd is the "alright you sorry clowns, let's party" Robin. He was written in line with a bunch of action movie and buddy cop tropes. A Death in the Family was straight up a "hand in your badge McKlinsky, you're a loose cannon" arc. And I just feel like the fandom desire to smooth that out of him, whatever the motivation behind it might be, is ultimately in service for a far more boring, more "in line with Dick Grayson and Tim Drake" version of a character who should never have been in line with Dick Grayson or Tim Drake.

[thepinkpanther83]

Reader (person A) and Eddie (person B) are hanging out in eddies trailer and the following below happens but they don't talk about it until reader thinks of the chapstick challenge which leads to them confessing and making out? You can choose the flavors.

Please? Thank you 😊

The Cherry on Top

One-Shot Request: “The Cherry on Top”

Eddie Munson x Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thank you to the wonderful @meankenna for inspiring this one-shot with such a fun, and flirty prompt! This story was an absolute blast to write- equal parts sweet and shameless, and I hope it gives you all the butterflies it gave me while working on it. You’ve got great taste (in fic ideas and chapstick). 💋

If you enjoyed this story, consider leaving a comment or reblog- it helps more than you know! Stay soft, stay curious, and never underestimate a well-timed kiss. ~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary:

A lazy afternoon at Eddie Munson’s trailer takes a turn when one little question about cherry chapstick leads to a moment neither of you can pretend didn’t happen. Suddenly, there’s tension where there used to be teasing, and silence where there used to be laughter. But when a certain “challenge” comes to mind, you decide it’s time to settle the score… with lips, not logic. What started as a joke, might just be the cherry on top of something real.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

The Cherry on Top

One-Shot Request: “The Cherry on Top”

The hum of the cassette player fills the trailer with the low, raspy growl of Dio’s vocals, humming like a heartbeat beneath your easy chatter. You’re sprawled on Eddie’s old couch, one leg tucked underneath you, the other stretched out dangerously close to where his thigh is angled across the cushion.

Neither of you are really talking about anything important. You’re just… there. Comfortable. Close. Too close, if you stopped to think about it- which you absolutely refuse to do.

Eddie’s sitting sideways, arm thrown over the back of the couch, rings tapping absent patterns into the upholstery behind your neck. He’s grinning, eyes half-lidded, face soft from the lazy rhythm of the day. There’s an open bag of pretzels on the table, forgotten. One of your hoodies is balled up at your side, still holding your body heat from earlier.

You’d watched a movie hours ago. Or at least started one. Now it's just staticy music and half-finished conversations, the kind that drift off when they get too honest.

And in a moment of autopilot, you fish out your cherry chapstick. Twist the cap. Swipe it across your lips.

That’s when everything shifts.

You don’t notice him freeze- not at first. But he does. Like someone hit pause on his whole body. His eyes flick to your mouth and stay there, lips parting the tiniest bit, as if caught in the middle of a thought he forgot to say out loud.

“…What flavor is that?” he asks, like it physically hurts him not to know.

You blink at him. “Uh. Cherry.” You roll the cap back on and toss the stick into your hoodie pocket. “It’s really good, too.”

Eddie nods once, slowly. Then leans in just a fraction. “Can I try it?”

You’re already reaching for your hoodie, digging out the chapstick again. “Sure,” you say, holding it out between two fingers.

He doesn't take it.

Instead, Eddie leans in, slow but certain, like gravity’s finally had enough of your mutual pretending. His hand brushes your wrist, lowers the chapstick gently. Then- without giving you a second to react… he kisses you.

It’s not rough. Not frantic. Just deliberate. Lips warm and firm against yours, tasting faintly of cherry and Eddie and a hundred things you’ve never had the courage to name.

He pulls back just a breath, close enough that you can feel the smirk forming on his mouth before he even speaks.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “You’re right. It does taste good.”

You stare at him, brain officially fried. Function: unavailable. Thoughts: error 404. All you can do is sit there, lips tingling, mouth open just a little, totally wrecked by one kiss and a comment about chapstick.

You’re still staring at him.

He’s still staring at you.

The trailer is quiet. Like, you can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the flick of his thumb as he nervously picks at a loose string on the couch.

Then Eddie clears his throat. Loud. Awkward. Dramatic. “So,” he says, voice about an octave higher than normal, “you, uh… think Dio would survive in a bare-knuckle cage match against Ozzy?”

What.

Your lips are still tingling, and this man is asking about metal frontmen hypothetical brawls like he didn’t just bypass years of friendship rules and press his mouth to yours like it was nothing.

“…Are we seriously not gonna talk about what just happened?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

He glances at you. Smiles. Shrugs.

“Dunno what you mean,” he says coolly, casually, the picture of someone who is not currently imploding on the inside. “I asked for chapstick. You gave it to me. I tried it. It’s good. Mission accomplished.”

You blink. “You kissed me, Eddie.”

He fake gasps. “I did? Oh no. Must’ve slipped. Could’ve sworn I was reaching for the stick.”

“Eddie-”

“Hey, d’you wanna throw on another tape?” he interrupts, already getting up, not looking at you. “I think I’ve got that W.A.S.P. live album somewhere in the crate. Or- wait, no- Queen! We need to appreciate the artistry of Brian May more.”

He’s practically scrambling toward the tape shelf, muttering nonsense, hair falling in his face, while you sit there in complete disbelief.

You don’t push. You don’t chase him down or beg for clarity. You’re too scared of what it might do to the delicate thread tying the two of you together- so you let him keep pretending. You help. You joke. You nod along when he makes some stupid remark about Freddie Mercury’s god-tier vocal range.

But neither of you laughs the same.

The air’s different now- tight, humming, like a storm you both agreed not to name. You make it through the rest of the afternoon with polite smiles and long, loaded silences where your knees accidentally touch and neither of you breathes.

Eventually, you say you’ve gotta head home. Something about chores, or helping your mom, or feeding your cat. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get out.

He walks you to the door, as always. He tells you to page him when you get home, as always.

He doesn’t mention the kiss. At all.

And you don’t either.

Not until you’re in your room later that night, lights off, fingers brushing your bottom lip like you’re checking to see if the feeling’s still there.

You try journaling. You write “HE KISSED ME” in all caps three times before ripping the page out and stuffing it under your bed like a confession. Then you pace. Then you lay down. Then you sit back up. Then you wonder what would’ve happened if you kissed him back just a little harder, or said something like, “Do it again.”

But you didn’t.

And now you’re spiraling, tangled in your sheets, a cherry flavored ghost still dancing across your lips, trying to figure out if he meant it- or if he was just being Eddie.

It’s been days.

Days since “The Incident.”

Days since the kiss he never explained. Days since you half-lost your mind and wrote a fake letter to him you’ll never send titled, Dear Eddie, please do that again, I beg of you.

Now you’re back at his trailer, like nothing happened- except everything did. You’re both pretending to be normal. Again. You’re on the couch. Again. He’s doing that dumb thing where he pokes your knee with his toe like a child seeking attention. Again.

But tonight, you’re ready. Tonight, you brought props.

You wait until the timing’s perfect- he’s mid-rant about how Ace of Spades was robbed at the Grammys' when you interrupt with:

“Hey, so… remember when you totally stole my chapstick with your mouth and then never brought it up again?”

He chokes on a handful of Doritos. “I mean, stole is a strong word-”

You raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure there’s a federal charge for grand larceny of flavored lip balm.”

He snorts, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, maybe I panicked. Maybe I got carried away.”

You lean forward on your elbows, casual but not really. “You know there’s an actual Chapstick Challenge, right? Where you’re supposed to guess the flavor by kissing someone?”

He freezes. “…That’s real?”

“Yup.” You pull a little zippered pouch from your bag and spill a rainbow army of chapsticks onto the table. “I brought options.”

His eyes go huge. “You’re kidding.”

You smirk. “Nope. Wanna try the official version this time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

He launches himself across the couch, lips crashing into yours with so much enthusiasm you laugh into the kiss. His hands find your waist like they’ve been waiting for clearance, and yours tangle in that ridiculous mop of curls. It’s messy and a little clumsy, both of you grinning like idiots between breaths.

You taste like strawberry first. He gets it right. Then vanilla mint. Right again.

“Okay,” he gasps between kisses, “I’m kind of a prodigy at this.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

He does. Over and over between applications. With gusto. With reverence. With the sort of soft desperation that only comes from finally getting the thing you thought you’d never have.

“Wait- what flavor is this?” he mumbles against your mouth.

You blink, confused. “I didn’t put anything on-”

He grins. “Hmm. Must just be ‘You.’ That one’s my favorite.”

You shove his shoulder. He kisses you harder.

Eventually, you’re a giggling, half-dazed mess on the couch, limbs tangled and chapstick containers strewn around like colorful evidence of the war you just won.

He pulls back only slightly, forehead pressed to yours, and whispers:

“So… you wanna, I dunno… maybe be my cherry-flavored girlfriend or something?”

You smile and kiss him again.

Translation: Yes.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust @meankenna

Masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Affinity 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Prince!Loki (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you are sent to attend the royal wardrobe on an important diplomatic journey but find more to worry for than split seams.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"Is it better, your highness?" You ask as you try to tug on the taut fabric over the king's stomach. He growls as his belly strains the fabric. "I added a panel."

"Hmph," he glances at the woman sitting patiently and quietly on a stool in the corner of the tent. It isn't hard to guess who she is. Everyone knows the king's lascivious reputation and you've seen her with him throughout the first week of the journey. "I did not realise..." he tugs at the tails of the tunic. "Sitting a horse has made things more obvious."

"I can add another, your highness?" You suggest.

"Oh, lady, we've enough to worry for on this trek than the king's belly. I will persevere through pinching of my seams," he king chortles. "I am certain you are eager to rest."

"Your highness, it is never a task."

"Hm, yes, mother always prefers you. Simple to know why," he remarks. "Go, if I must ride with my guts out, so be it."

You give a bow and obey. You take your wooden chest with you, hooking the strap on your shoulder, and set off to find a place to sleep. You've been nestling into the wagons with the other castle servants. Your work with a needle does not save you the low regard of commonry.

"How fares my brother?" The prince startles you. He is always watching.

"He seems of better spirits, your grace. I see he has been riding. He was only seeking to have his riding clothes seen to," you explain.

"Ah, yes," Prince Loki tuts. "I witnessed it too. The way he tests a horse's back."

You do not comment. The king is a big man naturally. His middle might be thicker than once it was but he is not your concern or your place to judge. The prince judges all.

"Did you require anything, your grace?" You wonder.

He huffs. "Must I require your needle to have a conversation with a castle seamstress?"

"I only meant, your grace, to assist. As is my duty."

"I know your duty. As I know every person's duty within this camp." He struts on beside you. "Do you think my brother knows? It is I who makes certain we are not stuck in the mud. That we follow the mop not the king's fancy."

"Yes, my grace."

"And what do you know but how to make a stitch?" He scoffs.

You're silent. The prince is a man of moods. You've witnessed it many time as he burst in to rant at his mother. Without her there to temper him, he is particularly venomous.

There's a lull between you. His boots kick pebbles across the ground as you wonder why he's not tramped away to his tent. He sighs.

"Does the ride wear you down?" He asks suddenly. At that, you could flinch. The shift in his tone, in his words, is like a pendulum.

"As it wears us all down, your grace. The storm particularly."

"Ah, yes, it soaked me through," he sneers.

"I've made certain the royal luggage was untouched by the rain," you assure him. "And the piece you requested is nearly done, though the cart does not make for easy sewing."

"Hm, yes. The Wakandan sun will have us melting in your Asgardian layer. My brother is a fool, he will be sweating like a river," he snickers. "I am too clever for that. He has never thought ahead. He never had to. He has others to do his thinking for him."

Again, you are quiet. You learned from the dowager, Frigga, to let her sons speak more than you do. Let them be out with their discontent and a few words often consoles. As a servant, is it best you listen and speak only of your duty.

"He tires me more than this trek." The prince derides. "Wine. Bring it to my tent."

With that, he turns sharply and marches away. You watch him as soldiers gesture to him in deference. You bite your cheek. Likely, he sends you on a task meant for another to make his point. He is still the prince and you are still but a servant in his family's employ.

You set off. You ask a few skullery maids where you can find a bottle or cask. You retrieve a dark bottle and retrace your steps.

You approach the prince's tent. You clear your throat as thoughts of sleep drift into the deepening eve. "My prince, your wine."

"Come." He calls from within.

You enter and nearly stumble back through the draped canvas. The prince is in his undershirt and breeches, his tunic cast aside. He tugs at a tangle in his hair.

"I need a looking glass," he mutters. You put the bottle near him. His green eyes flick to it. "A cup?"

"I will find one," you affirm.

"Never bother," he waves his fingers dismissively. "I've need of your eyes."

"My... eyes?"

"Mmhmm, argh," he tosses back the tangle in frustration and sits up. "My brother. He has that woman with him."

"I believe I saw a woman."

He snorts, "no need to be covert. I could ask any guard. Besides, I am his brother. I needs know so that when we arrive, the king does not put us to shame before the three others convened. He thinks this will be fun. That he will drink and be merry. This is a matter of politick."

"Yes, your grace, the woman was there," you repeat.

"And?"

"She was sitting in the corner, prince."

"Undressed?" He wonders.

"Clothed," you assure him. "The king was more concerned with his tunic."

"Hmm," he exhales, disappointment in his breath. "I cannot figure... he has chosen to ride again. Do you know what effort I put forth to have that litter arranged? My brother is demanding, as any king may be, but he is particularly churlish."

You are quiet again. He snatches the wine bottle and uncorks it. He swigs and swishes it before swallowing.

"Vinegar," he snarls.

"My grace, apologies, I was told it was--"

"It's wine. Only not very good." He sniffs. "If you hear or see any more of this woman, you will let me know."

"As you wish."

"Yes, it is certainly as I wish," he huffs. "Go."

You bow, "your grace." You back out of the tent and let the canvas fall into place. You look up at the sky. Why did the queen mother send you along?

[valeisaslut]

ok yall quick lil PSA before i combust 🤍

law school has me by the throat rn. like she saw me breathing and said “not on my watch.” between college, personal life, and trying to write the most emotionally devastating, spiritually fulfilling, grammatically correct finale of collide… i’m kinda struggling to balance everything 😭

the final part is going to be the longest and most important chapter of the whole series, so i really need to give myself time to write it properly. like, heartbreak doesn’t just write itself babes!!

also the inbox is LITERALLY in flames. i will respond to as many as i can, but it might take me a little while. pls don’t take it personally i’m just one 19 year old girl with a lot of gay things to say and zero time management skills.

thank you so so so much for all the love you’re giving me and this story. its more than anything i could have ever imagined, and i feel it in my bones. you’re all insane. i cherish and love you deeply.

val OUT 💌

[confusedhummingbird]

Just my opinion, anyone can disagree, but I feel like Dick being tied to the Batfamily holds his own book back from evolving. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Batfamily and all, but being stuck in Batman’s editorial corner keeps him from even being better than Bruce. I know there are some scattered lines in the comics that say Dick is better than Bruce at certain things, like fighting, but honestly, those are more throwaway comments than anything actually shown in Nightwing’s own book.

I wouldn’t be surprised if some really cool ideas for Nightwing’s series got scrapped because they could ‘outshine’ Batman’s story, since the whole family revolves around him. And because of that, every member has to fill a specific role, no one can outshine the other. Dick can’t be shown as smart with tech because that would overshadow Babs, and he can’t be the best fighter because of Cass, or the best detective because of Tim… and of course, no one can outshine Bruce.

I know a lot of people don’t care about this stuff, especially if they enjoy the Batfamily dynamic, but if you’re someone who just wants to follow Dick as a solo character, it sucks, because it feels like his stories never really go anywhere, even when the writer is trying hard. And I do really like Dick. To me, he’s the most important and iconic sidekick. But still, I gotta admit that Wally, in terms of storytelling and breaking free from Barry, had more success in the end, at least in my opinion.

Oh no I completely agree with you. I feel like there could be so much more cooler and better stories used with Dick. I mean think about how he doesn't even really have a Rogue's Gallery. The only really known one is Blockbuster and I think that's most because of the infamous issue 93.

And it's honestly sad on a meta level as well. Because Dick created Nightwing because he wanted to be his own hero. He wanted to be more free than just Batman's sidekick. He loved Bruce but didn't wanna be tied to him for the rest of his life. That's what Nightwing represented in the 80 and early 90s with the Titans. But now while he is his own character he's also so heavily tied in with Bruce and the rest of the Batfamily and it's honestly to the point where you're barely allowed to see any of the Batfamily members doing stuff outside of Gotham that you have to wonder sometimes why he's even still Nightwing. Because he's not free anymore. He's basically just Robin again in a new costume.

[mama-qwerty]

So there's no fear about Lilo being taken away? No counter between Lilo and Stitch, of Stitch being this creature who no one wanted and didn't fit in anywhere, and Lilo being this girl who no one understood and didn't really fit in except for her older sister who would do anything to keep her and take care of her? Two lost souls searching for something, a friend, someone to see them for who they were and not simply by the labels society placed on them?

So we're getting a kind of ET rehash, wherein 'alien lands and government looks for it' instead of what was a wonderful story of interesting characters reinforcing the importance of home and family and finding where you belong.

What a complete waste of time.

Just heard Gantu isn’t even the Live action Lilo and Stitch movie

[tryandbehappy]

Important reminder, guys: It didn’t just feel real, it was real.

What they did to us in the finale was gaslighting, plain and simple. You’re not crazy, and it’s not just your imagination.

They did build a love story across the entire show.

They did put enormous care into filming their scenes, visually, emotionally, narratively.

Nick did not do anything wrong on screen (until now)

June did love Nick.

They did share deep, intimate, emotionally complex moments.

It was the emotional core of the entire show. That’s not something we made up. That’s what they gave us. Over years.

What they did now was simply flip it all, for shock value, for ratings, for that last-minute “nobody saw it coming” punch.

And how did they do it?

By taking the most loving, romantic, emotionally intelligent, loyal man on the show, stripping him of his dignity, robbing him of love and redemption, and killing him off like a dog.

Worse than Lawrence. Worse than anyone.

And the rest? They all live. They all get nuance. They all get soft endings. Nick alone is discarded, and we’re expected to just accept it?

No.

You are not wrong to be upset. You are not wrong to feel betrayed. You are not wrong to say: this was never just a subplot.

This was the heart of the story. And they destroyed it.

That’s not your delusion. gaslighting.

[jazeswhbhaven]

I have questions about the lore now...

SPOILER ALERT BELOW THE CUT FOR THE AGARES EVENT:

Now, normally I wait until I do a react for this kind of discussion but this NEEDS to be said.

Agares is an illegitimate child of an angel...this now kinda overshadows an important thing that was mentioned in the main story....

In one of the chats, Ppyong and Sitri explained how devils are made (early on in the main story chapters I forget where) and that it was Lilith who aided in such matters.

With that being said, this means that devils cannot have children with one another. I can only imply that MC can get pregnant by the devils, it just probably has to be a certain way to do it.

Now, I wonder if there's an exception to this rule where Angels can impregnate devils/vise versa due to some loophole that God didn't bother to mention at any point or he didn't know because he's unsure of what his own creations can and cannot do.

Either way, this would mean that Agares is most likely the only half/devil angel hybrid in existence for the canon story since our chapter 1 couple Leamas(angel Sameal) and Nina were not able to be together in the end.

Goodness me...every time PB lore drops something I have to fit the pieces together on how it works within the canon story....but also I'm grasping for straws here....

It's very well possible that Minhyeok is in fact part angel then, because I'm expecting ANYTHING at this point.

Anyways...happy new event y'all time to be sad because baby Agares was literally kicked to the street and his own mom didn't even want him. (THIS ACTUALLY ADDS MORE AGNST TO MY AU OMG)

[vonbabbitt]

Just to piggyback on an earlier ask, what do you dislike specifically about "event killings" in Fangans/death games?

You clearly know what you're talking about, so I'm intrigued to hear what you think.

i misread this as “you clearly don’t know what you’re talking about” and was startled LMAO

for me it’s mostly just the fact that they feel super predictable to the point where it harms the suspense. suspense isnt everything, but it definitely adds to certain scenes. suspense or lack of suspense is important in stories that involve surprises (such as dead bodies) so when a trope becomes oversaturated in the genre, it can affect that suspense quite a bit!

like if im playing a fangan, and they’re like “let’s put on a play!!” you know somebody is dying at the play. the suspense is gone because you’re just waiting for it to happen while knowing for sure it’ll happen. it takes away from whatever’s actually happening in the scene and turns it into a big Waiting Fest.

i think this can be pulled off effectively under other circumstances! if you can subvert expectations in a way that’s still interesting, that works well! example: BDA 4. you know somebody is going die, but given the patterns, you expect that tsuno and wada will walk in on a dead body. you KNOW somebody will die, so you’re just waiting for it to happen, just like the play. the shock comes from the fact that they don’t walk in on the body: one of them dies right there on screen. expectation subverted while still being interesting!!

of course im not the genre master or anything; these are just my thoughts! i think pretty much ANYTHING can work if done well, its just that most of the time it is NOT done well