#i wish i could find a niche and settle into it comfortably. i think fun character drawings could be that for me

[readymades2002]

something difficult about writing/storytelling but only in short disconnected bursts is that writing anything longform is very difficult. there isn't as much time to practice long-term character development or subtlety (implying character instead of immediately clarifying) when its not really meant to go anywhere but a notes app. its a little frustrating...i'd love to do something more longform though. i've considered maybe just doing some short writing scenes in my various original universes a lot recently mostly because i just havent had time to draw anything fancy recently </3 maybe that would be something...

[thornedrose44]

It's Funny Right Up Until It's Not

Read on AO3

It's funny because it's harmless…

It's funny because it's never a big deal…

It's funny because it's forgotten by the next day…

It's funny because she's fine.

She's always fine…

Until… she’s not...

It's funny right up until there's a growing pool of blood.

It's funny right up until Kara's hands just can't seem to stem the flow.

It's funny right up until Kara can't get her to open her eyes no matter how much she screams.

It's funny right up until the moment Kara realises Lena might actually die this time…

*****

Lena always said she would start to worry if she didn't have an assassination attempt at least once a week, claiming she would phone her enemies to check that they were all still kicking - concerned they might have passed away or even worse… lost interest.

Lena was the one that joked about it from the start, her dark-edged humour and flair for the dramatic finding their niche with the topic of the failed attempts on her life.

Alex jumped in next - her humour similar to the youngest Luthor and her affection for Lena not high enough for her to find the subject of Lena’s death off putting like she would with anyone else. Her amusement at the failed attempts taking a harsher edge towards Lena than necessary. "You know why they keep missing you? You run so stupidly that logical aiming no longer applies."

Kara could chart Alex and Lena’s friendship by how the jokes changed. How Lena was no longer the punchline but the assassins, how they were idiotic for daring to take on Lena, "I mean seriously! What sane being in the known universe would think: 'I know that Lena Luthor stopped an alien invasion, is probably the smartest person on the planet and is practically a sharpshooter but me and my crappy store bought pistol will be more than enough to take her on'."

Alex's shift into more positive banter led the way for the rest of the Superfriends to get in on the action. They placed bets on when the next attempt would come. They would reminisce about the most ridiculous attempts so far - the spiderman impersonator that had used suction cup gloves to slowly climb the side of L-Corp was a particular favourite, exhausting themselves halfway up and crying for Supergirl to save him.

It became one of the most regular jokes amongst them, an old and familiar friend that they could fall back on and break the ice with when the need arrived.

Kara had hated it to start with. Had hated Lena's nonchalance and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes after her latest would-be assassin was carted away in handcuffs. Had hated Lena’s morbid humour. Had hated the bullying disguised as playful banter that Alex had inflicted on her best friend who always shook it off far too lightly. Had hated how it became a comfortable staple amongst her friends.

But… with every failed attempt that Lena walked away from without a scratch… Kara's hatred reduced. She started to laugh at the jokes and appreciate the compliments that Alex now tucked into her banter (each one an apology for those that had cruelly come before). She started to engage in the bets and fondly roll her eyes in faux exasperation when she would find Lena working away even as they swept up the glass from the latest attacker.

And once the Supergirl secret was out, their friendship more solid than ever, Kara finally poked fun as well.

It was funny because Lena was never hurt.

It was funny because Supergirl would always, always, always be there to save her in the nick of time.

It was funny right up until Supergirl was too late.

*****

Kara had been in the training room at the time, her powers dampened by the green suffused walls. She hadn’t heard the ringing from the watch calling - screaming out - for help. She hadn’t heard the gunshots. The skyrocketing heartbeat.

She hadn’t heard any of it.

Alex had insisted, after assessing Kara’s technique to be a little lazy in a fight the day prior, that they re-sharpen her skills in the training room. The sisters had spent the morning laughing between thrown punches; exhausting themselves and bickering good-naturedly. Kara had made Alex swear that they would be finished before eleven, not wanting to be late to her standing brunch with Lena that she always looked forward to.

It should be noted that it takes Kara a minute to somewhat recharge in the morning light streaming through the DEO’s windows on the mezzanine balcony after her training sessions. It was something Alex and Lena had spent a significant amount of time working out, taking into consideration the kryptonite strength in the training room and Kara’s typical sunlight absorption rate - neither liking the idea of Kara powerless for an extended amount of time.

So... it took a minute.

A full minute spent talking to Alex about… Kara wouldn’t even remember after everything that happened next.

She would, however, remember the moment when her super-hearing kicked back in and she was overwhelmed by the high pitched warble from Lena’s watch, followed by the sound of Lena’s barely there breath and thready heartbeat.

Kara won’t remember taking off so violently that Alex was thrown back several feet. She won’t remember smashing through the DEO’s ceiling nor the sonic boom that accompanied her flight and shattered hundreds of windows.

She won’t remember landing with such ferocity the entirety of L-Corp shook, matching the tremble running through her body.

She will, however, always remember the growing pool of blood and how she dissociated at the sight of it. Some strange voice in her head whispering that it must simply be red wine that had slipped through Lena’s fingers. She’d always liked wine, the voice would soothe, a particular cabernet with a price tag that would make Kara’s eyes water, that’s all it was.

She needed it to be wine.

It didn’t matter that the puddle - lake, ocean - was more than a single bottle’s worth.

It didn’t matter that Lena only drank wine with others, her solitary drink of preference being whiskey.

It didn’t matter that Kara had never seen Lena’s elegant fingers ever let a single drop fall from her glass, let alone an entire bottle.

It didn’t matter because it could not be blood.

Lena doesn’t bleed, not that much, not ever.

Because Lena was always fine. Kara was always there on time.

Always.

The next thing that would be forever ingrained in Kara’s memory, seared into her mind’s eye like burnt pixels exposed to the same image endlessly - a ghost overlapping everything else - was Lena’s body taking centre stage on the red carpet of her own creation.

Lena, pale beyond comparison, curled into a small ball, single arm stretched out and stained crimson. She was wearing Kara’s favourite dress - green with a white printed flower design - she had worn it to their first brunch after they had reconciled. It was associated with hope, reunion and new starts. It complemented Lena’s green eyes making them sparkle and twinkle even more when the light streaming through the little restaurant’s window had hit them at just the right angle.

Lena’s cheeks had flushed a pleased pink, ears burning a warm red when Kara had stuttered out a compliment that day. That brunch had settled something between them, ensured they walked with linked hands towards their new future rather than struggling on different paths that occasionally converged.

Now it was stained red. Splattered almost beyond recognition.

Kara won’t remember crying or screaming for Lena to wake up. She only knows she must have done it when she looked in the mirror hours later to find her cheeks marked with semi-permanent tear tracks whilst her throat ached from overuse.

She won’t remember flying Lena so carefully and tenderly to the DEO.

She won’t remember landing.

She won’t remember the expressions of utter devastation on Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn’s faces.

She won’t remember Alex having to shove her away so that she and the medical team can get to Lena.

She won’t remember Brainy and J’onn forcibly restraining her.

She will remember the sound of Lena’s heart stopping for thirty seconds and feeling like the whole world had ended.

*****

The space was filled to the brim with loved ones that couldn’t bear the idea of leaving whilst the medical staff fought to save Lena’s life

Brainy and Nia were sat huddled together against one wall, Nia running a calm hand down Brainy’s ramrod straight back. J'onn stood in the corner, observant gaze sweeping protectively over everyone, ready to swing into action at the slightest indication someone required him. Sam and Ruby - who had flown over using the L-Corp jet the second they had heard - were curled up on one of the two benches, Ruby’s soft cries muffled against Sam’s curled shoulder. Kelly, meanwhile, was hovering nearby, flitting between people, providing endless comfort and support.

It was Kelly that had gently tugged Kara to the bathroom and washed away the crimson marking her skin and brought her a change of clothes, telling her in gentle tones that she didn’t need to be Supergirl in this situation.

It was permission to fall apart, to just be the best friend and not the hero.

Kara didn’t know she needed that until she finally realised no one had touched her since she had brought Lena in, that she hadn’t sat down or rested either. Her stiff posture and clenched jaw warding off all those that wished to provide comfort.

The second permission was granted to her, Kara immediately sought out her adoptive mother, who had just arrived, and collapsed into her arms, willingly breaking down and begging between sobs for Lena to be okay.

Kara and Eliza took up the other bench - mirror images of Sam and Ruby - Eliza, intermittently, pressing reassuring kisses to Kara’s head as they waited and waited and waited.

“She’s stable.” Alex announced with little ceremony as she stepped into the room, cutting right to the chase knowing a delay of any kind would not be appreciated by those sitting in the makeshift waiting room/DEO hallway. There was an instant audible expulsion of air that accompanied the sheer relief of the room's occupants.

Kara, however, didn’t sigh in relief, didn’t whisper a thank you to any deity listening, instead she got to her feet and approached Alex, desperation clear in her eyes and in the shake of her hands. “Can I see her?”

Alex blinked taken aback by the suddenness of the request but not the request itself, “Kara, she’s-”

“Please.” Kara begged, blue eyes pleading, legs shaking, ready to drop to her knees in supplication if need be.

“Kara, I don’t-” Alex murmured, looking quickly over at Eliza for support.

“Take her.” Eliza interrupted, tone serious and grave after spending hours holding her daughter who hadn't cried this much since the destruction of her entire planet. “Take her to Lena.”

“Okay, come on…”, Alex shook her head in wary acceptance, moving to hold open the door to Lena’s room.

*****

“She’s in a medically induced coma.” Alex explained quietly, her voice only just audible over all the whirring machines that Lena was hooked up to.

“Will she...” Kara asked, trailing off unable to finish the question.

Unable to imagine the still, pale mannequin laid out on the bed before her being all that Lena will ever be.

“Her body needs time to heal.” Alex explained carefully, not directly answering Kara’s question, “Once we’re more confident that she…” Alex cleared her throat, trying for tact and simplicity, “That she’s improved, we’ll back off the medication and gradually encourage her out of the coma.”

“Okay.” Kara accepted, sliding into the seat beside the bed, fingers reaching out tentatively to wrap around Lena’s limp ones.

“Okay?” Alex repeated, confused by Kara’s lack of pressing questions.

“She’ll wake up.” Kara murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Lena’s knuckles. “She’ll be fine. She’s always fine, isn’t she?”

“Uh…” Alex mumbled, uncertainty twisting her insides as she approached her sister who seemed so… lost.

“How many attempts has she survived now, huh?” Kara asked, her tone light but so dreadfully wrong and out of place like an easy-going dinner with friends jarred from its natural rhythm by the sharp squeak of a fork against a plate.

“Kara?” Alex whispered, stepping towards her sister like she would a wounded animal. "She's really hurt and I don't-"

"She’ll be fine, Alex. She’s always fine!" Kara hissed, blue eyes turning fierce with an ethereal red glow that had Alex stopping dead in her tracks. "It happens every week like clockwork and Lena is always fine!"

"This… this isn't like those other times…" Alex said slowly.

"YES, IT IS!" Kara screeched, the embers in her eyes sparking dangerously.

Alex swallowed thickly, a genuine trickle of fear running down her spine at the disturbing mish-mash of emotions flickering across Kara’s shadowed face. The only thing that made Alex see her sister in the dark swirl of emotions was the tender way she continued to cradle Lena’s hand as she ranted so loudly it shook the walls, every word undoubtedly audible to those seated just outside.

"They're all the same, Alex. It doesn't matter if they are professional or amateurs.” Kara snarled. “It doesn't matter if the plan is simple or complex. They've all tried to kill her and failed! It’s the same fucking thing as all the others! It’s not different."

"I-" Alex began in a futile attempt to soothe her sister’s heartbreak and loathing, but she might as well have tried to turn the tide.

"It's a joke, right?!” Kara laughed darkly, “That's how certain we are that they will always fail. That she will always be okay! We wouldn't joke about it if there was any actual risk, right?!” Kara asked, not waiting to hear the answer as the question itself was enough to punch a hole in Alex’s chest and leave her gasping for breath. “Because how fucked up would that be? That I laugh about my best friend… the woman I… my Lena, dying nearly every week." Kara’s voice cracked with true despair.

"Kara, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did and so did you. So did everyone.” Kara accused, laying out their crimes that they were all undeniably guilty of. “We laughed. We placed bets. We minimised it but didn't actually do anything. There is an assassination attempt on her life every week and yes, we stop it when it happens. But have we ever actually done anything to prevent it in the first place? Or did we just like the joke too fucking much?" Kara sobbed, finally turning away from her sister to gently lay her head atop of Lena’s frail hand.

"Kara…" Alex croaked; hot tears spilling from her own eyes at the sight of her sister becoming undone and knowing that any comfort she could offer was limited.

Lena’s state was precarious, her life still in the balance.

And with regards to the source of Kara’s anguish and the failings she had thrown at all of their doorsteps… well, Alex couldn't refute them especially knowing she had been the worst of them. The guilt was like that of a thousand blades slicing her up from the inside out, and she barely staggered to the door where Kelly was waiting with sympathy and love that Alex had never felt so unworthy of.

"She's going to be okay." Alex called out over her shoulder as she fell into Kelly’s arms, knowing Kara couldn’t hear her over the sounds of her grief and pain… but needing to say it nonetheless. Needing the words to be out there in the universe.

Needing them to be true.

*****

Kara stayed by Lena’s bedside for the entire week that Lena remained unconscious - an ever present sentinel that barely slept and only ate when Eliza forced the food onto her. The tumultuous swirl of fear and guilt that had become her constant companion, weighing heavier than the two worlds she already carried on her shoulders, kept her ever-vigilant and on a hair-trigger for even the smallest of threats to the young Luthor’s life.

Alex stopped by once a day to check in but she kept her distance, neither sister ready to address the crimes Kara held them both accountable for. The older Danvers looked almost as wrecked as Kara, dark circles under her eyes revealing deep-levels of exhaustion and stress - Kara wanted to ask how she was and check that she was looking after herself but the words just wouldn’t come. When Alex stopped by, Kara huddled even closer to Lena’s bedside and kept her gaze fixed and purposefully away from her sister’s.

Brainy and Nia, on the other hand, more than made up for Alex’s short visitations, setting up shop in Lena’s room whenever they could free themselves from the responsibilities Kara had unwittingly dumped on them - Brainy had stepped up to cover for Supergirl’s sudden disappearance in much the same way Nia was covering for Kara at work. Both had heard Kara’s distraught cries when she had seen Lena in the hospital bed and both were shouldering their own fair share of blame and guilt.

Brainy wasn’t very good at showing how distraught Lena’s near death had made him, hiding behind a tablet screen as he sat in the corner of Lena’s hospital room, but Kara was more than aware of the grief-stricken glances Brainy would send to his intellectual equal when he believed no one was looking. Kara didn’t call him out on it, merely gave his shoulder a squeeze every now and again before giving the Coluan some privacy - trusting Brainy above everyone to not let anything happen to Lena.

Whilst Nia hadn’t known Lena as long as everyone else, she was a gentle soul with the kindest heart that Kara had ever seen, her loyalty and love was firm and sincere regardless of how short a time she had known someone as was the case with the CEO. Lena was the person that Nia went to for support about sibling drama because Lena, unlike Kara, knew what it was like to truly doubt family love and how to cope when that support which everyone expects to be unconditional vanishes without a trace. Lena was the person that Nia had started to go shopping with, their appreciation for designer and statement fashion providing them bonding time that no one else could easily (or willingly) provide.

Eliza stuck around, the temporary dissolution of the sisterly bond that the two sisters’ typically depended on forcing the Danvers matriarch to step in and pick up the disjointed pieces of her family. She was the one that compelled Kara to shower, eat and nap. She was the one that dragged Alex by her ear into Lena’s room for her flying visits. She was the one that took point on Lena’s care, Alex too emotionally spent and frazzled to lead, and Kara untrusting of anyone else when it came to treating her best friend.

The medication was steadily backed off on the fifth day, Lena’s tests showing promise that she was improving. Lena groaned intermittently on the sixth day, groggy and confused - utterly unaware of Kara who flitted constantly over her with every sound like a worried mother hen. It was the seventh day - Kara’s mind fleetingly linking it with something holy and divine - when Lena awoke.

“Lena?” Kara whispered as Lena’s eyes fluttered open, green eyes slowly focusing and showing awareness that had been lacking whenever they flashed open a day prior.

“Kar-” Lena began, her voice fading out after the first syllable, her mouth so dry that her tongue barely managed to apply any moisture to her cracked lips. Kara responded immediately to her needs, her every nerve tuned in exclusively to Lena after days at her side.

“Here, small sips…” Kara encouraged, holding out a cup of water and straw which she pressed gently against the other woman’s lips.

After Lena had drunk her fill, Kara placed the cup back on the side before retaking Lena’s hand tenderly in her own.

“Better?” Kara checked.

“Hmm…” Lena hummed affirmatively, green eyes greedily moving over Kara’s face causing the blonde to flush and wish for the first time in the last few days that she had spent a bit more time on her appearance.

“I-” Kara began, her voice cracking with emotion as her lower lip trembled with barely suppressed sobs.

Kara had so much to say. So much.

The words had come endlessly whilst Lena had been asleep, thousands upon thousands of conversations she was desperate to have with her best friend playing on endless repeat in her mind’s eye scripted to perfection. She had promised herself she would have them all, would say them all the second Lena was awake and listening. She had memorised them and mouthed them to herself as she sat by the bedside, pressing kisses to Lena’s knuckles to mark the end of each sentence.

But now… her signature ramble had deserted her. There was so much to say and Kara was already overwhelmed at simply being able to stare into intelligent green that she so adored.

“Kara?” Lena called out soothingly.

And much to Kara’s embarrassment, the kryptonian promptly burst into tears upon hearing her name.

“Kara, it’s okay…” Lena rushed to reassure, squeezing Kara’s hand and tugging her closer so that Kara could bury her face into the pillow Lena was resting her head on - even in her broken down state Kara was so careful of Lena’s injured body. “I’m okay.” Lena repeated until Kara’s cries began to quieten and her shoulders stopped shaking, reducing down to a mere tremble.

“No, you’re not…” Kara hiccupped, turning her head to peer into concerned green eyes.

“Of course I am.” Lena reassured with a light, dismissive chuckle that made Kara tense up and her jaw clench. “That idiot couldn’t aim for shit.” Lena scoffed with an amused roll of her eyes that meant she was blind to the rage visibly brewing in her best friend’s countenance. “I’m thinking of turning the corridor leading into my office into a target range. Only those that can hit three out of five targets can gain access. That should stop like eighty percent of the assassins and then those that do make it through will at least be worthy of-”

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Kara demanded, throwing herself from the bed, hands clamped tight over her ears as she paced the room with such heavy footsteps that visible cracks in the tiles marked her every move.

The sudden silence that followed would have been suffocating if it were not for the familiar beeps of the machines that monitored Lena’s precious heartbeat. Slowly, Kara pulled her shaky hands away from her ears and glanced at her best friend with her peripheral vision, not ready to face those green eyes after her outburst. Lena was watching her curiously, no hint of fear in her expression or body language, eyebrow raised and lips pursed.

“Kara?” Lena encouraged, inviting an explanation with that single word.

Kara inhaled roughly, rubbing at her creased forehead with tightly wound fists. “It’s not funny, Lena…”

Lena cleared her throat and began with a tone that always accompanied her dry, snarky wit, “Well, maybe not right now but by the third attempt after this one-”

“NO!” Kara bellowed in total disbelief that Lena completely failed to get it. “YOU NEARLY FUCKING DIED.”

Lena yet again rolled her eyes and waved a hand as if to sweep it aside like it was a meaningless report that she had made a minor grammatical error in. “Kara, you’re over-reacting.”

“I AM REACTING THE RIGHT FUCKING AMOUNT TO SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL THE WOMAN I-” Kara’s voice cut out sudden and sharp.

Finally, Lena’s mask of nonchalance and indifference cracked. Round green eyes, slack jaw and hands tightly fisted in the bed’s blanket. A deer in the headlight that had never believed a car would ever come and had just been forced to watch it swerve erratically by, missing her by an inch.

Kara sucked in her lips, holding in the single word with all of her mighty strength before deflating and stating for the record, “It’s not funny. It was never funny. Never.”

*****

Kara didn’t keep her distance after that but that didn’t prevent a sizable chasm from opening up between them. It was nowhere near as bad as the fallout from Supergirl-gate, but it was ten times more awkward. The confession that almost happened, the assassination attempt and Lena’s near-death were swept momentarily under a rug but they loomed over them both regardless.

The Superfriends served as a suitable buffer, all of them (except for Alex) coming in on rotation to catch up with Lena throughout the day, keeping her occupied (though, Kara’s stony silence and brooding glare was definitely the elephant in the room) until exhaustion pushed Lena into a deep slumber.

It lasted two days which is more than Kara thought Lena would let her get away with but she hadn’t taken into consideration how fragile Lena was from her injuries. Kara hated herself just that little bit more for always assuming everything was fine, that Lena was unbreakable and failing to see what was really going on below the surface.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment for?” Lena questioned, peering over at the blonde who was sat in the corner of the room typing up a fluff piece article to keep Andrea’s wrath at bay as she kept herself sequestered in Lena’s hospital room. Kara pointedly ignored the question, shoulders curving forward to keep her tightly locked towards her laptop screen.

“Come on Kara, talk to me, please?” Lena whined, sounding like a child denied her favourite toy and not someone that had gone through an incredibly traumatic event.

Kara’s jaw clenched, self-awareness making her realise that if she hadn’t of been the one to find Lena, hadn’t watched the grim bruises littered across pale skin lighten to murky blues and greens… she wouldn’t be able to tell that Lena had only just escaped the sweep of death’s scythe.

“I hate it when we are not talking.” Lena declared soft and earnest, finally pulling the kryptonian’s gaze away from her computer screen to the woman that Kara knew with absolute certainty would always make her breath catch no matter how much time passed. “I know my humour is a bit insensitive but I genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. Kara, just-”

“I’m in love with you.” Kara interrupted, the words slipping out easily after being held onto so tightly for years.

She was so drained of emotion, of thought, of strength, her heart battered and bruised by everything she had gone through, but the core of her loved Lena without end. With nothing else in her, there was nothing to hold back that limitless source which had been begging to be released.

“I have been for a long time,” Kara admitted gently, fingers shifting away from her keyboard to gently interlace - her gaze dropping down to focus on their interaction, “so much so that I don’t even really remember a time where I wasn’t in love with you.” Kara shook her head ruefully. “I should have told you earlier but I just… I was so scared of losing you, in even a small way… What if I told you and we hung out a little less? What if I told you and you stopped hugging me as hard as you do? I know I should have… I know it's the exact same reason - excuse - as why I kept Supergirl a secret and I know how…” Kara swallowed thickly, the crinkle between her brow deepening even further. “I should have learnt but you mean so much to me. I didn’t know… I’ve never loved like this before. When I heard… your heart stop. It was Krypton all over again and I just…”

“Kara.” Lena breathed in awe.

“I am so in love with you,” Kara repeated, practically begging for Lena to accept it as the truth; she didn’t care in that moment if Lena returned her feelings, it wasn’t about that, it was about Lena knowing she was loved. Truly and deeply loved. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you.” Lena whispered causing Kara’s head to jerk upwards to find Lena looking so small and vulnerable. The youngest Luthor timidly tapped the empty space next to her, “Come here.”

“I…” Kara hesitated, afraid of getting close again - so utterly afraid of destroying this beautiful moment between them.

“Come here.” Lena beseeched and Kara was on her feet and settling next to her best friend in an instant unable to deny her anything. Immediately, Lena reached out for her, directing Kara to lie down and rest her head on the uninjured side of her chest. “Just listen.” Lena requested; Kara did as she was told - though her super hearing and the beeping of the monitor in the corner told Kara that Lena’s heart was beating strong and steady, it was nothing compared to feeling it hum under her cheek. “It’s beating for you,” Lena revealed, her voice little more than a whisper muffled by how she pressed her lips to Kara’s forehead, “it's always been beating for you.”

*****

Lena fell asleep not long after but Kara stayed awake until the early hours of the morning… just listening to Lena’s heart and experiencing the regular rise and fall of Lena’s chest with every breath. She slipped out of Lena’s room before dawn, going to shower in the changing rooms before the early morning shift change.

Freshly clean and dressed in clothes that Eliza had brought by, Kara watched the sunrise from the balcony that she had initially heard Lena’s watch calling to her for help. She had returned to the spot whenever she had managed to pull herself away from Lena’s room - her self-flagellation tendency making itself apparent.

“She uses humour to cope.” Alex muttered, moving to stand by Kara’s side as they watched the first peeks of orange appear on the horizon, both blatantly ignoring how the glass was new and that there was a patched up hole in the ceiling above them.

“I know that.” Kara replied.

Alex sighed, resting her forearms on the balcony guard, “There are worse coping methods.”

“I know that too.” Kara acknowledged, pursing her lips and shaking her head. “It’s not about that… not really anyway…”

“Then what’s it about?” Alex inquired.

Kara loved Alex best when she was like this. Encouraging but not overbearing. Guiding but not directing. When she was just her big sister and not her over-burdened protector. She was easy to talk to like this and this version of her had been coming to the forefront more and more with Kelly’s gentle love and care.

“She’s laughing to deal with incredible trauma.” Kara summarised before turning to look at her sister and asking the question that had been plaguing her the most, “But why are we laughing?”

“Because she wanted us to.” Alex answered simply.

“Yeah,” Kara agreed, mouth twisting into a bitter smile, “she wanted us to but she needed us not to more… she needed us to help her… and we just laughed.” Alex cringed at that but she fully flinched at the question that came next. “If it was me that was getting assassination attempts every week… what would you have done?”

Alex closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, fortifying herself for the truth she was about to announce, “I would have taken the world apart to find and stop whoever was doing it.”

“Yeah…” Kara said quietly, there wasn’t much else to say. “I’m not going to apologise for yelling.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We need to do something.”

“I know…” Alex agreed, turning her back to the sun that was halfway to fully risen, “whilst you were watching over Lena, I may have started on something that might help.”

“So that’s where you’ve been,” Kara hummed thoughtfully, “I figured you were avoiding me.”

“I was.” Alex admitted readily, much to Kara’s surprise. “Well, not you. Lena.” Alex corrected, “I couldn’t face her until I had something… done something.”

“She misses you.” Kara revealed.

“Why?” Alex murmured sadly, “I was a terrible friend.”

“You’ve made up for it.” Kara refuted, nudging her sister’s side comfortingly.

“Have I?” Alex scoffed, unconvinced but happily leaning into her sister now that the gap between them had been bridged.

“That’s not for me or you to decide. It’s for Lena. And she misses you.” Kara asserted, giving Alex a moment to consider what she had said before dropping her own truth-bomb, “I told her I was in love with her.”

Alex whirled round to face her, loudly and joyfully exclaiming, “You did?”

“Yeah.” Kara winced, shyly rubbing the back of her neck, “You knew?”

“Not until recently.” Alex tutting at her own blindness, “I should have seen it earlier.”

“I didn’t want you to. I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet and you’ve always made me brave.”

Alex smiled at that, “How did it go?”

“Good.” Kare coughed, blushing profusely, “She… uh… loves me too.”

“That I’d known for a while.” Alex chuckled. “Are you two-”

“Uh… kind of? We’re acknowledging it but not acting on it.”

Alex’s brow creased at the lack of certainty to her answer, “What? Why?”

“Lena needs time to recover. And after everything,” Kara frowned, “I don’t think a little time to do that is too much to ask.”

“Responsible decision.” Alex complimented.

“Kelly’s advice.” Kara divulged.

Alex’s smile expanded to a proud grin. “Unsurprising.”

“Come on,” Kara ordered, clapping her hands together before slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulders, “show me what you’ve been working on, then you better go see Lena.”

*****

Two gunshot wounds, one to the torso and one to the right thigh, as well as two broken ribs, a black eye, stitches to her lip and her skin turned into an homage to Jackson Pollock by different shaded bruising. Lena catalogued the injury rundown given to her by the doctor with little interest; she paid even less attention to her treatment plan, the medication schedule and the intensive physiotherapy her leg would require.

All she really wanted was to get back to work; if Kara wasn’t there shooting her stern glares everytime Lena’s gaze wandered, the CEO would have happily been replying to emails on her phone as the Doctor lectured away.

“Did you even listen to any of that?” Kara asked once the doctor had taken his leave.

“I heard his name…” Lena grumbled, phone already in hand and frown settling in as she reviewed the most recent email from her marketing head who still hadn’t quite got it through their thick skull that weapons were no longer their main focus.

“And what was it?” Kara questioned, her phone vanishing from her hands with a flash of superspeed.

Lena huffed out a disgruntled breath. “It was...”

“It was?” Kara prompted, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping the floor angrily whilst her nostrils flared.

Lena pursed her lips, schooling her expression to hide just how attractive she found a stern Kara to be. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Lena said slowly, playing desperately for time. “Doctor…” Kara merely arched an eyebrow at her. “Smith?”

“Not even close.”

“Damn…” Lena muttered with a pout.

“Lena,” Kara began with a sad shake of her head as she moved to sit on the edge of Lena’s bed.

“Ugh, you’re about to lecture me too, aren’t you?” Lena groaned.

“Lena, this is important.” Kara stressed. “Your treatment is important. Your health is important.” Kara’s blue eyes shone with love and Lena couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You are important.”

Their confession of love still hung heavy between them despite Lena not explicitly saying the words in return. It should have marked a huge change in their relationship but it was lost amongst the tidal wave that had come before it, put on pause until the wake from the assassination attempt had dissipated enough for Lena to catch her breath.

“Fine…” Lena relented, reaching out to take Kara’s hand, gaze still shy and ducked. “I assume you were listening then?”

“Of course, I was. It was about you.” Kara replied so honest and sincere that Lena’s heart audibly fluttered on the heart monitor producing a smug smirk on the blonde’s face.

“Go on then, tell me.”

“Will you actually listen to me?” Kara checked, tilting her head to the side.

Lena lifted her head and met Kara’s eyes with a steady gaze of her own, “Of course, I will. It’s you talking.”

*****

The strangest thing about it all was the attention.

And for once it wasn’t negative media attention.

It was Kara and the Superfriends, they were being attentive. Lena hadn’t spent a single minute alone since she had woken up in the DEO hospital bed. Kara had been there the most to start with, her time in Lena’s room decreasing significantly a couple of days after the kind-of-confession (Lena assumed Kara was giving her some breathing room) but she was always present for any appointments and back for dinner, sleeping by her side in the decent-sized hospital bed. As Kara’s time decreased, the other Superfriends tagged in to fill the gap.

Brainy joined her most mornings for games of chess and to talk through some of the sticking points in Lena’s inventions. Nia covered the afternoons, filling the room with light and happy conversation, regaling her with stories of silly work disputes and helping her with her hair and make-up, teasing her like a little sister would when she mentioned wanting to look nicer for Kara.

Kelly would slot in every now and again but she made Lena uneasy, she looked at Lena like she could see right through her armour and it unsettled her. Her usual attempts to crack through awkwardness with a dry comment didn’t seem to faze Kelly and Lena’s obvious discomfort resulted in Kelly staying away for the most part; whenever, she did leave though she always made it clear that Lena could call her if she ever wanted to talk.

Lena pretended she didn’t know what Kelly was hinting at.

Eliza was the biggest surprise. Ever since Lena failed to listen to any of her doctors, Kara had clearly ratted her out to the oldest Danvers prompting the Doctor to personally take over Lena’s care, somehow innately knowing that Lena wouldn’t be able to ignore her like she did all the others. Eliza was a near constant presence in Lena’s room, reading through a pile of medical journals and historical romance fiction that Lena was slowly becoming tempted to borrow as time passed.

Alex was still a complete no-show.

Lena tried not to let it bother her.

Her and Alex had always had a tumultuous relationship - built on distrust and dislike at first sight. Kara had been their bridge and mediator. They had grown past it, grown to trust and like one another as time passed. It had been hard-fought compared to the easiness (Supergirl secret fallout notwithstanding) of their individual relationships with Kara. It was precious because of that.

Alex coming to see her with a bottle of whiskey, after defeating Leviathan and Lex being thrown back in jail, ready to fight to rebuild their friendship all over again was one of Lena’s dearest memories. Alex was the only one to reach out to her first after everything. Lena had to make the first move with Kara, Brainy and Nia. She had been too afraid of Alex to reach out, thinking their friendship would never recover… Alex had proved her wrong.

But now… Alex was avoiding her.

And Lena didn’t really know why, though a small voice in her head told her that Alex just simply didn’t care about her enough to visit…

“Did you have a good day?” Kara asked, stepping out of the ensuite bathroom dressed in cosy pyjamas, shuffling over to the side of Lena’s bed that had become her own.

“You don’t already know with your litany of spies?” Lena remarked, turning the page of her book with a single accusing finger.

“What-” Kara began, brow creased with confusion.

“I don’t think there is a single minute of my day that is not covered by one of your friends.” Lena revealed, snapping her book shut and shooting the blonde an arched eyebrow. “I can’t sneeze without someone already on hand holding out a handkerchief.”

“They’re worried about you.” Kara reminded her softly as she settled next to Lena, arm immediately finding its place around Lena’s waist and gently encouraging her to lie down beside her. “And they’re your friends, Lena.”

“Sure.” Lena tutted unconvinced.

Kara’s pliant body that Lena had become used to snuggling into became stiff and tense. “Do you think they are only here because I asked them to be?”

Lena rolled her eyes, perking her head up to look into sharp, unamused blue eyes, “Are you seriously telling me they’re not?”

“Lena,” Kara said, slow and serious, “they’re here because they care about you. Because they nearly lost you and they… they don’t want to be away from you.”

Lena stared into the deep blue eyes she adored and saw only earnestness reflected in them.

“Oh…” Lena breathed, her heart squeezing tight in her chest desperately trying to contain the swell of emotion that had just flooded it. “I didn’t realise...”

“We love you, Lena.” Kara whispered, her free hand reaching out to tuck stray locks of raven hair behind Lena’s ear. “You’re going to have to get used to us being around.”

“Hmm…” Lena hummed, cheeks blushing a pretty pink at Kara’s tender touch and the realisation that came with finding you have family. Lena buried her face in Kara’s shoulder, suddenly shy and embarrassed - Kara didn’t tease her for it, simply gave Lena the comfort and sanctity she craved.

They were quiet for a long time, the hum of the machines and welcome darkness of the room lulling them both to sleep. It wasn’t until Kara’s breath had started to deepen that Lena found the courage to ask about what had been weighing heavy on her.

“And Alex?” Lena murmured, breaking the silence and calm with those two words.

Kara’s deep, even breaths faltered. “She’s still not been by?” Kara asked carefully; Lena shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice to remain steady. “Well… ummm… she’s busy…”

“Yeah… of course…” Lena replied, letting out a sad sigh before falling into another troubled sleep.

*****

“You look like shit.”

Not exactly the first words she was expecting to hear from the older Danvers after a three week absence but Lena had known it would be something along those lines.

It was Lena’s last day in the DEO hospital room that had been her resting place since she woke up from the attempt on her life. Kara and Eliza were taking her back to her apartment that afternoon - both of whom were going to be taking up residence in Lena’s apartment alongside Sam and Ruby who were already staying there to support Lena’s long-term recovery.

Lena folded her hands carefully in her lap as she studied the redhead leaning against the doorway. “You don’t look much better.” Lena said after a long pause, arching a curious eyebrow at the dark shadows beneath Alex’s eyes.

“Touche.” Alex acknowledged with a dip of her head that gave her an excuse to keep her gaze directed to the floor when she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Alex, you…” Lena stopped, grinding her teeth together in frustration before shaking her head, “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” Lena answered simply, shooting the hesitant agent a melancholic smile. “Force yourself to be here. I assume Kara guilt-tripped you into being here.”

“Kara didn’t-” Alex began only to stop abruptly at the sight of the unimpressed glare directed her way. “Okay, she might have encouraged me.” Alex admitted, scuffing her toes against the floor in the exact same way Kara did whenever she was guilty of eating the last bit of Lena’s ice cream. “She can be pretty intimidating when it comes to you.” Alex’s eyes twinkled in a blatant attempt to get them to bond, to seal over the cracks between them with cellophane.

Normally, Lena would accept it. Would laugh and blush knowingly, giving Alex the free pass she was angling for.

That was before she nearly died and her second closest friend after Kara couldn’t be bothered to stop by for five minutes until the day she would be allowed to leave the only place they shared.

“Well, I’ll tell her you came by, so don’t worry.” Lena replied politely with a single nod of her head.

Alex flinched at the coolness of Lena’s response, “Lena… I…”

“Alex, I nearly died.” Lena stated bluntly, the truth of it like the swing of a reaper’s blade between them. “If what I overheard from some of the agents is true… I did die.” Lena chuckled darkly to herself at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I nearly die once a week, sometimes more. My life expectancy is incredibly short - don’t tell Kara that, though.” Lena quickly requested, she’d seen how much all of this had affected the blonde and she didn’t want to pile onto her pain. “I don’t think about it because if I do…” Lena trailed off, her gaze turning distant as she whispered, “I don’t think about it. What I’m trying to say is…” Lena exhaled deeply, letting go of her charged emotions and in a far more real way letting go of all expectations of friendship when it came to the older Danvers. “I don’t need to be around people that don’t want to be around me.”

“Lena.” Alex croaked from the door.

Lena didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the effect of her honesty.

So, instead, Lena reached out for the book on the bedside table, flipped it open and promised with a brusque business tone, “I’ll tell Kara you stopped by.”

*****

The return back to her apartment was a welcome shift, having grown sick of the sight of her hospital room’s four walls after the first day of waking up there. Lena was happy to be back in her own space but after a day that’s where the joy ended.

Being back in her apartment acutely reminded her of her current lack of independence.

She was no longer awake at six for work like she used to be, her injuries and medication making her sleep long and late into the day. Then when she was awake she found herself groggy and fatigued.

She couldn’t get up and make breakfast for herself, she couldn’t shower without support, she couldn’t focus for long without her attention drifting. Her penthouse was abuzz with life and activity in a way that it had never been before but she found she couldn’t quite enjoy it to its fullest with how she jumped at every loud sound and struggled to keep herself awake for the length of a film.

That wasn’t the worst part though...

There had been a certain safety and security that had come with being at the DEO: surrounded by armed agents that were there to keep her safe, her super-powered friends just a couple of corridors away at all times.

That’s not to say her apartment wasn’t secure.

It was probably more secure than the DEO with biometric locks, bulletproof glass and a panic room that could probably survive armageddon. And if that wasn’t enough, she currently went to sleep with one of the most highly regarded Doctors in the country as well as one of her best friends who would fight tooth and nail for her staying in her guest rooms and to top it off, she had Supergirl curled up around her every night.

The panic attacks started when she had returned to the apartment and her medication dosage had been decreased enough to lift the fog on her mind and allow the dark thoughts and fears to seep in under the cover of darkness.

She managed to hide it, mostly due to luck more than anything else.

Kara was out for most of the day still, off doing who knew what - the kryptonian had been particularly secretive about her recent activities - and Lena had managed to request privacy when she felt an attack starting that Sam and Ruby were always quick to acquiesce to.

She just needed to get past this, she just needed to push the fear, that she had kept tightly sealed in a little box in some far-flung corner of her mind, back into the abyss it belonged in.

If she could do that…

She just didn’t want to be afraid anymore, not when she had so many good things in her life, like her new bedtime routine...

“And anyway long story short…” Kara grinned, as she lifted Lena gently into the bed, tucking the sheets lovingly around her, “he gave me a camel.”

Lena chuckled, pressing a quick appreciative kiss to Kara’s cheek that had the blonde ducking her head bashfully. “I’m assuming you didn’t keep it.”

Kara winced, admitting weakly, “I kept it for like a week. It destroyed my apartment. Destroyed.” Kara stressed with a horror-struck expression.

“Really?” Lena prompted as Kara supersped to turn out the lights, change into her pyjamas and get into bed by Lena’s side.

“You remember when you popped round to my apartment for lunch one day and you thought there was a gas leak because of the smell?” Kara asked, holding out an arm for Lena to curl herself up under.

“Yeah?”

“Camel.”

“Huh.” Lena muttered thoughtfully, “I thought you were just having really bad flatulence.”

Kara gasped in shock and disbelief, “And you still wanted to hang out with me?”

Lena shrugged, licking her lips before declaring simply, “I’m in love with you.”

It was the first time she had properly said the words.

“I… umm… I…” Kara stammered incoherently, her entire face turning a lovely shade of tomato. “You like making me all flustered, don’t you?” Kara groaned.

“Yes.” Lena answered honestly, “Until I can…” Lena’s smile dimmed momentarily at the reminder that she was still not quite ready for that next step, “it’s the only thing I can do right now.”

“There’s no rush.” Kara assured, even as Lena heard a small clock ticking in her mind, counting down to the next inevitable bullet she would have to dodge.

*****

Lena had learned to be quiet from a young age.

She was told firmly that screams and cries and whimpers were not acceptable. That her nightmares did not warrant waking the house, did not warrant shaming the Luthor name with her tears and her petty fears.

Lena taught herself to wake with a mere sigh whilst her throat clenched tightly to hold in the shout of desperation that wished to escape.

Lena taught herself to sleep motionlessly, to not toss and turn as her dreamed body clawed and swam through a syrupy atmosphere whilst shadowy figures relentlessly hunted her down.

Lena taught herself to hide her nightmares from a young age - it was easy enough to do, she got a lot of practice in the Luthor Mansion and she had regularly brushed up on these skills since she started dodging bullets every other day.

No one would ever know the horrors that plagued her at night as long as Lena had her way.

What she didn’t count on was that the horrors could grow and mutate into terrors far worse than anything she had ever experienced.

For the first time since she was child, Lena awoke with a blood-curdling scream, her entire body trembling and skin clammy with cold sweat.

“Lena, you’re okay. You’re okay.” A soft voice soothed, warm arms wrapping gently around Lena to prevent her from causing harm to herself with her frantic movements. “Shh… you’re okay.”

“I… I…” Lena cried, shaking her head to clear the nightmare veil still shrouding her mind.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Kara repeated endlessly, each utterance just as soft and gentle as all the others.

“Kara…” Lena croaked, burying herself in Kara’s warmth and forcing the kryptonian’s arms to wrap even more around her. It was the fear that made her honest whilst the pain of her constantly aching body made the words tumble out even easier, “I’m… scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t…”

The pliable cocoon made of Kryptonian muscle hardened to steel in an instant at the confession. The murmured words of comfort ceased and Kara’s breath went from light and even to deep and irregular.

“Lena, you’re not going to die.” Kara whispered harshly, the words cold and vicious - but not towards Lena, never towards Lena - as if she could intimidate away any and all threats just by speaking it into existence. “You’re not.”

“This time.” Lena muttered, timidly reaching out to hold Kara with her own hands as she ducked her head under Kara’s chin.

“Lena?”

“I’m not going to die this time.” Lena breathed, “What about the next one? And the one after that and after that and… It never stops. And I don’t- I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be scared all the time. I want to be excited and happy because you love me.” Lena’s hands clutch handfuls of Kara’s pyjama shirt with white knuckles. “But all I’m thinking about is: how little time we have. How stupid it is to get into a relationship when I know the odds - because they offer them on a number of mainstream betting sites - of me making it to the next year is slim to none.”

Silence followed Lena’s speech, heavy and suffocating. Lena held her breath waiting for the kryptonian to reply.

The lightest touch of lips to Lena’s forehead allowed her to breathe out slow and steady.

“You are not dying.” Kara declared sternly.

“I’m just scared…” Lena sighed, snuggling closer to the blonde encouraging the lips to press repeatedly against her brow until the lines creasing it eased away, “all the time, Kara. All the time.”

They fell asleep entangled together - if Lena had been more with it she would have tried to get Kara to re-position herself into a more comfortable position, not that Kara would have been persuaded, unwilling to move an inch if it distanced her in any way from the youngest Luthor.

Lena awoke the next day to gentle fingers brushing through her hair, enticing her back to the real world that was illuminated by the bright morning sun. Kara was up and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed, running one hand through Lena’s hair and intermittently stroking her cheek whilst her other hand balanced a tray loaded up with pancakes, strawberries and orange juice.

“Mmmm…” Lena hummed happily, turning her head to press a quick kiss to Kara’s palm.

“Breakfast.” Kara announced cheerily, helping Lena sit up before placing the tray carefully on her lap and pressing a kiss to Lena’s blushing cheek.

Lena took a deep breath, taking time to appreciate the sheer beauty of this singular moment: the woman she loved sat next to her with an adoring look having made her favourite for breakfast. She wanted to be able to enjoy this without feeling like damocles’ sword was looming above her at all times.

“Kara?” Lena murmured, reaching out to interlace their fingers, seeking support.

“Yeah?”

Lena swallowed thickly, squeezed Kara’s hand once, and asked, “Can you ask Kelly to pop by? When she has a chance that is.”

“Of course.” Kara beamed, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of Lena’s hand, her blue eyes shining with pride.

“I want to be excited. I don’t want to live in fear.”

*****

It was a few days later when Lena found herself alone for the first time in over a month. Kara was out during the day as usual, Sam and Ruby were out at the cinema enjoying some mother-daughter time whilst Eliza had left for a walk five minutes ago. Lena was working through some calculations at the dining room table - Eliza had positioned her wheelchair at the table and left her a warm cup of coffee to tide her over until she got back.

Admittedly, Lena probably should’ve realised that it was all a ploy because barely ten minutes had passed before the front door swung open and in strode one Agent Danvers.

Lena placed her pen back onto the table and quirked a perplexed eyebrow at the redhead, “Alex? What are you doing here?”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Alex declared with a smirk and cocked hip.

Lena pursed her lips, musing thoughtfully, “And here I thought if you ever did kidnap me, you wouldn’t be so open about it…”

Alex frowned, “You’ve thought about me kidnapping you?”

“Not you per se.” Lena explained with a wave of her hand before rolling her temporary wheelchair out from the table and over to her intruder, “The DEO or some other covert government agency grabbing me and hiding me away in some dark cell.”

“That…” Alex began, her intent to deny the possibility of such a scenario occurring dying after a single moment’s consideration. Lena chuckled sadly at the guilty brown eyes that dipped away from her gaze. “Nevermind.” Alex murmured, shaking her head and forcing back her usual confident swagger. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Alex-” Lena sighed, not really in the mood for whatever Alex had planned.

Suddenly Alex was in front of her, knelt down - not to patronise but to easily reach out for Lena’s hands.

“You’re probably my best friend,” Alex announced, firm and beautifully honest (a signature Danvers trait), “not counting Kara or Kelly. But Kara loves me as a sister above everything else. Kelly loves me as a romantic partner above everything else. You are my friend with no other requirements, no other levels… nothing else.”

“Alex, I…” Lena blinked, utterly taken aback.

“You are my friend and I love you.” Alex assured, her expression turning pained and remorseful, “You are my best friend and you nearly died and I realised that I… I haven’t been a very good friend. I was so mean to you to start with. For no fair reason.” Lena bit her lip and stared down at their joined hands, unable to hide how the constant hatred for crimes she did not commit (actively stopped) had left deep and everlasting wounds that she would probably never recover from. “And then when I finally started to pull my head out of my ass… I never apologised, I never… I just smoothed over it.”

Alex cringed with the memories but pushed onwards regardless - admirably brave and stubborn to a fault.

“When the Supergirl fallout happened, I knew you were suffering.” Alex admitted causing Lena to flinch in surprise and nearly pull away but Alex’s hold gently followed after her. “If it was me in your position, I would have… I would have destroyed so much and I was raised in a family filled with support and love and… I knew you were suffering but I… I just didn’t think. You’re always so strong and unbreakable that I just didn’t think. You’re my best friend and I have not treated you like that.”

“Alex,” Lena swallowed thickly, hanging her head in shame, “what I did during that time… I’m so ashamed.”

“You’re missing the point, Lena.” Alex murmured, “I didn’t mean to-” Alex exhaled shakily, rapidly blinking away tears on the cusp of falling. “You’ve made up for it. Now it's my turn.”

“You have nothing to make up for.” Lena rushed to reassure as Alex stood back up, chin held high and determined.

“Yes, I do.” Alex insisted. “Assassination attempts every week, Lena. That is not okay. A short life expectancy for my best friend is not okay.” Alex’s hands clenched into tight fists by her sides. “I should have done something.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

Alex grinned bright and defiant, “It is now.”

*****

“Alex, what’s going on?” Lena said slowly, not really sure what she was watching play out on the screens in the DEO command centre.

Alex merely winked at the CEO as she stepped up to the console and called out, “Supergirl, how are things going?”

“Good.” Kara replied, her voice coming through loud and clear through the speakers. Lena watched in awe - as always - of Kara flying through the air, swerving around traffic like it was nothing. “Rounding up the last few stragglers; they thought they could outrun me in a van which has a max speed of like sixty.” Lena laughed at the stupidity of the escape attempt which immediately alerted the superhero to her presence. “Is Lena there?”

“Yep,” Alex replied with a broad grin, wiggling her eyebrows at the youngest Luthor making her blush a bright red, “so you better put on a good show for your girl.”

“Will do.” Kara promised instantly, accelerating and performing aerial aerobatic maneuvers with the sole purpose of impressing only one person.

Lena shook her head, her heart swelling with affection, as she rolled her eyes at Alex’s smug smile. “What’s the mission?” Lena asked, trying to regain some of her composure.

Alex’s smugness faded to be replaced with something far softer at the question.

“Shutting down the final CADMUS outpost.” Alex answered, crossing her arms and nodding over to Brainy who brought a map of the world covered in hundreds of red dots. “We took down any and all remaining Leviathan supporters last week. Lex supporters the week before that.” The red dots flashed to highlight the different groupings as Alex listed them off. “We’ve also finished gathering evidence on Edge, he’s going to be arrested alongside his allies first thing in the morning.”

Lena’s mouth had dropped open at some point and there was a light buzzing in her ears as stared blankly at the crossed off red dots. “I don’t understand.”

“CADMUS took a little longer just because of the sheer number of bases and how they decentralised after Lex was taken down, each working independently.” Alex continued unperturbed.

“Then how-”

“Lillian. She told us where all the bases are.” Alex answered without needing to hear the whole question.

That cut through Lena’s stupor in an instant and wrenched an almighty gasp from her. “What? Why?”

Alex’s expression turned melancholic yet again, clearly upset that the answer wasn’t obvious to Lena, that there had to be a more-than-love-reason. “Because you’re her daughter and you nearly died.”

“I don’t…”

Alex turned so her back was to the wall of red dots, hands on hips and unfaltering in the face of adversity. “No more assassination attempts. No more short life expectancy.” Alex asserted, waving a hand towards the screen. “This. All of this. You deserve this. You deserve to grow old. You deserve to not live in a constant state of fear. You deserve to be happy in love.” Alex’s jaw clenched noticeably as brown eyes shone with a watery film, “We should have done this years ago. We should have protected you years ago. We should never have laughed, Lena.”

“Alex…” Lena exhaled roughly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to keep in the sobs, feeling so overwhelmed with love and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Alex didn’t acknowledge the words, she merely walked over to Lena and pulled her into a tight hug, providing her a much needed shoulder to cry on.

*****

“Did I mention how much I hate physical therapy?” Lena huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh you know…” Alex replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “just about every minute or so.”

Lena hummed, somewhat pleased at the answer, “I thought it was more than that.”

“Suck it up, Luthor.” Alex teased even as she got a bottle of water ready for Lena once she’d finished the exercises.

“Remind me again-...” Lena panted, “why I agreed that you could accompany me to PT instead of Kara?”

“You need tough love.” Alex answered, repeating the words Lena had used a week prior when she had requested Alex’s help. “You’d never finish a single exercise if Kara was helping you.”

Lena pursed her lips but didn’t argue.

Kara was loving, affectionate and probably the best support system Lena had ever had. She cared for Lena in a thousand and one ways that Lena had never believed she was worthy of. Unfortunately, all this made Kara the absolutely worst person to accompany her to physical therapy. At the first wince or sign of discomfort, Kara insisted Lena rest and take it easy. She barely made it five minutes through the session before Kara was escorting her back to the apartment to give her a bath and massage - Lena loved every second of it but accepted Kara would not be going with her to the next appointment.

“Not really seeing that as a downside at present.” Lena admitted, her muscles burning as they were steadily rebuilt and restrengthened.

“The sooner you finish PT, the sooner you can get around by yourself.” Alex reminded her knowing it was the single best incentive to get the CEO through this.

“Good point.” Lena acknowledged groaning as she pushed herself through the last rep. As soon as she finished, Alex talked her through recovery, handing her water to sip slowly from before checking her recovered injuries and scars.

“Hey Alex…” Lena began, shifting nervously as her breathing returned to normal.

“Yeah?” Alex prompted, arching an eyebrow having picked up on Lena’s odd tone.

Lena opened her mouth to speak before snapping it decisively shut, “Nevermind.”

“Don’t go shy on me now, Luthor.” Alex remarked, helping Lena unsteadily to her feet and guiding her over to a bench in the DEO training hall where they had been working out.

Lena nibbled on her bottom lip, and glanced at Alex’s profile. “I want to ask Kara out on a date.”

“That’s great.” Alex cheered immediately before quirking her head to the side, “What’s the problem?”

“I know I’ve been…” Lena winced, “hesitant.”

“Lena,” Alex said softly, “you’re recovering from serious physical, emotional and mental trauma.”

“But-”

“And despite all that…” Alex continued, settling into her role as cheerleader and confidant with ease, “you’re still taking Kara’s feelings into consideration. Despite everything you’ve been through you’re still being sensible and thoughtful. You’re not kickstarting a relationship until you’re sure you can give it the best chance.”

“You and Kelly have been talking about this.” Lena guessed.

“A little.” Alex answered only slightly rueful, “You’re my best friend and Kara’s my sister. It comes up in conversation.”

Lena chuckled at that, nudging Alex’s side playfully before announcing, “I think I’m ready.”

“That’s great.” Alex said just as enthusiastically as before, “So I’ll repeat, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t…” Lena sighed before confessing “I don’t know where to take her. I want to do something special.”

“Are you seriously asking for dating advice with my sister?” Alex questioned.

“You’re my best friend,” Lena shot back, “who else am I going to ask? You saw how Brainy handled dating Nia and well… Nia is dating Brainy...”

“Okay, I see your point.” Alex relented, “Though, when we talk about your dating life, Kara is not my sister.” Alex requested, “Just some random person called Kara.”

“Deal.” Lena accepted. “So…?”

“You don’t need to do anything special, she already loves you.”

“That’s exactly why I want to do something special.” Lena whined, “But I’m kind of limited by the aforementioned trauma…”

“Let’s get a coffee and strategise.” Alex declared, patting Lena’s back supportively. “Come on, you’re buying.”

*****

Lena adjusted the green dress that Nia had taken her shopping for earlier that afternoon, hating how it clashed with the cane she was using to move around with. A small candle lit table was set up on the balcony - Sam and Ruby having kindly moved it earlier - with one of Kara’s favourite homemade dinners, courtesy of Eliza, steaming in the early evening light.

Lena paced, awkwardly awaiting the blonde’s arrival; Alex’s words of advice and support on repeat in her mind to drown out her anxieties.

Kara, for all her patented Kara Danvers clumsiness, was the epitome of gracefulness when it came to flying allowing her to land almost inaudibly on the balcony by Lena’s side taking her by surprise. Lena jerked back at the sudden appearance but a familiar gentle touch to her elbow settled her in an instant.

“Lena? What’s all this?” Kara breathed, eyes darting from Lena’s green dress to the set table as her super suit vanished to be replaced by her standard shirt and chinos,

“Dinner.” Lena replied, swallowing thickly as she reached for Kara’s hand and mumbled shyly. “I mean a… date-dinner-thing. If you want, that is?”

Kara inhaled sharply, blue eyes wide with shock and barely restrained excitement. “I want. I really, really want.” The blonde dashed to the table, pulling out a chair for Lena clearly not keen for any kind of delay.

“Alright then.” Lena chuckled, walking towards Kara’s dazzling smile and everything it offered.

*****

“An hour.” Brainy said, laying down his opening gambit.

“Pfft… an hour, are you serious?” Nia scoffed, “Thirty minutes max.”

“Twenty.” Alex shot back with a challenging lift of her chin.

Nia pursed her lips as she considered Alex’s suggestion. “You’re on.”

The two women shook firmly on it, much to Kelly and Briany’s amusement, just as Kara and Lena walked back from the kitchen loaded up with snacks and drinks.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kara inquired, narrowing her gaze accusingly at her gathered group of friends who had set up shop in her and Lena’s joint apartment for their weekly games night.

Kara had moved in formally two weeks ago following six months of dating during which they had practically lived together for the entirety of it but had been wise enough to keep themselves places that could be just theirs until they were officially ready.

“Nothing.” Nia and Alex answered quickly and in-sync.

“We’re gambling.” Brainy answered guilelessly at the same time.

“On?” Kara asked, dumping the load of snacks in her arms onto the coffee table before crossing her arms whilst Lena laughed lightly as she settled on the couch next to Alex.

“Leave them be, darling.” Lena soothed, tugging gently on Kara’s pocket encouraging her to sit down and lean against Lena’s legs.

“Okay.” The kryptonian muttered, immediately acquiescing to the suggestion, all the fight going out of her as soon as Lena tenderly ran her fingers through blonde locks.

“Whipped.” Alex instantly coughed.

“And proud.” Kara accepted with a shrug, tilting her head to look up at Lena with adoring blue eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lena replied without hesitation.

“Ugh.” Nia groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Alex held out a hand to the youngest reporter, wiggling her fingers in demand, “Pay up.”

“She didn’t even make it a minute.” Nia exclaimed in disbelief.

Kara’s brow creased in a cross of confusion and outrage, “You were betting on me?”

“Yep.” Alex answered without the slightest sign of guilt. “On how long it takes for you to say ‘I love you’ to Lena.”

“That’s… I…” Kara squawked, mouth flapping open and closed before snapping shut in defeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s because Lena removes you of all verbal reasoning skills.” Brainy remarked drily.

All eyes swiveled to look at the genius in surprise.

“Did Brainy just make a joke?” Lena asked quietly to no one in particular.

“I think he did.” Nia said slowly.

“Nice one, Brainy.” Alex laughed, lifting her beer bottle up in respect and effectively setting everyone else in the room off with their own chuckles and giggles.

“Laugh as much as you like.” Kara rolled her eyes in amusement, “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?” Lena checked, bending down to whisper privately into Kara’s ear, “I can ask them to stop.”

Kara turned to look up at the love of her life, reaching out to tenderly stroke her cheek and ease away the flicker of unnecessary concern.

“I’m sure.” Kara asserted honestly, her smile widening as she leaned up to kiss Lena slow and deep. When they pulled back, foreheads resting against one another, Kara whispered into the shared space between them. “It is kind of funny.”

It’s funny because Kara loves Lena.

It’s funny because Kara will always, always, always love Lena.

[meadow-dusk]

I've been having a difficult time lately reconciling the place of music (and everything else) in my life. Of course, I want it to be more. I wish I could travel through time and enter that world when everything was congenial and creative, sharing my time and talent, my thoughts and my spirit with like-minded people. But I can't. Whatever that industry is now isn't something I have any interest in, and the amateur circuit could be fun but it's nearly impossible to access given the circumstances and safety of going out nowadays. Besides, the grass is always greener.

I usually find comfort knowing that here, together, we share the ache for that time gone by, settling for the roles of harbingers of those emotion that music brings to us, and we can briefly escape into the world of these artists and see them as young, ambitious, and in the most fertile period of their creativity. But sometimes, we get a glimpse into the life of a real life person who is actually satisfied with what they have, and that’s when this facade can come crashing down: the harsh reality of passed time, the pain of loving something or someone so deeply even though it’s completely unattainable, the torment of wondering why we can't be happy enough instead of imagining this much, much better fantasy world we’ve carved out in our niche of the internet. Personally, I sometimes feel a very real pressure to want the "normal" things that society values: a steady job where I’m motivated by income and a healthy retirement fund, a family (or at the very least a partner), and stability in a physical location. I feel pressure that I should have it all figured out by now, or at least be on my way. But I find myself at this juncture of life more confused than ever.

So I took some time away to think about all these things and I finally reached a breakthrough: maybe I'm not unsatisfied because I don’t have those things. Maybe I don’t have those things because I'm not satisfied by the concept of them. This music I've fallen so deeply in love with (it's not even the right term, but what else captures the intensity of this connection) has made me reconsider everything, from what I want for myself, to what I'm doing to help people and the planet, to the person I have the capacity to become. These are heavy thoughts, and in a fragile mental state, they're too much. But I'm grateful I get to have them, and I'm grateful to the artists who shared so much of themselves and made me want to meet them there.

I have been saying for a long time that this is my favorite of Neil's songs, based more on a feeling than a conscious decision. Now I think I know why. It's all in the lyrics. The music is obviously beautiful and does everything at all the right times to support the poetry, but the words themselves stir up such strong imagery, and I believe they capture exactly how it feels to grapple with the unease of existentialism in a world where everyone else seems happier or more at peace. Right from the start, the line describing someone trying to come ashore into unwelcoming ports in darkness is so isolating, so pitiful. You know it can't be done: he has no choice but to stay on the changing sea amidst the storm: “still the searcher must ride the dark horse,” the one no one saw coming. It's like an admission, that, if you want to find something actually worth finding, you're probably going to be alone, and you’re probably going to be afraid. And these “arrangements” that are so hard to make with ourselves…since age apparently weighs into the equation, I think are the concessions or the lies we tell ourselves that things are going well, that our situations are actually fine, but they're so hard to believe because all the while we know time is passing and whatever it means to be “young enough to sell” won’t be worth selling anymore someday soon. And I know there's a whole separate verse to unpack but that’s for another day (or one of you can take it 😉).

Those deep, dark places of our minds that open up when we listen and connect to music like this can be absolutely terrifying, and they rarely provide immediate comfort or gratification, if any. But I hope I can trust the process and understand that if I want to figure out what can bring me my own version of peace and satisfaction, I've got a lot more broken harbors to sail my hardships through.

[bearsace]

through my broken and bruised eye, it was you i beheld.

Summary: Bearsace watches Mai grow up right before his eyes. (He is, after all, the one closest to her.) 

Or: a friendship through the ages, told in three parts.

Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to get this fic published for almost a year now; I had so much fun writing it as I hope you do reading it! Please enjoy one of the most niche fics you might ever read: Ikemen Sengoku in Bearsace’s POV, a la Edward Tulane. Special thanks to @rainebowkitty for reading it over super quick! You can also find this on AO3 here.

Pairings: Nobunaga/MC, but fic centers around Bearsace/MC friendship

Genre: Friendship, family, fluff, hurt/comfort

Rating: K

Word Count: 4,000+

Read Time: 10+ minutes

part one / broken. kyoto, 2004-2017.

What is this?

When he blinked into existence, he felt soft hands beneath his arms. He could not move or speak, but he could feel, and with the hands, he felt warmth.

Who am I?

“Oh, Mai, he’s beautiful!”

“Thanks, Dad!”

Where is this place?

“You’re absolutely the cutest thing I’ve ever made in my whole life. I think I’ll call you… Bearsace.”

This warm feeling in his chest… he wished that he could put a name to it, but everything was dim, and it was uncomfortable to him not to be able to see the face belonging to the long, silky brown hair as it bent over him. The hands caressed a spot above his nose and lips kissed it.

“I still have to sew another eye on you, ‘cause the other one was the wrong size, and I promise you I will… but even though you’re not complete yet, just know that I already love you so much.”

Love . It was a foreign word, but somehow, Bearsace understood that was the name of this feeling. He could not move, yet he wished he could gaze into the face of she who loved him so much— Mai.

Love. I love you, too, Mai.

—

By the time Mai managed to sew another eye on him, he already loved her with all his stuffed heart. He could see her clearly now that he had two eyes, and she was beautiful, and he admired the way she would seat him beside her sewing machine and model gowns for him.

Mai had many ambitions. Bearsace would support them as much as one stuffed bear could. She was his best friend— his only one, to be fair, because every now and again her mother would glare at him and make some snide comment about being too old to play with toys. Bearsace would glare back.

And you’re too old to be judging your daughter like that, but you don’t see me complaining!

—

Mai became very sad very often because her job was not the best one. She would come home, take off her uncomfortable-looking shoes, and Bearsace would always feel his heart swell with bittersweetness anytime she came through the door.

He would wait patiently on the couch, where she placed him every morning, as Mai would slip silently into her room and change into a fuzzy pair of pajamas— Bearsace loved those pajamas!—  then, when her hair was up into a messy pile on her head, he would swell with happiness when she finally settled onto the sofa and pulled a blanket up around her legs, taking him into her arms.

Their favorite show was My Vintage Love, a story about a girl who fell in love with a CEO. Well, it was Mai’s favorite show; Bearsace didn’t care much for it. Personally, he enjoyed The Berenstain Bears, which came on the television one day while Mai was at work, but Mai never turned it on on purpose.

It was definitely one of their worst fights. 

Fortunately, it was pretty much the only thing that they fought about. Oh, and her job. Bearsace didn’t like anything that made Mai sad.

Sometimes, when she was curled up on the couch, she’d talk to him about anything and everything. Her dreams, her passions…

“Someday, Bearsace, I’m going to make clothes for women everywhere that make them feel beautiful and happy. Every single piece is going to be made with care and love...”

Like me?

“...sorta like the way I made you.”

I knew it. What will you do when you reach that high?

“I was wondering what I’d even do when I get to the top. Maybe I’ll start my own magazine, or maybe I’ll create a fashion line that emphasizes the beauty in every woman’s body, regardless of shape, size, or whatever society calls ‘imperfection.’ I loved you even before you had both your eyes; why shouldn’t every woman feel that same love?”

Yes! He cried in happiness. Yes, this is such a good dream, and I support you completely. Mai, you won’t forget me, even when you are making others as happy as you make me?

“Man, I’m hungry,” she said with a yawn, placing him on the armrest and setting him down before trudging to the kitchen. “I’m gonna go order in some takeout.”

He felt his heart pang in a little bit of disappointment. He hated it when she ignored what he said.

—

Bearsace hated Mai’s other friends. Like “love,” it took him a while to find the word for “hate,” until Mai slammed her phone into the couch, snarling,

“I absolutely hate Yuka!”

Ah, Yuka. A fine piece of work, she was. The first time he ever met her, Bearsace was on the couch as usual when Mai came home with her.

Hello! Bearsace had said, excited to make a new friend. But Yuka ignored him and tossed him to the side to make room on the couch for herself. How rude!

Not to mention, she seemed to have no idea what it meant to be a good friend, the way Bearsace did. She rolled her eyes at Mai, suggested she find something “better” to do with her time… really, how bad of a friend could one person be?

“All she ever does is beat me down on my dreams… she thinks I should go back to school for something more— more— more reasonable ?! She says I’m not talented enough to be a fashion designer? I hate that!”

It’s okay, Bearsace said, falling over into her lap. I’m here for you.

—

It was on a rainy day that Mai whooped for joy. Bearsace wished he could turn around, because currently he was seated on the couch watching My Vintage Love and he would rather be spending time with Mai.

But she came into the living room soon enough and lifted him into a hug, which made him very happy.

What’s going on, Mai?

“Oh, my dreams are so close! All I’ve gotta do is nail this job interview and then it’s no more time-wasting coffee runs for a devil boss, no more getting yelled at for even the little mistakes— no more of that for me. I’m so close!”

If a bear could dance, he would. But for now, he was content to revel in the joy that Mai felt as she danced, and danced, and danced.

—

“Fine stitching you’ve done on it,” said the interviewer.

Bearsace rolled his eyes. I’m not an “it,” he responded in a biting tone. He looked to Mai, wondering if she might share in some of the same annoyance that he did, but she held her tongue.

“I did all the stitchwork by hand,” she explained.

“Tell me, what was the reasoning behind acrylics for eyes, instead of buttons?” The interviewer poked him in the eye, and Bearsace wanted to flinch away.

Watch it, jerk. I use those to see.

Mai smiled that amused smile. “I guess I just figured it’d help him see better.”

—

When Mai got the call that she got the job, she squealed and ran into the next room to call her father. Bearsace was not jealous that she did not go to him first; after all, he knew that she would be a shoo-in, anyway.

He looked upon Mai with pride when she picked him up and squeezed him to her chest.

I knew you could do it.

“What do you say we go do something special, just you and me?”

— 

“I wasn’t expecting this much rain!”

Bearsace fit rather comfortably in her purse and was also impressed by the deluge that hit them at the temple at Honno-ji, though why Mai considered that a vacation was beyond him.

But it was special. They were there together, after all.

What absolutely was not special was this downpour! Mai’s hair was dripping, and also the hiring packet in her purse was going to get soaked. Never fear, though— Bearsace flopped over inside Mai’s bag onto the hiring packet, protecting it from the rain.

Thunder rumbled overhead and Bearsace found himself fearful; he couldn’t see anything! There were voices; one was Mai’s, and it sounded afraid, and he desperately wished to protect her. The other sounded as if it belonged to a man, and Bearsace felt alarm bells ring in his head. At all costs, he had to protect Mai.

Run, Mai, run! He had barely managed to say the words when a flash of white took over his world. All he could feel was fear.

part two / bruised. azuchi, 1582.

Bearsace didn’t like the Oda forces, or whatever other clown names they chose to call themselves.

He tried, he really did.

Hello! He cried again, excited when he saw the strange man taking a nap on the burning roof. Hello! I am Bearsace. And you are?

“I am Oda Nobunaga… How would you like to rule the world at my side?”

That seems like a pretty good deal, Mai. We should take it.

“Uhh, thanks, but no thanks.”

But that’s a good choice too.

And then they were running quickly through the bushes. Wryly, Bearsace couldn’t help but point out that they would not be running if she had taken that man’s offer, but Mai, of course, ignored him again.

— 

Bearsace tried very hard to make new friends. After discovering that he had traveled five-hundred years to the past, he was surprised for a moment, but only a moment. He was, after all, a talking bear.

Hello! He said to the man with the eyepatch. I am Bearsace. And then the man held a sword to Mai’s throat, and from that point, Bearsace would snap his teeth at him instead of greet him politely.

It’s nice to meet you! He said to the man who did not really smile, but wore a lot of yellow, which confused Bearsace, who associated yellow with the color of happiness. I hope we can look at each other happily. The man did not speak, except to insult Mai. Never mind. I hate you.

I look forward to being your close friend, he said to the man who was friendly and had a mole near his eye, and Bearsace soon discovered he liked him the best, because he was the only one who was friendly to Mai from the start.

The three who Bearsace did not particularly bother with were the one who reminded him of a snake, the one who lectured Mai too much, and the one who was dumb enough to take naps on the roof.

He didn’t really have time for negativity like that.

—

Fortunately, Mai was as smart and resilient as expected. With the help of a ninja— an actual ninja!— she built up a plan to return to the future after three months from now. That, unfortunately, meant that she was under the protection of these weirdos for the next three months. She was awfully lucky that Bearsace was there to defend her.

We’ll get through this, Mai. Together.

— 

It was very irritating, the way that those warlords seemed to fall for her within a matter of weeks and fawn over her as if she was a doll. Mai, for her part, did not seem to be getting attached, which was good, if they were going to return to the present and finish Mai’s dream together.

Following two months in the Sengoku, his friend began to spend some time away in the evening, which was nice but also lonely. Bearsace could not sleep, but he could sit and stare at the ceiling and think. Usually he would not get bored of it, except that he could not stand guard over Mai if she was not there.

She actually seemed to grow happy, which made Bearsace happy. That was really all it took, and because it seemed to be those handsy Sengoku warlords who made her so, he gave them his grudging respect.

—

Mai cried sometimes. She always wore her heart on her sleeve, but it was the small, conflicted sobs in the middle of the night that snapped Bearsace out of his daydreaming as he kept watch over her.

Don’t cry , he said as his heart ached. Please don’t cry.

It was then that Mai reached for her purse and pulled out the hiring packet, and Bearsace’s heart broke a little bit more.

We have so many plans, don’t we? You can’t be sad for those.

She sniffled and held the papers in her hand.

Look! I kept them nice and dry for you. Surely that must mean something. All our plans, all our dreams… I will stick by you. Don’t give up yet.

Mai ignored him again. She tore the papers in half.

—

“I’m not going back.”

The only person— or bear— more surprised than Sasuke was Bearsace, himself.

What do you mean you’re not going back?! You didn’t speak to me before making this choice on your own, so that we could make it together?

“I thought you might say that. What gives?” Sasuke gave that secretive smile.

“To be honest with you, Sasuke… I’ve fallen in love with Oda Nobunaga.”

You WHAT?! The roof man?!

“Oh, is that so?”

Be quiet, Sasuke. Mai, how could you not tell me this?

“Well, to be honest with you,” Sasuke continued, “I’m not going back, either. You see, I have found some employment here that I can’t bear to leave in such a tumultuous time. You understand. But Mai, by my calculations… it seems that we may be forced to return.”

Yes! Don’t give up on our dream, Mai! Bearsace exclaimed, though he immediately wished to take it back once he saw the crushed look on Mai’s face.

“Please tell me that isn’t true, Sasuke. It took a lot of soul-searching to choose that he means more to me than any desk job.”

Look on the bright side; we’ll have the chance to be happy again, in our own time, right?

Sasuke launched into a long-winded explanation that Bearsace was far too agitated to understand, but it seemed to boil down to this:

As long as Mai and Sasuke remained in the past, time itself would remain wrathful and relentless.

—

Mai stayed in her room that night and cried. She did not meet Nobunaga, whom Bearsace now realized she snuck out every night to see. She cried until Bearsace feared her chest would cave in with sadness. He leaned against her thigh and allowed her to bury her face into the top of his head until the tears stopped… and, inevitably, they would start again.

How could he have known that Mai was falling in love? In dismay, he realized that the seam between them was tearing faster than he could patch it up. He tried talking to her many times that night— would try to offer words of encouragement, that even if they had to go back, he would always support her no matter what. But no matter how loud he yelled, she only cried harder, ignoring him.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered. “I can’t leave him.”

Those were the first words she had spoken since Sasuke left, and Bearsace was immediately at attention. For the first time in a long time, Mai picked him up and looked him straight in the eye, and hugged him.

With a pang in his chest, he realized that she didn’t hug him quite the same, anymore.

It’s going to be okay. Can you please, please just respond to me once? I’m so afraid for you.

Her tears stained his fur, and he didn’t realize that anything could quite hurt this bad. “What do I do, what do I do?” she repeated, as if doing so would create a solution.

Mai…

“Ugh, what am I doing…?!”

Mai?!

“I’m talking to a dumb… a dumb stuffed toy! You can’t even talk or think; why do I still even depend on you?”

She had never raised her voice at him— not even when he wanted to change the channel from My Vintage Love to just anything else. Startled, he fell backwards as Mai snarled down at him, tears in her eyes.

“Sitting here crying isn’t going to do anything. I need to think of a way to stay.”

With a note of finality, she took him out the double doors and sat him down inside the storage closet outside. The room went dark when she closed it, and he yelled for her.

— 

Bearsace did not speak for a long, long time.

—

A maid found him, once, and asked the castle head what to do with him. He said that because Bearsace belonged to the princess, she should put him back where she found him.

—

A rat ate one of his eyes and choked to death on it before the other one. It did not hurt as bad as Bearsace thought it would.

—

The roof of the closet caved in, and of all people, it was Eyepatch Man who found him.

“Ha!” exclaimed Eyepatch Man, tugging at his paws. “Mitsuhide, didn’t this belong to Mai?”

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t realized our beloved Lady Oda had forgotten anything when she left this room. How very much like her.”

“Look, he’s missing an eye. Guess he matches me, now.”

They forgot about him when they were done fixing the closet, and a castle boy put him back on top of a puddle of melted snow.

—

“Oh, it’s here somewhere…”

Mitsunari! Bearsace cried hoarsely. It had been many weeks (or months, or likely even years) since he had seen Eyepatch Man and Mitsuhide. He would have been happy to see anyone, but Mitsunari was a treat. Where is Mai? She cannot have forgotten about me…

“Just grab what you need and go. You’ll be late for the treaty-signing with the Uesugi-Takeda forces if you don’t hurry up.”

“You’re always so wise, Lord Ieyasu! I- oh, here it is!”

Mitsunari extracted a sword from the depths of the shed. It was ornate and lovely, and covered in dust.

“This will do for a fine peace offering, don’t you say?”

“A peace offering isn’t necessary, with Mai having strengthened our relationship with them so well. I still don’t understand why you were so insistent on…”

Bearsace could not hear what Mitsunari was insistent on, because neither of them saw him on the ground.

—

A young girl with carmine eyes and caramel hair was the next one who found him. Beaten down, Bearsace could offer little more than a weak hello. The girl tilted her head and tugged at a sleeve whose owner was partially hidden by the doorframe.

“Father, what’s this?”

part three / beholding. azuchi, 1592.

Nobunaga’s hands were oddly gentle when he propped the young girl on one arm and took Bearsace in the other. His face was blank, and those hawk’s eyes were boring straight into his.

But those eyes… they were softer, somehow. Content. Bearsace felt ashamed at the way he must look in those eyes that had clearly seen a happy life— were continuing to see a happy life. His face had grown tan, his hair cropped a little bit neater. A scar on his cheek that had not been there before was there now, but did not distract from his handsomeness.

That wry smirk was impossible to misplace, though.

“I recognize you, don’t I?”

“What is it?”

“Your mother made him. Have you seen her, little one?”

“She’s with my uncles.”

Bearsace was so surprised to see Nobunaga bend down to kiss the girl on the cheek that he thought his other eye might fall right off. And if the girl’s mother made him, and Nobunaga was the girl’s father…

“Leave us, Shingen and Mitsunari.”

Nobunaga had made quick time to the audience chamber, where two men and a woman were laughing heartily over a game of cards. The woman had her back to him, but she kissed the two men on the cheeks as they left, then turned around.

Her hair was shorter. Her eyes were bright, and somehow, the kimono seemed better-suited to her now than it had the last time he had seen her many, many years ago. She looked at Nobunaga and the girl with sheer love, and then her gaze dropped to Nobunaga’s other arm— where the stuffed bear sat— and turned disbelieving before filling with tears.

“Bearsace?”

...Mai?

—

Her hands were gentle as she plunged him into rose-scented water and washed away the dust of many years. Her fingers were gentle as they wove thread through his bursting sides. Her lips were gentle as she, like she had many years ago, kissed the spot where his eye would be.

“It seems like you’re just not meant to have this eye, Bearsace. I’m afraid acrylics haven’t been made yet, but between you and me, I think you’ll be just as cute with one acrylic eye and one button one.”

One thing that Bearsace had never noticed was that Mai stuck the tip of her tongue out when she sewed.

One thing that he did notice was that she was wrong many years ago when she told the interviewer acrylics would help him see better.

The button eye made his vision crystal clear.

—

“Yumi, meet Bearsace.”

It’s very nice to meet you, Bearsace said. His voice was still sore from many years of disuse. He felt an unnamed feeling in his heart when he gazed upon Yumi— Mai and Nobunaga’s daughter. Her face was impassive, but with the same spark of curiosity that both her parents possessed.

“I was… very mean to Bearsace when I was younger. Do you think that you can take good care of him for me?”

The corner of Yumi’s lips quirked upwards as she looked at her mother with twinkling eyes. She took Bearsace in her hands gently, tenderly, and kissed the top of his head.

“Good night, Yumi, and sweet dreams. I love you.”

As Mai leaned down to nuzzle her daughter’s head, Bearsace noted that she always had the makings of a fine mother. She smiled down at Bearsace next.

“I’m so sorry that I got angry at you and left you in that shed. You were always there for me when times got rough. I love you so much, Bearsace,” Mai whispered in his ear and kissed the tip of his nose.

Slowly, Bearsace felt the frigidity that had taken hold of his heart begin to melt away. He did not feel empty anymore.

I love you too, Mai. It no longer hurt when she could not respond, because he knew now that he would always be with her.

“Good night. I love you. Say good night, Bearsace.” Yumi said. She lifted Bearsace’s arm and waved at her mother with it.

For one blissful, thousand-thread moment, Mai waved back.

epilogue / azuchi & kyoto, c. 1600s-2016.

Nobunaga and Mai died hand-in-hand on a beautiful spring day after living a long and happy life together. They were the last of their friends to pass, and were buried with them, too. Bearsace had come to love the strange family he had found, who had all found each other, too.

Even if they had hated each other for so long.

When it came Yumi’s time, she held the hand of her son and made him swear to protect Bearsace with his life. And when it came his time, he did the same with his daughter, and she with hers.

Bearsace did not throw his words so much now. He spoke carefully, affectionately, and with all the wisdom he possessed after so many years.

Sometimes, he would reminisce.

The way that Mitsuhide’s lips puckered before teaming up with Masamune to tease Mai.

The way that Kenshin and Nobunaga would spar in the courtyard, scaring the maids even from across the castle.

The way that Hideyoshi nagged Yukimura, and the way that Yukimura rolled his eyes.

They made his heart blossom and wilt and laugh and cry and dance and sing— all at once. This was love, Bearsace had decided a few hundred years ago. The way he could so clearly see in his button-eye the joys that they had shared together— and the way that, after so many years, he could not help but care so deeply.

Even after all these years, Bearsace was in excellent condition because of how well everyone had taken care of him. It was why, when a great, great, great— who-knew-how-many-greats— descendant of the Oda donated him to a museum, he was placed in the center of the Azuchi-Echigo exhibit, right across from a weathered painting that explained the importance of Mai.

c.1582: An ancestor of the teddy bear, “Bearsace” was hand-sewn by Oda Mai, famous peacekeeper of the Azuchi-Echigo Treaty, then passed through the generations by her descendants. This is  one of the best-preserved artifacts of the Sengoku period. Generously donated to the Azuchi Castle Archive Museum by Oda Sakura.

“Huh. That’s weird.”

Bearsace had felt asleep for many years, missing the sound of her voice. When he heard it again, he almost felt his heart collapse in shock.

“This Bearsace kinda looks like my Bearsace.”

It took a moment for Bearsace to look down at the newspaper that Mai held in her hands, dated with the year of 2016— the year, he realized, before she and another version of him would go back to the Sengoku period. His eyes could not take enough of her in as she tilted her head, looking at him with a fond sort of bemusement.

Mai, he called, voice breaking with brilliant, shining emotion as she walked away, not thinking twice of the strange encounter. I missed you. Don’t forget to give me to Yumi, and don’t forget to sew me another eye.

But she was something of a white bird in a blizzard— he could not catch her. But he was content to watch as she walked away, farther into a life that he knew would make her very happy. This was all that he swore to do— was to protect her, so that she could finally be happy. The joy of it settled something within him, and visitors to the museum that day could have sworn that the bear’s face settled into a permanent, peaceful smile.

—

Bearsace did not speak for a long, long time.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (15)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 49.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"So," Phil starts, and then pauses. He has no real idea how to say this.

His parents wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts and his mum mutes the telly. Having their undivided attention doesn't really help, it just makes Phil sweat a bit. He can't even bring himself to sit down, too wired with anxious energy as he is.

The video has only been live for a day, but it's already one of Phil's most popular. People are clamoring in the comments for more; demands for proof and simple curiosity about what could explain his experiences. He's already had a call from Martyn about the benefits of going back and doing an update, but PJ and Sophie have put their two cents in as 'absolutely not'. Chris offered a don't care and then asked for Phil's mum's lasagna recipe.

Phil wants to stay. It's not so much about the mystery, for him, but he's pretty sure his friends and maybe even his brother already know that. He's got his own reasons for not buying a train ticket the moment the video went live and asking his divisive audience what they wanted him to do. Yeah, he'd been sort of hoping for this outcome.

He's not sure if he wants to stay for himself, for the stagnation that being here allows him, or if he wants to stay for deep dimples and a nice laugh. Probably a bit of column A and a bit of column B, if he's honest with himself.

"I uploaded the video on this case," Phil tells his parents. "And there were a lot of, um, unanswered questions. Because of that whole thing with the footage."

"Phil," his dad says, exasperation in his voice already.

"And that means more money from one case," Phil presses on, "because I don't have many expenses here and the ad revenue was really good in comparison to my last five videos. Martyn really thinks I should look into this some more. I promise I won't be here for months or anything, I just - just give me another week. Please, I just need a week."

Money talk usually gets his parents to back down a bit, but they exchange a long look between them that convinces Phil it isn't going to work this time. His mind is already whirring quickly, trying to settle on arguments that it thinks might win him this battle. He considers telling them that this is more than just a video to him, that his whole future feels like it's resting on this one mystery, but he has a suspicion that they wouldn't be very impressed with that lack of foresight. He's ready to bring out specific numbers when their silent communication breaks and his mum gives him a small smile.

"Phil," she says, echoing his dad with a bit more warmth and a lot more pity. "You know we need to talk about this, dear, why don't you sit down?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets so they don't see the trembling. He's not scared, he's just anxious, and his brain and body are conspiring to make him feel like he's going to die if something unexpected happens.

Phil doesn't like change. He doesn't like seeing his childhood house like this, he doesn't like having his career up in the air, and he doesn't like the way his parents no longer trust him to do what's best for himself. The worst part is that he's not even sure they're wrong - Phil knows he isn't thinking logically right now, that Martyn is the one who even mentioned ad revenue while Phil was busy wondering how best to prove himself.

"I'm good," says Phil. He hopes that the nerves aren't as palpable as they feel to him.

"Okay, well," his mum says, briskly rearranging things on the coffee table like she has to be doing something with her hands while they talk about this. He's reminded a bit of Dan in the coffee shop, of Chris in the attic, and he wonders what it is about him that makes people need to split their focus like that. "Your dad and I have been talking."

"About how I need to grow up?" Phil offers, heart in his throat. It feels like he might laugh or cry at any moment. "Yeah. I've noticed."

"We're retiring, Phil," his dad says. That's not exactly news to Phil - he knows why they're selling the house, after all - but he bites his tongue and lets his dad speak. "We've understood the... unstable nature of your work for several years now, but we can't keep bailing you out whenever you have a bad month. You're a smart man and you've got a good degree, you should have something steadier under your belt."

"We love how creative you are," Phil's mum chimes in. It almost sounds like they've practiced this. Phil bites down harder. "And if you can channel that creativity in a way that isn't so dangerous, you'll have our full support."

Phil kind of wishes that he already had their full support, but he's already had this conversation with himself. The work isn't fun for him anymore, and the risk of getting arrested for trespassing isn't a low one. It's almost not worth it when he doesn't have that full-blown excitement about a case.

He doesn't need every haunt to have a nice ending wrapped up with a bow, but he does need to like the content he's producing. Otherwise there isn't any point to it.

Still. It sucks to hear.

Phil deflates a little bit. His automatic defensiveness that springs up whenever his parents start questioning his many bad decisions in life is fading to something that feels like bone-deep exhaustion. The anxiety is still there, thrumming under his skin, but there's nothing he can really do about that. The truth is that he's been feeling listless and defeated and trapped for a lot longer than he's been back in his parents' house. There's no real point in pretending otherwise.

"Give me a week," he repeats, quiet. "I want to finish this project either way, y'know? Just let me stay for the rest of this week and - and if it doesn't pan out, if I don't find anything new, then... then I'm done. I'll stop. I'll find something else."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" his mum asks. The relief that pulls at her shoulders and her pursed lips is enough for Phil to be sure.

"Yeah," says Phil. He gives them a little shrug. "I'm comfortable with what I'm doing. I like making videos and exploring places with cool stories, and even talking to people has been getting better. But you're... you've got a point. I can't keep doing this forever. Not at the pace and quality I like to maintain. If this video goes well, it might help me break into a more diverse and less dangerous niche, which would make everyone happy, I think."

His dad nods at him. "Okay. You can stay until Sunday, because that's when we're going to the Isle. You can do whatever editing and post-production stuff you need to when you get back to Brighton. We'll expect a call when you know for sure what you're going to do, Phil."

Phil swallows, clenches his fists tighter in his pockets. "You'll be the first to know."

--

Nobody asks Phil to leave, but he can't stay in the aggressively neutral version of his parents' house and field their 'casual' questions about what sort of things he might want to do if YouTube doesn't work. He escapes to the city again, sending a message to Dan on the bus. Instead of asking if they want to hang out with him, he simply asks where he can meet them today. As if it's a given that they're going to be spending time together.

Maybe that's presumptuous of him, but Dan uses an exclamation mark when they reply, im at home!, so Phil thinks it's probably fine.

Dan meets him at the door this time, mid-ramble about the broken dishwasher in their flat as if social niceties are no longer expected of them. That suits Phil. He grins back at Dan and joins them in the small but tidy galley kitchen, letting Dan talk his ear off while they scrub at some discoloured Tupperware.

"Sorry," Dan interrupts themself, turning big and apologetic eyes on Phil like they've just registered that he's standing there. "I'm having a weird brain day. Bit all over the place, you know."

"That's fine," Phil says honestly. He smiles, because Dan doesn't look all that convinced by it. "No, really, I don't mind. I like listening to you talk."

The blush spreads across Dan's face too quickly for them to hide by turning away. They try, anyway, and Phil is left looking at their face in profile, turned down and rosy as it is. "Normally I at least break for breath. What's new with you?"

"Since two days ago?" Phil teases. Dan's dimple makes an appearance right before the smile splits their face, and Phil has to twist his own fingers together so he doesn't reach out and poke at it. He's still working through some stuff, still doesn't want to make any decisions about this without thinking it over carefully, but he's never been good at resisting temptation either. "Uh, not much. My parents are still on my case. I'm getting good feedback on the video, but you probably know that already."

"It was a good video," says Dan. They pause as they dry their big hands on an old tea towel. "I... appreciate you saying that stuff about me."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Dan meets his eyes again, almost stubbornly ignoring the colour in their own cheeks. "I can appreciate things that you think are true, dingus. Take the gratitude already."

Phil grins. "Never."

--

There are snacks after that and some video games that Phil loses spectacularly and some good ferret snuggles. As the afternoon turns to evening, Phil watches Dan rearrange some titles on the bookshelf as they chatter about one of their science-y classes, no longer self conscious about how much they're talking. He's sitting on Dan's soft, unmade bed with Pixel, who keeps rolling around in the sheets like she's trying to get comfortable.

Phil is already comfortable. It's hard for him to ignore that Dan's bedroom feels so much like a safe haven in the way that his old house no longer does.

At some point Dan gives up on whatever system they were trying to implement. They pick Tofu up off the floor and flop onto the bed with Phil, wiggling around in almost the exact same way Pixel had. Phil presses his lips together tightly so he doesn't laugh.

"I think that things can be improved," Dan is saying, and Phil tries to figure out if they're still talking about the environment or if Dan has picked up the loose thread from their earlier rant about Bethesda. Pixel and Tofu are both running around like Dan and Phil are just bony jungle gyms, and Dan barely even stutters when one of them steps on their nose. "Of course they can be improved, it's not something you just give up on when things get tough, but the problem is that the people in charge have to implement the changes that are necessary for improvement, and - ow, that's my ear, don't bite that - and, uh... where was I?"

"You were telling me about climate change," says Phil. "Or potentially Todd Howard's ambivalence towards a quote-unquote 'perfect game'. I honestly lost track."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Phil's anxiety rears its head for the first time since he got here, but luckily he hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth this time - Dan starts laughing, more or less cackling, and they roll closer to Phil to bury their face in a pillow.

Phil grins and reaches out to tug at one of Dan's curls, fascinated by the way it just springs back into place. He's done this to PJ once or twice or six times, but he's usually had a couple drinks before he resorts to it. Dan comes out of hiding with tears of laughter welling up in their pretty brown eyes and their dimples in full force, grinning up at Phil like he's the funniest person in the world.

"Those are both really important issues," Dan says, trying their best to sound deadpan when they're so obviously gleeful.

They wiggle around again and Phil says, "You look exactly like Pixel when you do that."

He's pretty sure that Dan honks at that, but he's immediately distracted by a ferret trying to bite his eyebrow.

This is good. Phil likes this. He's trying to dig himself out of the mindset that he'd backed himself into when he first started noticing Dan, because PJ might have had a point. Okay, so PJ definitely had a point, and Phil has been a bit of an idiot.

He won't know for sure how Dan feels about him being gay and uncompromising about that fact unless he asks, and he doesn't think he's ready to do that just yet. But there's a rainbow flag on Dan's wall and they don't consider themselves not not a guy, so... Phil thinks that maybe he's been assigning a strictness to Dan's own relationship to gender and sexuality that isn't actually there.

Dan is talking again, to their ferrets this time, and Phil is almost overwhelmed by the force of affection that washes over him now that he isn't trying so hard to hold it back. Dan's leg is pressed against his own and they're holding Pixel up like they're playing airplane with her and Phil likes them so goddamn much.

"Did you want to," Phil starts, interrupting Dan's musing about what goes on in a ferret's tiny brain. Dan looks up at him with such genuine happiness on their face that Phil's words stick in his throat. He should be asking if Dan wants to go out for dinner again or if they've seen whatever blockbuster action film is playing in cinemas this week, but that's not what comes out of his mouth. When Dan raises their eyebrows quizzically, what Phil ends up asking is, "Uh, come spend the night in the haunted house with me?"

Great. Real romantic.

--

Dan doesn't make a secret about how much they hate this plan. They say it over and over, but they don't take any of the outs that Phil offers them.

"I hate this plan," Dan says as they make a bunch of sandwiches. It seems like way too much for just the two of them, but Phil isn't about to say no to having a near endless supply of peanut butter and bread when they're stuck in a dusty attic again. "This is stupid. You should have just left it at the first video, Phil, that was fine."

"You don't have to come with me," Phil reminds them for the umpteenth time.

Dan glares. "No, I'm coming."

"You're a very complicated person," says Phil.

With a heavy sort of sigh, like they've been dealing with Phil for years instead of a week, Dan finally sets the peanut butter down. "Look," they say, pointing the dull knife at Phil for emphasis. "I can hate this plan and still want to make sure you don't get fucking arrested or possessed or trip down the stairs or something. PJ knows where I live."

"I think he'd be in the camp of me deserving it if I died in the Wilkins place," Phil says, his lips tugging into a grin. "But thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan mutters. "Will you at least tell me why we're going back? I know you're fucking stubborn and all, but I didn't figure you for someone who beats dead horses."

"Oh, that's a terrible idiom," Phil says, mostly to himself. He reaches out to squeeze Dan's shoulder when he sees them get all huffy at the apparent avoidance. The tension leaving Dan's body under his palm is frustrating to feel, because there's nothing Phil wants more than to lean into it. The problem, of course, is that he really does need to talk to Dan before he starts trying to hug them in their own kitchen. Phil lets his hand drop awkwardly between them and shrugs. "Well, uh. This is the first time in a long time I've actually been excited about a project. And that makes me think that maybe I've worn out my welcome here. Not... not here like Manchester here, but here like... my job, here."

Dan leans their hip against the counter and looks at Phil with their brow all furrowed. "This is an ultimatum," they say. "Like, to yourself."

"Yeah," says Phil. "I need to solve this - or at least find something else that I can show to people. Because if I don't, then I need to actually look at myself and admit I'm not doing something I like anymore."

"It sounds like you're already looking at yourself," Dan says quietly.

"I guess."

"No, you are," Dan insists, their voice stronger now that they can assert an opinion. "Trust me, I'm a pro at unproductive self-reflection and existentialism. Who am I, what does it all matter, I know the song and dance. And I don't think that getting more footage is going to erase what you're already thinking, Phil. Tell me if I'm out of line, whatever, but if you want to do something else with your life then just do something else with your life."

The automatic defensiveness threatens to make Phil snap back at Dan that this isn't any of their business, but he's had a lot of practice in keeping his negative thoughts to himself. He gives Dan a little humourless smile and shrugs his shoulders.

"You're twenty-one," Phil says. "And a student. I don't really expect you to get it."

Dan puts their hands on their hips like they're settling in for a proper row, but instead they just say, "I know. I don't know what you're going through, sure, I doubt anyone knows what anyone else is going through at any time. And, yeah, I've got another year before I have to worry about my career. But I've made some fucking tough decisions in my life, mate. I dropped out of my law course after two lectures. I don't talk to my family anymore. I've tried on so many different names and labels that it would make your head spin. You don't like your job anymore, and one video isn't going to change that."

"Yeah, probably not." Phil looks down at their little collection of sandwiches, feeling lost and stubborn and a bit scared about how much Dan sees him. "But I have to try, y'know? I can't just give up. I have to try."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, Dan sighs.

"Okay. Put these in a container, we don't use unnecessary plastic in this flat. Just whatever they fit in. I'll make some coffee for the road and find our Scrabble board."

[looselucy]

The Only Living Boy in New York

June 14th – Harry’s POV I awoke from a restless sleep, my eyes uneasily meeting another murky morning in New York, my entire body burdened with a brazen ache. It was clear that misery loved company from the way that it clung at my side, dug its claws into my skin. I was exhausted.

In recent months, I’d gotten into the habit of instinctively turning to gage of the other side of the bed, and even though I’d been in New York for almost three weeks, and I hadn’t shared a bed with her for over a month, I still hadn’t managed to break the habit of turning to see Alfie every single morning. Coming to my senses and finding my bed empty didn’t seem to be getting any easier. Already exasperated, I turned again and reached for my phone which lay on top of my bedside cabinet to check the time, disappointed to have once again stirred at such an early hour. “For fuck sake.” I huffed, craving more sleep. I had to literally drag myself out of bed and into my bathroom, my eyes barely open as I leaned and turned on the taps to fill up the bath, leaving the water running and heading to the living area of my apartment, coffee feeling essential. I wasn’t sure why I’d ever thought that being in New York would make anything better, because it never had. All I’d known for sure was that I wanted to get out of Rosebury, start afresh, try to put that phase of my life behind me, and New York felt like the only real option I had, somewhere with enough distance but somewhere I was familiar with. I’d really thought that I would feel better once I was there, once I was settled. I didn’t. As I filled up the kettle with water, a loud buzzing noise interrupted me, someone ringing my buzzer from the street downstairs. I frowned at the idea of company, not just because I didn’t desire it but because of its unfamiliarity. I headed towards the door, pressed the button to speak between systems. “Hello?” I groaned. “It’s Liam, buzz me in.” I did as I was told, not saying another word before I pressed the button to open the door and allow him into the building where I lived. Liam was my agent. He’d been my agent for years. Liam spoke directly with galleries and clients and buyers and he was the reason my art had done as well as it had. He was alarmingly good at his job, meaning the work of a young boy just out of university had been seen as something truly special. I so easily could have been dismissed at such a young age with such little experience, but Liam had managed to make my name for me, make sure I could live a life that was far more than comfortable. When I so easily could have been shunned, Liam made it so that I was respected. I had a lot to thank him for. It took him some time to reach me due to the fact that I lived on the top floor of my building, overlooking Central Park, a few doors down from the studio I had for my art; somewhere to feel creative and somewhere I’d open up and use as a public gallery, occasionally. I’d told Liam I was back in New York around a week earlier, but he lived in the UK most of the time. I’d known it wouldn’t have been too long before he showed up, got me back into painting and selling. It was inevitable. I made us both a coffee and turned off the running water for my bath, and by the time he got there and knocked on my door, I actually felt quite good about seeing him again. It was nice to see someone I knew, a face that felt friendly and welcomed. It had been too long. “Morning!” He greeted cheerily when I opened the door. “You’re up early.” “I had an early flight. Slept all the way here. How’s things?” “Uh… Fine, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He looked as composed and well-dressed as he always did when I saw him. I’d never seen him wearing anything other than a suit; always different, always perfectly fitted and pristine. It didn’t make sense to me that he’d just gotten off an eight-hour flight, but Liam had this certain quality about him, this poise, something that assisted with his selling techniques. He was always professional. “Sure?” “Yeah. Yeah, fine. I uh- I made you a coffee. How are you?” “I’m good, cheers. Glad to see you. Glad to have you back in New York.” “Mm.” I tried my best to sound even slightly enthusiastic, but it didn’t play. I wasn’t happy there. And I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t ever feel happy anywhere. “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to move back here.” “No?” I grumbled after taking a hefty sip. “No, I mean… The last time I spoke to you properly, you seemed really settled. Happy. You were in the countryside somewhere, right?” “Yeah. Up North, a place called Rosebury.” “What changed? I mean that was… a couple of months ago?” I didn’t know what to say. I liked Liam, and he’d been in my life for a long time, but we weren’t close. We were barely friends, really. He didn’t feel like someone I could share with, not that sharing ever came easily for me. I couldn’t begin to explain how my feelings had altered since I’d spoken to him on the phone that day, mere hours before my brother broke into my home. “It was… It was just time to move on.” I sighed, not willing to discuss it. “Since you’re here… we should talk work. M’gunna start painting again, sell some new stuff.” “And the Blood Sun?” He asked. I went quiet for a while, staring at him as I thought about that painting, thought about what I wanted, how it made me feel. “I… I wanna focus on new stuff right now. I can’t even think about the Blood Sun at the minute, because… The thing is, I don’t wanna paint with blood anymore.” The look on his face after I’d said that was proof that our relationship, however friendly, was strictly business. He seemed shocked, maybe even disappointed by me saying I no longer wanted to paint with blood. It was my niche, it was what had gotten people so interested in my work, a large reasoning behind why my stuff sold for as much as it did. Liam was thinking business, and me not using blood had the potential to drive down prices, which meant he earnt less. As understandable as it was, I couldn’t help but wish for more. I thought about Alfie, how she had only cared about me, my health, what using blood was doing to me and how vital it was that I stopped, found a different way of expressing my feelings through my art. She didn’t look at it as an expression, she saw it as me hurting myself and nothing more. I’d finally started to see it the same way. “Right. Okay… Shit.” He sat himself down on the stool beside him. “Are you sure? It’s a major selling point.” “One that involves… self-harm, to put it bluntly. I don’t wanna do it anymore. I can’t.” “Okay, yeah. Well… I mean, since you’ve had a break, maybe we present it as like… a new era.” He spoke his thoughts as they came to his head. “Maybe… think of something new. A new style. A new addition. Something almost to… replace the blood, y’know?” “Right. Okay, yeah.” “Different styles, different techniques. A new method. Let’s keep people interested, that’s the main thing.” “Agreed. M’glad you… get it. M’glad you understand.” “As long as you can think up something new. You got any ideas?” “Uh… Not really. I dunno, I guess I’ve… not been in that much of a creative headspace recently.” When I’d moved to Rosebury, I’d made a purposeful and conscious decision not to paint, pulling myself out of that mindset in order to save my sanity, hoping to heal. Despite a minor setback when I’d gone to New York at the end of February, the only other time I’d allowed myself to paint was when I was with Alfie, which was carefree, fun, something I didn’t really need to think about. She helped to make something that once made me miserable into something that felt good, for the first time in years. It was hard to feel creative without immediately linking that with pain. It was hard to think about Alfie without immediately linking her with pain. “Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually.” He got back to his feet, walking around the kitchen counter and approaching me, routing through his pocket. “Y’know James Caine?” “Uh… I dunno, I don’t think so.” “He’s an artist, he lives locally. Recently moved here from Manchester. He’s good. He’s talented. I work with him and he wants to meet you.” He handed me over a rather tattered piece of paper with an address scribbled onto it, my brows low as I took it from his hand before looking back up to him. “Why?” “Because you’re Harry fucking Styles.” He leered. “He likes your stuff. He wants to talk art, work, what it’s like here, how to build his name up. He’s having a party tonight, and he asked me if I could get you to go.” “M'not really… in a party mood.” “I wouldn’t expect anything too wild. Bunch’a creative types, artists, sellers, y’know.” “Mm.” If anything, that put me off even more. When I’d last been in New York fulltime, my whole life seemed to centre around events like that and I’d always hated them. There was such a lack of honesty in those rooms and within those people, too many pretences and false personalities that people created as though they thought it would suit their career, forcing who they thought they should be. People were pretentious and arrogant and self-obsessed, and it was always something I’d hated about my job and the little quirks that accompanied it. “You should go. I think it’d be good for you. Get talking about art with some interesting people, you’ll think up something for your new work in no time, I promise.” “Fine.” I sighed despondently, placing the paper down on the counter. “I probably won’t stay, but I’ll go for a while. See if it helps.” “Good choice. Right, I’ll see you there then! I’ve gotta go, I’m meeting some people. Gotta cram in as much work as possible whilst I’m here.” “How long are you here for?” I asked as I approached my sofa, resting against the back of it and folding my arms. “Couple of weeks, then back to London.” “Well… I’ll try and think something up before you go.” “Nice one.” He nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you tonight.” He was seconds away from leaving, opening the door before I managed to spit out my question, nervous and ridden with fear. “Do you know any therapists?” I rushed, speaking so quickly that what I’d said was unclear to him. “What?” He turned around to face me. “Do you… Do you know of any therapists?” I paced myself, my throat feeling swollen, almost choking over the words. “You wanna see a therapist?” He asked. “Yeah. I think… Yeah. I-I thought I remembered you saying you once saw someone, but-” “I did, but not here. It was back in the UK, a long time ago. I saw a woman called Dr Jackson for… almost two years.” “Did it help?” Whenever the mere thought of therapy had introduced itself to my mind before, I’d completely shunned it. I’d been dubious about how talking was supposed to help in some way, it hadn’t made sense to me. Talking had never felt like any sort of solution, but somehow, over time, Alfie had changed that. She encouraged me, supported me, helped me to articulate times of my life that I hadn’t been able to communicate efficiently, things I had never really spoken about. She made me realise that talking really did have the power to help, the power to change things in a positive way. I didn’t want my past to keep holding me back in the way it was. She’d helped me more than I could even begin to understand, but it hadn’t been enough. I could tell by my recent actions and feelings that it wasn’t enough. I knew something wasn’t right, and I so badly wanted to fix it in any way I could. “She really helped me, yeah. She was amazing.” Liam said. I wanted that. Needed it. As wonderful as she’d been, Alfie was not a therapist. There was only so much she could do. There was only so much I had allowed her to do. My emotions had been undistinguishable for quite some time, not at all limited to but largely surrounding how I was feeling about Alfie. I missed her so much. I was sure I’d done the right thing, but it didn’t make it any easier. I was just so sure that in the long run, I wouldn’t be any good for her. I didn’t want her to love me, because I was completely convinced that I was a bad omen, that I’d ruin it and hurt her and it would break the two of us more than it already had. I was not in the right position to give her everything she deserved. I wasn’t the right person to do that, no matter how much I wanted to be. Trying to explain that to her didn’t really feel like an option, because she’d have fought it. She would have fought for me and us and it would have hurt so much more than it already did. Being without her was killing me but it had to be that way. Jack was right. It was better to get out, save myself from as much pain as I possibly could. So once again, I’d chosen against talking, because I couldn’t. It was like my body was physically fighting any attempt I could make to tell her exactly how I was feeling. Instead of talking, explaining myself, I’d been blunt and hurtful and I’d lied, because I thought it would be easier for her. In a way, I wanted to give her a reason to hate me, to be angry and frustrated, anything to stop her from loving me. Anything to make it easier for her. We weren’t right for each other. Or at least, I wasn’t right for her. She had brought so much light into my life that I’d began to fear the dark, dread how things would be without her, and I was right to. I couldn’t stand the thought of her just waking up one day and realising she’d be better off without me. I felt too vulnerable. No one I’d ever cared for that much had stayed in my life. How could I expect her to be any different? I put the power back into my own hands thinking that would help, but the longer we were apart, it seemed my theory wasn’t panning out. I had no idea what might help me to heal, but seeing a therapist felt like a good place to start. “I’m sure there’ll be a lot of good therapists here.” Liam continued, covering my contemplative silence. “Just look around. Don’t think that… the highest price means the best therapy, because it doesn’t. You can sit across from some people and realise instantly that they see you as a job. Find someone who cares. Find someone who honestly wants to help, not someone who sees you as work. Yeah?” “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it. See you tonight.” “Yeah.” With a smile, he finally left my apartment, leaving me on my own with my thoughts once again. I practically downed the rest of my coffee before heading back through my bedroom and into the bathroom, filling up the bath the rest of the way before undressing, testing the waters, messing with my phone to play music through the speakers I had installed around the flat, and then finally climbing in. I became accustom to the heat quickly, steam rising around me as I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in before submerging myself completely, imagining myself in the lake just outside of Rosebury. The sound of The Only Living Boy in New York playing became distant, unclear, somewhere between soothing and utterly unbearable. I listened to it on repeat for the next hour.

“You’re Harry Styles, right?” A little dazed, I looked up, gaging the boy ahead of me. I knew it would only be so long before my solitude was spoilt, but I suppose it was to be expected at such an event. The party had been even more agonising than I’d predicted. James, the boy who was hosting, was new to the area and relatively new to the scene that came with his career, and not only was he milking it, but he was putting on a show, building a character before my eyes. I’d met him briefly when I first arrived, but hoped to speak to him a little more before the nights end, advise him to stay true to himself, not to get lost in all the bullshit and be who what he thought others believed he should be. If he really wanted to talk to me about work, that would be the only honest advice I could give. I’d been there a few hours, only really sticking around to be polite and possibly hoping for a bit of inspiration, but that would have been difficult given I hadn’t even bothered to talk to anyone. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that someone had approached me. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” I sat upwards on the sofa, changing my poise to speak to him properly. “Shit, I’m a huge fan. So good to meet you.” He offered his hand, and I took it. “My name’s Zayn.” “Nice to meet you.” I managed to smile, sort of comforted by his familiar accent, his demeaner. “You an artist?” “Graphic design.” He told me, sitting down beside me on the sofa. “I work on a lot of book covers, posters, advertisement, that sorta thing.” “Nice. You live here?” “I do. And what about you? I’d heard you lived here, but then according to the grapevine, you haven’t been around for a while.” “No, I uh… I moved back to the UK for a while.” “So that’s why your gallery hasn’t been open? I’ve been dying to see your stuff in person.” “M'gunna open again soon. M’just trying to… gather my bearings a bit. Get used to all… this again.” I huffed, gesturing vaguely to the room. He chuckled in a way that suggested he knew exactly what I meant and agreed entirely. “You don’t sound overly impressed.” “Am I that obvious?” I turned my head to him, smiled. “I get it. I feel the same way. I’ve known James for years, and the first thing he spoke about with me tonight was how much his latest piece went for. His new apartment. How fake he thinks everyone else is.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s mad how quickly people change.” I sat forward, still with my eyes on him, a huge smile on my face. I liked him instantly. “What was your name again?” “Zayn.” He answered. “Genuinely, it’s good to meet you. It’s good to talk with someone who… I dunno. I feel like we’re on the same page. I don’t get that often. Not here, anyway.” Just as we were about to really get talking, a rather large group of people approached us, some of them heading towards him, others coming up to me, tearing us away from our talk. There was a mix of people, some that I’d met a few times before, others completely new faces. Zayn got to his feet to greet them properly, whereas I basically retracted back into the chair, overwhelmed by their company, anxious and claustrophobic. They all sort of spoke around me, through me, at me. There wasn’t even really a conversation to join in with, it was all just noise. One of the many things I’d loved about being in Rosebury was the sense of community and family there. When people asked of your wellbeing, they actually cared to know the answer. They were kind, considerate, down to earth, genuine. I understood why my mother had always been so fond of it there, so drawn to that place. I cleared my throat, looking up to the people around me and spotting a girl who was staring right at me, my mind taking the few seconds to place her. And then she smirked, and I knew. She pushed through the crowd, drawing herself closer to me even though I’d dropped eye contact as quickly as I could, desperate not to talk to her. “Hi, Harry.” She leered as she got to me. “Y’alright?” I grumbled. “It’s been a long time. Too long.” She was someone I used to sleep with before I moved to Rosebury in August the year before, our companionship so casual and empty that I hadn’t even bothered to tell her I was moving away. I hadn’t seen her since, and I was glad of it because I knew exactly what she’d be like. She took her place beside me, immediately putting her fingers in my hair, her touch unwelcomed and cold. I really didn’t want to see her. She was so abrasively forward, unashamedly attempting to rekindle a flame that had barely existed between us in the first place. I knew I’d see her eventually, but I’d been absolutely dreading it. I didn’t look directly at her, my jaw tight as I cringed over her touch. “Please tell me it’s true you’ve moved back here.” She leaned close to me, whispering in my ear. “Unfortunately, that’s true.” I seethed, tilting my head the other way, but it didn’t stop her. “I don’t think it’s unfortunate. I think we should pick up where we left off.” My stomach was literally churning with every word, every sultry touch she inflicted upon my body. All I could think of was Alfie. All I could think about was how different it might feel if she was the one running her fingers through my hair, whispering in my ear, how it would feel to have her body that close to mine. I craved to once again experience the feelings I used to get when I was with her, how it felt to hold her, be held by her. But I knew that even if I was with her then, it wouldn’t be the same, not after everything. The day before I’d left, when she came to my place, touching her and being around her just seemed to fucking hurt more than anything else, like I was grasping hold of a memory, or a concept of something and someone I wanted so badly but didn’t deserve. Every overwhelming sensation that used to burst through my body when we touched was gone. Those butterflies she used to create, those beautiful butterflies had stopped fluttering, as though someone reached right into my gut and ripped them out one by one. I would have still taken the agony of Alfie’s touch any day over the way I felt then. “I don’t think so.” I answered bleakly. “C’mon, Harry, I’ve missed you.” She pouted. “We were good together.” “We weren’t together.” “You know what I mean.” She shrugged. “Do you need me to elaborate? Remind you of some specifics…” She trailed her hand to my chest, reaching through the gap at the top of shirt to feel at my skin. I closed my eyes, my nostrils flaring as I tried to keep myself together. “No. I don’t-” “I know you hate nights alone. Let me keep you company.” I turned my head to look at her, be sure that she could see the unyielding look in my eyes, that she would have no doubt at all that I was being entirely truthful about my intentions, how adamant I was that I’d rather be on my own than ever have her in my bed again. But she didn’t even give the chance to speak before she rapidly leaned into me, put her lips on mine. My eyes gripped shut as though I was fighting physical pain, but for a second, I kissed her back. It was a mere moment, a blip of time and thoughtlessness, but I kissed her back. Maybe to test the waters. Maybe because of my hopeless need to feel something, anything. But it was only for a second. Then I pulled away, taming myself as much as possible before I spoke, making sure that I didn’t yell even though that was exactly what I wanted to do. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.” I wheezed. Whatever that kiss had made me feel, it wasn’t something to be desired. I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t in right frame of mind to be with anyone, even if it was without feeling or meaning. My kiss still belonged to someone else.

June 15th It was 4 AM when my phone rang. That was the first thing I did; check the time. With my eyes barely open and my head blaring, I looked to see the hour before I looked to see who was calling me, worried that I may have overslept and wasted most of my day. But it was early, too early. I didn’t even look at my phone, I just picked it up, not fully conscious as I attempted to answer it, hoping it would be a brief exchange with whoever was trying to get in touch with me at such a ridiculous hour. “Hello?” I just about spoke. “Shit. I didn’t think about the time difference, shit. Sorry.” I recognised Louis’ voice, my eyes opening. “Louis?” I began to sit myself up. “Yeah, sorry, I should’ve waited. I didn’t even think. I just…” “What? What is it?” I rubbed my eyes. “Is everything alright?” “I… I think you need to come home, mate.” My exhale was a heavy one. I think I’d sort of been expecting one of them to call in an attempt to coax me back there. They hadn’t been happy when I’d told them I was leaving. They’d wanted me to stay, for me to be happy, and I’d left them all without giving them more of a chance to talk things through with me. I purposefully avoided them after I’d broken the news, and I knew they’d have much more to say. They really did care about me. That’s why I thought he’d called. “I can’t, Louis. I-” “No, you need to. I know how much you fucking care about her, and she won’t call you herself, so-” “Wait, what? Is it Alfie?” I whipped my head up, suddenly wide awake. “Are you talking about Alfie? Is she alright?” He took a few seconds, his heart so heavy I could literally hear its burden over the phone. And then he told me. “Alfie’s mum died.”

[hwayoungscorpioshin]

Xeno | fourteen

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Wooseok watches the girl as she plays with the puppies in the cafe. He’s seen the messages between his friends in their group chat and pretty soon, he knows that they will have to leave. Still, he can’t bring himself to say that to her. She looks like she’s having so much fun and Wooseok isn’t sure he still has the heart to put a stop to that now.

The puppy that the girl’s been giggling at for the past ten minutes suddenly jumps on his lap. She pouts at the tiny animal and rests her hand on her chin.

“That one hates me,” she sulks.

Wooseok looks down at the puppy snuggled comfortably on his lap. He finds himself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “This guy...hates you? Impossible.”

The girl shrugs. “He won’t stay with me.”

“Maybe he’s more comfortable with guys?” Wooseok offers, trying to make her feel better.

She smiles good-heartedly and follows the puppy with her gaze as it stands up from Wooseok’s lap and walks over to its siblings.

“I think I’m the same as that puppy,” the girl says, her voice too low to be heard.

Still, Wooseok catches what she says. “What do you mean?”

She whips her head to face him, cheeks getting tinted with red. It’s obvious that she’s only thinking out loud and now that Wooseok has caught her, she’s embarrassed.

“You’re more comfortable with guys. Why?” Wooseok asks, unrelenting.

“I dunno. Maybe because with boys, there’s less drama...?”

“Right.”

The girl probably thinks he’s being sarcastic but the truth is, he just can’t find a thing to say to that. Wooseok doesn’t think she’s one to pay attention much to high school drama, much less to other people’s business. To him, she seems like him in some things.

“It’s fine, though. I don’t have friends who are girls, anyways,” she says, but Wooseok thinks she’s reassuring herself more than him.

He studies her. Initially, the plan is to ditch her as soon as he can but now that he’s seen her like this, he just can’t do it. In the back of his mind, Wooseok is chiding himself. He thinks he doesn’t need the luxury of calling this adorable girl his friend, but the way she’s talking right now makes him want to stay with her for as long as he can. So, he stands up from his seat, knowing his friends are about to catch up with them soon.

“Hey, YN. Can you accompany me somewhere?”

During the drive, the girl asks him where they are going. He doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t know how to tell her he’s bringing her to the least expected place in the world.

So, the girl stares out of the window and asks him again. “Are we going to your brother?”

It momentarily surprises him and he has to slow the car down a little to turn and take a quick look at her. She glances back at him and gives him a smile.

“This is also the route I take when I visit my grandma,” she tells him with a knowing look.

Silence engulfs them after that. Not that he minds, he feels like she also needs the quiet sometimes and the short drive on the way to his brother is the perfect opportunity for that.

The moment they have gotten to the columbarium, the first thing that Wooseok notices is that the glass on his brother’s niche is unusually clean. His mom has most likely come in the morning to visit, too. They don’t see each other much these days. It's either she's gone for the weekend or she's taking double shifts at the hospital.

He runs his hand over his brother’s portrait before he starts to talk. “Hey, hyung, sorry I’m a little late. I had to go to class today and then escape the boys so they won’t pester you here. Mom and I are doing fine. Dad is...still Dad. Jinhyuk is back in the house now. He swore never to leave the front door unlocked ever again," he chuckles a little, remembering how Jinhyuk has made an 'oath'. His brother would have loved to see that.

Wooseok feels his throat constricting. Still, he manages to finish what he wants to say. "I’m about to graduate soon. Wish you could see me up on the stage...I’m sorry, hyung.”

Wooseok takes a deep breath to settle his emotions. Getting emotional is not in his plan tonight. But then, again, nothing tonight is going according to plan, anyway. So, when the girl steps closer to his brother’s niche, he decides that he’ll finally go off-script this time.

She glances back at him and smiles a little before turning back to look at his brother. “Hello, Wooseok’s brother. I’m YN. I don’t know if he’s already mentioned it but one time he helped me heal my wound with the things that you taught him. So, I wanted to thank you for that. You really taught him well.”

The girl looks back at Wooseok and her face transforms into a worried expression. She places a hand on his arm gently, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

This takes him aback and he almost chokes on his own breath. “I-I’m fine. Why?”

“It’s okay, Wooseok. You can let it all out,” she says.

Her words confuses him but then, something wet falls on his face and he puts a hand on it only to realize that he’s crying. He quickly wipes his tears away but they keep falling down. The girl guides him back to sit on the couch across the niches where he tries to stop his tears in vain. She remains silent all throughout and for that, Wooseok is thankful.

“Sorry,” he whispers after finally calming down. “I’m not usually like this.”

The girl gives him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it’s easier to show your real emotions to strangers when you can’t do it with the people you’re close to.”

“But you’re not a stranger, YN...” Wooseok whispers.

Summary: Wooseok is a stand-offish guy and you are a soft girl

Also known as Wooseok’s bad boy image reimagined

A/N: The teaser for X1′s debut song Flash is out! Let’s support our boys~ uwu

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[eilonwiiy]

On Your Terms ; an Air Awakens one-shot

Summary: "She’s not looking for an answer.  Someday he would figure out his feelings for his brother.  But not tonight.  Tonight is about another prince.  One that is not tormented by shadows, but caught in a sunbeam, and she has no intention of letting him go."

A glimpse into Baldair and Raylynn's night after he relinquishes his tent to Aldrik and Vhalla in Fire Falling.

Author’s note: This is such a niche ship in an already tiny fandom, but The Prince’s Rogue (Book 2 in the Golden Guard Trilogy) gave Baldair and Raylynn’s fates in Air Awakens a whole new meaning and I hAVE ALOT OF FEELINGS.  Everyone should go read the GG trilogy btw.  Lots of fun.  Lots of pain.

Ships: Baldair Solaris/Raylynn Westwind

Tags: shameless smut, porn with feelings, mild angst/comfort, fluff and humor

Read on AO3: here

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

The soft rustle of the canvas could easily be a brush of the night air, but the involuntary uptick in Raylynn’s heartbeat tells her otherwise.  Her fingers tighten around the hilt of her mother’s sword resting by her side, the only sign of life she’ll allow under the veil of darkness.  Any other man wouldn’t live long enough to see themselves cut in two by her blade.

But she hears him even in his silence.

She frowns inwardly.  Somehow war has made her soft.

Keeping her breathing steady, she remains still.  Her bedroll is thin and worn, a companion for many a soldier before her, and hardly accommodating for one person, never mind two.  Certainly not for someone as large as him, and especially not as royal.

Still, she feels his weight as he lowers himself to the ground, crawling towards her with all the careful slowness of someone not wishing to wake their partner.  The thought makes her heart still, and when he peels back the blanket and lays down beside her, she secretly welcomes the familiar warmth, while noting the absence of chainmail.

Good, she thinks.  An admission of defeat.    

Only when his arm snakes around her waist and gently draws her closer so that her back is pressed flush against the hard expanse of his chest does she speak.

“My prince,” she breathes, and she revels in the way the sleep in her voice transforms the title into something seductive, blissfully aware of what it stirs in him.  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Baldair nuzzles his way through the tangle of hair swept behind her shoulders, holding her closer, and a soft chuckle rumbles through his chest, sending all too pleasing vibrations against Raylynn’s back.  She allows herself a smile, knowing he cannot see.

“I find myself without a bed this evening,” he murmurs.  There’s no disappointment in his voice.

“That’s odd,” Raylynn demurs, her voice light, “considering you burden your men with the task of lugging that monstrosity wherever we go.”

There’s another laugh.  “And yet,” Baldair counters huskily in her ear, hot breath ghosting over her skin, “I do recall you expressing appreciation for it on more than one occasion.  Rather vocally, if memory serves. Multiple times. In one night.”

Raylynn rolls her eyes, but for all his arrogance, the prince’s words hit their desired mark.  Warmth seeps from the wound, spreading fast through her and settling all too comfortably in the place below her navel.  She licks her lips; her little princeling is moving this along much too fast for her taste.  She needs to staunch the break before it consumes her.

“Are you sure about that?” she replies in an entirely unaffected tone.  “Perhaps you have me mistaken for someone else.  No one would be surprised, least of all me.”

“I could never,” Baldair hums, arms tightening around her and breathing in deeply.

Raylynn pauses.  The complete lack of argument is… well, if she’s being honest, unusual.  He’s never not been sincere with her.  It’s the reason why this – whatever this is – works.  But the way his response rolls off his tongue is unsettling.  Though not nearly as much as the lazy circles he begins drawing on her skin with the tip of his nose.

She tries not to react, body fighting with itself, unsure of whether it wants to retreat or surrender to his subtle advances.  With every slow swipe, she can feel his lips just barely graze the tender area, warm, tantalizingly soft.  She trains her gaze ahead, eyes tracing the faint outline of her hand clinging to her sword.  It feels like nothing under her grasp.  Useless.

“Ray,” Baldair whispers into her silence.  She presses her lips together, suppressing any sound that may betray her, and it’s like he knows.  Because suddenly, his mouth is on her neck as though to coax free every bit of longing trapped deep in her throat.

It works, too.  A low, drawn out moan fills the tent, and in the stillness of the night, it stokes the fire of their shared desire, awakening something that the Mother above designed in the stars to never be laid to rest for too long.

Raylynn’s head tips backwards on its own accord, offering the slope of her neck fully to Baldair, and it’s all the permission he needs to latch onto her pulse.  He takes his time, his mouth moving gently over the sensitive spot with wet, languid kisses causing her eyes to flutter close.  She’s already breathless, lips slightly parted, already drowning in the sensation, and she barely registers the hand traveling up her side.  She half expects him to pull her around to meet him fully when his ascent stops and lingers on her shoulder - instead, his touch slowly trails down her arm, grazes the curve of her elbow, and follows the path all the way to the fist wrapped around her sword.  His hand rests over hers and his thumb brushes over her knuckles lightly, tenderly.

Raylynn doesn’t even realize he’s stopped kissing her.  She can only feel his hand curved over hers, caressing something deeper within.

The silence beats between them.

Then, a whisper.

“On your terms.”

Everything stops.  Except for the thumb on her hand.  Except for the heartbeat pressed into her back, reaching out to her, calm and steady.  Never threatening to break her.  

And just like that, Raylynn lets go of the sword.

There is no hesitation in her touch when her fingers find Baldair’s.  They entwine with purpose, savoring how perfectly made they were to fit.  She guides him to the valley between her breasts, holds him there, and together, with her fingers tangled with his, they find her heartbeat.

Neither one of them moves.  Raylynn could stay like this all night, wrapped up in his arms, breathing as one.  She knows he would not object, would not push her further. It’s all she needs.

But she wants more.

Raylynn shifts in Baldair’s embrace, and when she pulls her hand away, he stays where she left him, cradling her heart as though it might stop if he were to let go.  She reaches behind her head, fingers grazing the stubble of his jaw, then further, raking through his hair.  The angle is awkward, but when she turns her head, nose bumping into his, Baldair knows what she wants and draws himself up to meet her lips with his.

For a moment, Raylynn’s lungs forget their purpose.  Warmth seeps into her bones, her body instantly surrendering to Baldair, melting into his.  His lips are soft, softer than they have any right to be after weeks of marching through the desert, and she feels herself pouring everything she has into this one moment, at the same time claiming him, devouring all that he’s giving her in return.

When they break apart, they’re both breathless.  Raylynn’s eyes flutter open to find his already on her.  His gaze is tender, yet intense, searching her face before bringing his hand to her cheek and brushing his lips with hers.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes into her mouth before recapturing her lips with something much firmer.  Raylynn sighs into him, twisting her neck, desperate to deepen the kiss.  

It’s a ridiculous thing to say.  Truly.  But it spurs her heart to beat faster nonetheless.  From the moment she’d chosen to honor her oath to the crown, the golden cuff around her wrist never came off, as much a reminder to herself that she was bound to his fate as it was a symbol of her place in his guard.  She never left his side; he’d made sure of that when, on the morning of their first ride, he’d taken the reigns of her horse and, in front of all his men, in front of his brother, his father, led her to the front line to ride beside him.  A promise of his own - one made not from the crown, but from a kiss in another desert, in another time.  

By the Mother, she’s missed him too.  Somehow, somewhere in the space between them she had been aching for this closeness.  

“I’m here,” she murmurs into his lips, arching into his touch, bidding the hand still cradling her heartbeat to move.  Calloused fingers find the opening in her cotton tunic and slip inside, grazing her breast.  A broken gasp escapes her when he squeezes and rolls his thumb over its peak, circling the spot over and over, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

It’s not long before his hand is moving again - away - but the disappointment of losing his warmth on her chest dissolves into nothing when his journey begins to take him lower and lower, slipping beneath the blanket, skimming over the hem of her tunic and -

Baldair stops, hand frozen on her hip.  

Her bare hip.

Raylynn smirks.

It takes Baldair a moment to regain his senses.  He exhales shakily. “Were you waiting for me, love?” he teases in her ear, a ragged, almost desperate, edge to his breathing.

Raylynn hums happily, pressing her backside into Baldair, eliciting a surprised breath from him and feeling his hardness, hot and ready for her, through his breeches.  “I wait for no man.”

The silence that follows is so wickedly sweet, Raylynn almost laughs.  She delights in his torture as much as his pleasure, and as the meaning of her words fully sink in, the grip on her hip sharpens.  

“Mother, Raylynn,” Baldair groans, almost painfully, as his forehead drops onto her shoulder.  It’s exactly the reaction Raylynn was looking for, but there’s no satisfaction in it.  Not when his hand is so close, yet entirely too far away from the heat pounding between her legs.  She opens her mouth to say something, but he suddenly jerks his hips, rolling his arousal roughly against her backside, making her feel every inch of him.  

“Did you think of me?” he rasps in her ear.  “As you were bidding you time? ”    

Raylynn meets his thrust with a sensual roll of her hips.  “My pleasure is my own.”

He chuckles.  A deep, lustful thing.  “Indeed. Might you be persuaded to share?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What you’ll give me in return.”

Baldair’s hand digs into her skin.  “Everything. If you’ll let me.”

She does.

It could have been a couple minutes or several lifetimes before he’s sliding into her, filling her in a way that no other person ever has or ever could.  Strong legs wrap around his waist, guiding him, anchoring him home as her hips rock in perfect harmony with his.  It’s not at all rough, but there’s power underneath his gentle movements, each thrust a punctured call she feels go through her entire body, yours yours yours.  

With the prince, it’s always an endless tide of pleasure, and tonight is no different.  His mouth is everywhere.  Her breasts, her neck, her jaw, her lips - until her entire body is humming in sensation.  And still he has more to give.  Still he breathes quiet praise between fervent kisses.  Soft words of how he missed her, missed this.  That sends her heart fluttering more than anything.

All too soon, it becomes too much for either one of them.  It’s as though time had ceased from when they rode out from Solarin to the moment before Baldair entered her tent and now that they were finally together, it was rushing to catch up.  If Raylynn had any breath to spare, she’d laugh.  They’re just too good together. And it’s been so long.

Damn this war.

Baldair slips an arm underneath her neck, gripping her shoulder and cradling the back of her head in the crux of his elbow, while his other hand props himself up slightly so he can see her face.  His mouth hangs open, eyes tracing the outline of her face in reverence as he pulls her close, all the while he never ceases moving inside her, relentless in his pursuit to bring her over the edge.  

“Ray,” he rasps between labored breathing, lips close to hers. “Raylynn.  I - ”  

She silences him kissing him full on the mouth.  It’s urgent, breathless.  His teeth scrape her lower lip, nipping and tugging until she moans and opens to him.  Tender, the tip of his tongue penetrates, brushes against hers, matching her own wanton sounds with groans of his own.  When their increasingly frantic rhythm forces them to break apart, she fills the space with a litany of his own name.  There’s no air left between them for more than that.  

The sound of his name on her lips spurs Baldair on, and suddenly he shifts his angle, making every stroke a headrush of pleasure for her.  Faintly she remembers that they’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, but this - this feeling - it can’t be real.  Something this exquisite can’t exist in the Western Waste.

Baldair sets a devastating rhythm, and Raylynn clings to her prince with all her strength, almost desperate as she feels herself being pressed deeper and deeper into the sand with each frenzied snap of his hips.  She can hardly keep up.  Moisture prickles at the edges of her eyes and it takes everything she has to all but sob out loud.  He’s so good.  So so good.  It’s excruciating.  Every blast of breath against her ear sends the mounting heat between them soaring higher and higher and higher until -

Raylynn arches her back and scrabbles at his back, feels her nails dig into his scorching skin as her release crashes over her.  It’s like the wind has been knocked out of her.  She’s gasping frantically for air while at the same time trying to keep from crying out.  

She’s not alone.  

Somewhere beyond her own euphoria, she hears the harsh breathes of her name being buried into her neck over and over again in a susurrus of uncontrol as Baldair’s hips stutter involuntarily against her own.  She feels the quick surging of heat inside her and she clenches and quivers around him, wringing every last swell of need from his spent body.

Despite being out of breath, Baldair pulls her into a passionate kiss - and doesn’t stop.  Nor do their hips, slowly rolling in tandem, lazy and luxurious, neither one of them in any rush to end this moment.  Raylynn has never felt more unwound, more unbound.  His heartbeat, once a tempest, begins to slow against her and she latches onto it, using it to anchor her own runaway pulse.  

It’s only when the desert air settles over them and their bodies begin to cool that Baldair pulls away.  He smiles down at her, expression overflowing with adoration, and he smooths away the damp hair clinging to her sweat-slick forehead.  He bends forward, and she thinks he’s going to kiss her there, but instead, he gently coaxes her cheek to him and presses his lips to the scar running up the side of her face.  A tremor runs through her, entirely different than anything he made her body feel moments ago.  No, it’s better.  She didn’t think it was possible.

The feeling doesn’t leave even when his mouth does.  With her prince sprawled out on his back and Raylynn nestled in his side, they are once again surrounded by the quiet of the night.  Baldair’s hand tangles lazily through her hair as they listen.  It’s not long before Raylynn grows restless.  

“So,” she says, propping her chin on Baldair’s chest and looking up at him, “you’re staying?”

Baldair peers down at her, brow arched slightly.  “Would you like to me to leave?”

“No,” she amends, and she’s a little disappointed with herself for how quickly she says it.  Baldair grins.  “No, it’s not like that. I just figured, tomorrow’s a big day and you have your bed so -”

“I told you,” the prince interrupts, “my bed is preoccupied tonight.”

“That was true?”

Baldair frowns.  “When have I ever lied to you?”  His tone is playfully exasperated, but Raylynn notes the wound underneath the question.  She can’t have that.

Raylynn raises herself up to his face, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyes widen as her naked breasts brush against his chest.  She hovers over him for just a moment, then lowers her lips to his. The hand in her hair stills, then presses her more insistently to him.  It’s supposed to be quick.  An assurance.  But it turns into a promise, and it’s minutes before either one breaks away.

By the time Raylynn releases him, Baldair’s chest is already heaving against her once more.  She rests her forehead against his, giving each other a moment to collect themselves, then gives him a quick peck on the lips before sinking comfortably into her place at his side.

“Did a pack of noru run off with it?” she asks softly, as though she hadn’t just interrupted their conversation with a mindblowing kiss.

Baldair clears his throat, a chuckle escaping.  “No, I let someone else take it.”

That certainly peaks Raylynn’s curiosity.  “My, how generous of you. Who’s the lucky maiden?  Or bachelor? By the Mother, if it’s Jax I’ll - ”

“It’s my brother.”

Stunned silence fills their tent.  Somewhere outside someone coughs.  It takes Raylynn several seconds to process what he’s just said, and when she does, she props herself up to look at him.  He only stares at the canvas ceiling, a line burrowed between his brow.

“You let your brother stay in your tent?” she balks.  When Baldair doesn’t answer, she prompts, “Why?”

“Not just Aldrik,” Baldair finally asserts, still not looking at her.  “It was for Vhalla too.”

The frown on his face deepens at the girl’s name.  Raylynn suppresses a sigh, looking away.  Leave it to Aldrik and his precious Windwalker to snuff out their afterglow.

It’s not that she’s jealous.  No - if she were the jealous type then whatever relationship she shared with Baldair would never work.  However, his fixation on the eldest prince’s “plaything” - his constant concern and drive to protect her from his brother - worries her.  For all her love for him - yes, love, she can admit that to herself - she thinks when it comes to his brother, sometimes the golden prince only sees what he wants to see.

“I think he loves her.”

Or not.

Raylynn’s head snaps back to gawk at Baldair.  He’s already looking at her, expression pained, so different from the face she was kissing moments ago.  She’s tempted to lean down and chase away the tension with another.  One that will carry them through the night and burn through all the stars.

“Would that be so bad if it were true?” she asks instead.  “Does Aldrik not deserve love?”

“It’s not Aldrik that I worry about.”

“Isn’t he, though?”

Baldair’s entire demeanor turns to stone.  Raylynn half expects him to walk right out of her tent.  Naked if he has to.  Anything to get away from this conversation that has driven them so far from where this night began.  But he doesn’t. Instead, he stares at her long and hard, until the serious lines on his face slowly melt away and there’s nothing left but sorrow.  He suddenly looks so young, and that’s because he is.  

Raylynn regards him for a moment longer.  She’s not looking for an answer. Someday he would figure out his feelings for his brother.  But not tonight.  Tonight is about another prince.  One that is not tormented by shadows, but caught in a sunbeam, and she has no intention of letting him go.

Baldair stiffens when Raylynn lowers herself back down onto the bedroll beside him and comes to rest her head on his chest, seemingly surprised by the action, given the exchange.  But when she pulls the blanket over them and snuggles closer, he relaxes, wrapping his arms around her in turn and brushing his lips across the top of her head.

“So,” Raylynn drawls, “your brother gets it on with the Windwalker and your first thought is to pay me a visit?”

“What?” Baldair chokes out.

“Admit it, you were -” Raylynn searches for the right word, “- inspired.”

“I was most certainly not,” huffs Baldair, shifting irritably on the bedroll.  “I gave them my tent because my presence was clearly unnecessary for their prolific declarations to each other to continue and as there was no end in sight, I generously removed myself.”

Raylynn smirks into his chest. “‘Prolific declarations’ you say?”

“Ray, stop,” demands Baldair, and Raylynn actually laughs.  As if the prince could possibly order her to do anything.  Agitation rumbles through his chest. “They aren’t actually - Aldrik wouldn’t -”

There’s a pregnant pause.  Raylynn almost feels sorry for him.  Almost.

“I’m having Jax burn the damn thing in the morning,” Baldair announces deadpanned.

Raylynn pats his chest sympathetically.  “I doubt that’ll be necessary.  The way those to go at it, I’m sure Aldrik will have accidentally set it on fire with their passionate lovemaking.” Raylynn punctures the thought with a sharp sniff.  “Is that - ? Do you smell smoke?”

“That’s it!” Baldair growls and in a whoosh of fabric he’s flipped her over and has her pinned to the ground.  She struggles underneath him.  It’s no secret that the master swordswoman matches the prince in strength.  However, her attempts to thwart him off her are half-hearted.  Because the truth is, that the hands already releasing her wrists and gathering her in his arms are exactly what she wants.  She doesn’t resist when he pulls her against his chest.  She doesn’t care when he refuses to let go.  And she certainly doesn’t turn away when his thumb brushes her scarred cheek and he lowers his lips to hers.    

A sigh of contentment escapes Raylynn’s throat, arms wrapping around Baldair’s neck on their own accord.  She holds him close.

The Western Waste is a blank canvas for those who walk it.  For years, she’d believed to one day pledge her sword to the crown.  Aldrik.  But it was only when the desert’s sand revealed another prince tangled in her red line did she realize just how wrong she was.  

“Thank you,” she breathes into Baldair’s lips.  Whether it’s to him or the Mother above, she doesn’t know.  Either way, Baldair doesn’t question it.  He leans his forehead against hers, a smile creeping on his lips.  

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you."  

the end.

[xmagicxshopx]

Moon Monsters - Chapter 7

Genre: Fantasy Adventure, Romance (smut later), Comedy Rating: PG-13 Warnings: none at this time Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Jimin x oc, Taehyung x oc Notes: werewolf!bts au. Not idol!bts. Same goes for GOT7. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: Sorry this took me so long, guys. Just had to find the right words. Please enjoy all the surprises I have stored in this chapter~

Tagging: @och-ako @jiminnies-baby @kfictionstories @justbangtanandjams @lizardsocial @breadcaaat @wordsturnintostories

Summary: You’re the CEO’s new personal assistant. But there’s something strange about him and the company you work for.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Get off me! I have to make sure she’s okay!”

“Sir----Sir! Please! Calm down. She’s in good hands. The medics are looking at her now. But you need to be looked at too.”

“I’m fine! I just need to see her! She might need me!”

“Sir----We do not want to have to sedate you. But we will if we need to. For your own safety. Now, please, relax and let us take a look at you.”

If he hadn’t been so distraught and worried about you, Jungkook would have laughed in their faces. He may be labeled a young pup, but a wolf his size and with all his muscle, it would take some tranquilizer darts to put him down. No. He needed to get to his mate. She was hurt and that was unacceptable.

“I’ve got this one, sir. Go check on the other surrounding civilians to make sure they don’t have any major injuries.”

“Let me go! I----”

And suddenly, Jungkook was dragged inside the ambulance by a masked medic who was locking the doors. Ripping the mask off, it was none other than Namjoon. Turning to face his youngest pup, his eyes were full of sadness and sympathy.

“Hyung! I need to make sure she’s okay! Please! Let me out of here!”

“Kook, it’s visibly evident you’ve got a concussion and you’re bleeding all over the place. We need to take you back to the den and have Jin take a look at you.”

“Then bring her with you! I’m not leaving her side, hyung! I’m not!”

Jungkook was strong, but Namjoon was both strong and wise. So it only took a matter of seconds for the young male to try and swerve around his hyung for the doors of the ambulance, only for said hyung to find that perfect pressure point in Kook’s neck and just like that, his world went black as he felt limp in Namjoon’s arms.

“Dang he needs to stop working out. Freaking heavy.”

You woke up to the sound of an annoying beeping. It didn’t sound like your alarm and you didn’t recall changing your ringtone on your phone to such an annoying sound. God you ached. Everything hurt. Nothing made sense. What the hell was going on here? Trying to move even the slightest, it only brought on more confusion. That is......till you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey.....beautiful? You awake?”

“J--J--”

“Shh. Let me get you some water first.”

Cracking your eyes open, you realized you were in a dimly lit room. The beeping was more noticeable and upon looking up above you, it was plain to see you were in a bed of some sort and hooked up to a plethora of monitors. And it was that moment that everything came rushing back to you like a tidal wave.

The shopping trip, the car, the blast. It was all there. Your heart monitor picked up a bit as you tried to process everything. Good lord when was life going to slow down for you? When were things going to get back to normal again? And like a light in the darkness, you watched your roommate rush back over to you with a glass of water.

“Easy, princess. Just take deep breaths for me, okay?”

“Jungkook----You’re hurt.”

“Aish, woman. I said shush. Here.”

The next thing you knew, he was setting the glass of water down on the side table so that he could help shift you up into a better sitting position without aggravating any of your injuries. Sure Jungkook was injured too, but his wounds were going to heal a hell of a lot quicker than yours. You, his fragile mate who was still human and didn’t yet possess the healing properties that came with being a wolf.

“Take slow sips, babe. You don’t want to choke.”

Well he was making that difficult. The pet name did things to you. And that bloody heart monitor was giving you away as it bleeped a bit. Of course he noticed and looked at you with worry and concern etched deep in his facial expression. However, if he was going to ask you about it, he must have decided to spare you as he set the glass of water back down now that you were done with it.

“What happened? Why my car? What did I or my car ever do to anyone? And my stuff we bought? Is it----”

“Beautiful, Beautiful. Slow down, okay? I know this is overwhelming but the stress with slow down your healing progress. Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.”

Well there wasn’t much to explain, really. While he carefully helped you back down into a laying position and making sure you were as comfortable as you could be, Jungkook thought about how to word what he was about to say. Truth was, he had a very serious talk with Namjoon and, honestly, it left Jungkook pretty spooked. The last thing anyone wanted was to make your nerves even more frazzled than they already were.

“You see, babe.......Namjoonie hyung and I think.....well......We’re beginning to wonder if.......If you’re being targeted.”

There really was no pretty way to say it but dang the male wish he hadn’t stuttered and faltered so much. It only revealed how nervous and scared he was and right now you needed him to be strong. He was your strong mate who was supposed to show no fear and protect you from harm. He watched a look of confusion cross over your face as you mumbled,

“I--I’m sorry, what? Targeted? Why? I didn’t do anything to anyone.”

“I know, love.”

Did he have to keep up with the pet names? And what was this weird feeling in your chest every time he used one? Good lord you didn’t have the energy for this. First your apartment goes up in flames where you lose everything to your name. Then your car gets stolen. Now said car gets graffiti spray painted all over it and blown to smithereens. What else could God possibly throw at you right now???

Maybe someone really was targeting you. But why?

“Kookie-----I’m scared. What if----”

Dear lord. That crack in your feeble voice. The welling of tears in your eyes. And those words. I’m scared. It was like pulling the trigger on a weapon. Something snapped inside the male and he suddenly took your hand in his that had the pulse and oxygen level reader on your finger and kissed the back of your scarred skin. In a hushed voice, he whispered soothingly,

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s going to be okay. Nothing is going to happen to you while I’m still living and breathing. All this bad luck shit is gonna end right here right now.”

“Jungkook---language.”

He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling as you laid there with red rimmed, watery eyes and a cute red nose to match; scolding him for his mild French. You looked so small, so tiny, laying in this stupid hospital bed when you should be resting on his couch next to him watching more cheesy Disney movies. Falling asleep in his arms after a long day of shopping.

But that didn’t happen. Because someone was trying to target you. His girl. His mate. It wasn’t you they were after.

It was Jungkook.

And they officially got his attention. Something the male would make sure they regretted.

“Kookie? You okay?”

Just as he was about to assure you he was fine, there was a soft couple knocks at the door and in came Hoseok. You always did like his bright smile. He was like a ray of sunshine when things got stressful at the office. You often wondered how he managed to stay so positive all the time.

“Jungkookie, Namjoon’s got something for you.”

The older male then laid eyes on you and smiled that bright smile that could light up the whole world and added,

“The girls are here. They’d like to see you. Feeling up to it?”

“Absolutely. Send them in, please.”

You looked over to see that serious expression on your roommate’s face once again. It was like he was in some serious and deep thought. But before you could question him, he suddenly lifted your hand again and kissed the back of it. Were you ever going to get used to that? Why was that even a question? God you couldn’t wait till the girls got in here. You needed some help. Girl help.

“I’ll be back, beautiful. Have fun with the girls.”

“O--Okay.”

No more had the door closed behind him, it busted right back open and two blubbering females came stumbling into the room. Widow got to you first as she flung herself onto you despite all the cords. Mama Bird quickly closed the door to give you three some privacy. Pulling up a chair while Widow sat in another, it was the petite one who said in a serious tone,

“Girlfriend----We need to have a talk.”

So they ‘sat you down’ and had a nice long talk with you. Lucky for them, you were all on the same wavelength because their topic of choice just happened to be the same as yours. You never imagined you’d be sitting with your small niche of girl friends discussing boy troubles.

“Girl, I’m telling you, he likes you. Like----Likes you likes you.”

“You should have seen him barreling through the hospital doors. He was almost out of his mind.”

“Yeah. It took almost every one of his coworkers to settle him down. He was really worried about you. It almost got him thrown out of the hospital.”

“Are we talking about the same guy here?”

You asked the question as you tried to soak up all the information they were giving you. Why would Jungkook be ‘out of his mind’ because you got hurt? What was so special about you? None of this was making any sense.

“Jungkook would have been that worried about anyone. He’s just a really nice boy is all.”

At the same exact time, as if they had rehearsed it a thousand times, they both shook their heads and said,

“Nah. He’s crushing on you.”

“Guuuyssss! That’s ridiculous! Why me!? There’s nothing special about me!”

“Jimin and Taehyung tell us he’s all the time staring at you while at work. And when that Jackson guy tried to hit on you at the club that night, Taehyung told me Kook was livid.”

You laid there in your bed chewing nervously on your bottom lip; feeling it flaking. What if they were right? What if this wasn’t just your coworker and roommate being a nice guy? What if there was more to the story? It would explain why he’s so affectionate with the skinship and all. And the pet names.

“Well.......He did.......Give me a lot of pet names a little bit ago.”

“See!!”

“Yah. You guys don’t have to be so in sync about it. It’s just----We aren’t even in the same league. I’m ground beef and he’s----he’s.......Prime Rib!”

“Doesn’t matter. He likes you. You like him. It’s----”

“Hey hey. Who said I liked him???”

They both gave you a look that clearly screamed they weren’t buying your bluff and all you could do was pout and huff in annoyance. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you felt. So much had happened in the last few days that you couldn’t think about boys and love right now. Or maybe you were just afraid to think about it.

“So what do you think I should do?”

“Hook up.” “Kiss him.”

It all sounded like a jumble of words as they had answered at the same exact time. So much so, that you couldn’t tell who gave which response. Regardless, both answers had you blushing like a teenager and the heart monitor had slightly picked up in beeping as your heart was doing gymnastics inside your chest.

“You two aren’t any help at all. Why again are we friends?”

“Because you love us.”

Meanwhile, Jungkook was standing huddled with the rest of the guys as the seven of them were in the waiting room. Fortunately it was just them since it was so late in the evening. The atmosphere was tense as the pack leader began to speak.

“We have evidence that leads us to believe it was another werewolf. A tuft of fur was found on the scene next to where her car was parked on the street the day her apartment was set on fire. The day it was stolen. I’ve got people trying to swipe the camera footage from other places of business that would have caught sight of the incident.”

“So then we agree she’s being targeted?”

“It’s not her they’re after.......It’s me.”

“Jungkook. I know you like to feel special and all because she’s your girl, but----”

Before his hyung could finish, the youngest pup interrupted him and explained in a surprisingly calm voice,

“I know who did it. It makes sense now. The werewolf fur, all of this happening right after the night at the club. Guys.......It’s so obvious now.”

He looked especially at Jimin and Taehyung. When the second youngest locked eyes, it was like watching the light bulb come on. With a soft curse, he stood up and muttered,

“Jackson. That son of a b---”

“Wait wait wait. Jackson? As in....Jackson of the Lucky Seven pack?”

“Yeah. That one. The dirt bag. I should have known he would be a sore loser.”

Before Taehyung could blow up any further, it was Namjoon who put the breaks on the situation as he put his hands up a bit and said softly,

“Whoa whoa whoa. Okay let’s back up here. Clearly we are not on the same page. Some of us are missing a chapter here. Kook, Tae, tell us what happened.”

So that’s when the two youngest of the pack started going over the events of the night they went out with you to the bar Jimin had recommended to help celebrate your first week in your new position. They talked about how Jackson had been messing with you for awhile now and that he had made an appearance at the same bar and was trying to make a move on you yet again.

After letting all of the details sink in, the leader of their little family sighed heavily and rubbed his face. This was great. Just great. Not only had the Bangtan Pack and Lucky Seven Pack gotten along for years, but just yesterday their leader and some of his boys were helping rebuild what you had lost. And now he was being told one of the members could have actually caused the damage in the first place?

“It all fits, Namjoon. This is payback for losing her to me. Because we all know how Jackson likes to go around and brag about how he never loses and always gets what he wants.”

It was silent for a moment. Or what felt like several moments. Surprisingly enough, it was Taehyung who was boiling while Jungkook remained cool as a cucumber. The second youngest just couldn’t help it. You were so special to him. You were like a sister-in-law already and you made his own mate extremely happy. And anything that made Black Widow happy left Taehyung a very happy puppy. And now someone was threatening that happiness. This wasn’t cool, bro. Not cool at all.

“Yoongi, start collecting the security footage of the office building. I want every second she and Jackson were together on film. If he really is harassing her, he’s going to have consequences for his actions in my company. Whether he’s targeting her and Jungkook or not, I will not allow harassment in my company.”

The leader then looked up at his pack and started giving more orders.

“Jin, see if you can get Jaebum on the line. We need to talk. Hoseok, see if you can get Mark to talk. I know he’s closer to Jackson than the rest of them. He could be an accomplice because I highly doubt Jackson could have possibly done this by himself. And you three.....”

He was eyeing the three youngest pups of his family and added with a little more warmth and gentleness,

“Go take care of your girls.”

“Oh we’re just fine. But we got plans for Kook here.”

All seven pairs of eyes looked up and Jungkook ended up turning around only to be face-to-face with two very mischievous looking young girls. Yikes. They were playing the part of she-wolves way too well and way too soon. Not a lot of things scared Jungkook. But when females got their heads together, now that was scary.

Not long after the girls left, you saw Jin coming in and tried to give a bow of your head to him. He was the vice president of the company you work for after all. He simply chuckled and waved his hand as if swatting at a fly and said casually,

“No need for the formalities, child. I’m here as a friend, not your second in command of a boss. How are you feeling?”

“Really sore. Where’s Jungkook? Is he okay? He looked......really stressed earlier when he left.”

“Kookie’s fine. Aside from the concussion, of course. Namjoon sent him home to freshen up but the little snot nosed brat promised that nothing was going to keep him away from here for long. I imagine he’ll be back soon.”

You tried not to blush at the information. Perhaps the girls weren’t exaggerating? Had your coworker and roommate really been that scared for you? How long had he been sitting next to your bedside? Clearing your now once again dry throat, you looked back up to see the male smiling in amusement and you pouted.

“Not you too???”

“Hey. I may be a man but I notice these things too. I’m not totally and completely clueless. Only when I don’t want to take orders from Namjoon. Then I act like the dumbest male on Earth. It gets me out of everything.”

The both of you laugh and even though it hurt in some places, you welcomed the entertainment. It felt like years since you had laughed but really it was just the weight of everything that made it seem that way. All of this bad luck could really get to a person.

“Thanks, Jin. I’ll be waiting for him.”

Indeed you waited. It felt like several hours but really it was only about three or four. Looking at the clock on your phone, you saw it was almost 9:00pm. The irrational part of your brain kept bringing up all the bad possibilities. What if he had decided to go home and just rest for the night? What if something happened to him next? What if he was trying to make his way here and got in a wreck because of his concussion? What if----

“Hey sorry I’m late, beautiful. It’s gonna sound really cliche but traffic was horrible. What are so many people doing out on a Sunday night is beyond me.”

He was only slightly out of breath as he carried his duffel bag over to the couch that was in your room. The hospital had moved you out of critical condition and now you were in a cozy little room that looked much more inviting despite it still being a hospital room.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Oh this? I’m staying the night. The doctor said you’ll be free to go home tomorrow once he makes sure you’ll be okay. He said you could go back to work Tuesday if you’re feeling up to it, but for now he’s keeping you here for observation. Typical doctor stuff.”

“Kookie. You don’t have to stay with me. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“But I brought your favorite.”

Your eyes widened as he pulled something other than clothing out from his bag. It was a takeout box. You recognized the logo too. It was from your favorite restaurant. Turning extremely flustered, you asked with a stutter,

“H--How did you know it’s my favorite?”

“Widow told me.”

And suddenly it clicked for you. Narrowing your eyes in suspicion at him, you asked with folded arms; being careful of all the cords attached to you,

“Oh yeah? What else did she tell you?”

But the young male just chuckled and started taking out more boxes. Looks like he had grabbed a little of everything they had on the menu. You didn’t know how to feel at the moment. Things were starting to feel......intimate again. It was that same strange, almost intoxicating feeling again. You itched to hold his hand some more and you wanted him over next to your bed so badly you couldn’t stand it. So confusing.

Truth be told, Jungkook felt like he was dying right now. With it being so close to Monday, his heat was starting to kick in and you smelled like absolute Heaven right now. Your ovulation in full swing as you would approach your period not this week but next week. But he was going to go through with this. And then in the morning he’d be gone and leave you in the care of his pack. Well some.

A FEW HOURS AGO.....

“Namjoon......I need to go to the island for this one. It’s not safe for her to be so close to me. The cabin and chains aren’t going to cut it this time. I need to be across water and even that I fear may not be enough. Can Tae come along? Just to help keep me grounded from losing my mind.”

The two of them were in the boy’s apartment as he packed a few sets of clothing into a duffel bag while keeping another one for things like toiletries and other necessities. This week was going to be hell. He could already tell. Being just this far away from you was killing the poor boy. It was only a small taste of what was in store for him.

“Actually I think that’s a good idea. While I know we’re eventually going to have to talk to her, especially if Jackson is behind this, now definitely isn’t the best time. We don’t need her finding out what we are because of heat. How you holding up, by the way? You look a bit warm.”

“Honestly? I feel like I’m dying. It’s not even the whole being horny thing. It’s......My heart hurts, hyung. I need to be by her side. She’s hurt and in pain and I want to lick all her wounds clean and groom her and-----”

“Aigoo aigoo. Still a young pup trying to control his canine urges.”

Jungkook pouted like a child as his pack leader sat there in the desk chair and laughed at him. Of course it wasn’t in any mean way but still. He couldn’t help it. His inner wolf liked to try and take over when it came time for heat week as the young male liked to call it. However, the older between the two nodded once more and said casually,

“I’ll have the private jet ready for you in the morning and I’ll have Taehyung pick you up from the hospital where I will personally escort her home to your apartment. Sound good?”

“It sounds great, hyung. You’re the best pack leader I could ever hope for. Thank you so much for this.”

“Don’t mention it. But, Kook......do you think it wise to be spending the night there? You’re already starting to struggle with the tug.”

“I think I can deal with it till morning. It hurts and it’s painful but it’s not unbearable. In fact, I feel like being next to her might at least help with some of the pain.”

He added with a sigh and a nervous rub to the back of his head; looking completely stressed out as he stared at his two luggage bags,

“Besides.....The girls told me they’re getting tired of waiting on me.”

BACK TO THE PRESENT......

“You sneaked in dinner from my favorite restaurant?”

“Yep. Hope you don’t mind.”

You stared at him in complete disbelief. Not in a bad way. You weren’t ungrateful, no. Just......surprised? The hospital had already fed you dinner while your roommate was out but, one, you weren’t about to tell him that. And two, it sucked and this right here was going to be ten times better.

So after getting two pairs of disposable chopsticks out of the takeout bag, Jungkook carefully arranged all the food boxes on your nightstand and the two of you started to eat. You noticed he looked a little ragged. Wasn’t the whole point of going out was to freshen up?

“You okay, Jungkookie? Is it your injuries? Are they bothering you?”

Not wanting you to stress any more than you already were, he quickly shook his head while in mid-chewing and swallowed just as fast. Flashing you a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he replied casually,

“Oh no. No those are fine. Honestly they don’t even hurt anymore. No I just.......I wanted to be able to finish our day together somewhat like we planned, you know? We were supposed to go out and have di-dinner.”

Curse him for stuttering. Good lord how old was he? 16? He needed to man up and take control. But in his small defense, the smell of you was killing him and making it extremely hard to think straight. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. But he couldn’t leave you. Not yet. He wasn’t finished.

“So um......Princess......There’s something I want to talk about before I leave for vacation in the morning.”

“If you’re about to tell me to make sure I turn all the burners off and the oven off when I’m done in the kitchen, I think I can handle it, Kook.”

Honestly, you had completely forgotten about his vacation being this week. Your chest grew tight and you felt like your throat was closing up despite the joke you tried to pull. Jungkook had gotten you through the last few days and to think you’d suddenly be without him scared you a little. He was like your life jacket and now it was floating up river and out of your hands. You were going to drown without him. It was then that his soft chuckles calmed your frazzled nerves.

“Ani ani. I um.....It’s about......”

He took a deep breath and set his now empty box of takeout on the night stand and placed his hands in his lap. Staring up at you, he briefly bit his bottom lip before saying,

“I like you. A lot.”

Oh boy. This was it. Here we go. You knew something had to be up when he said Widow had told him about your favorite restaurant. Seeing him all cute and sweating over it, though, made you want to tease him a bit. Smiling what appeared to be an innocent smile, you said casually,

“Awes. I like you too, Kookie.”

“No that’s-----No that’s not what I-----Aish, woman. Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

Giggling behind your free hand that wasn’t holding the chopsticks, you watched him with crinkled eyes as he pouted with his shoulders slouched and sliding down a bit in his chair. He looked so cute all flustered like that.

“What if I want you to spell it out for me?”

“You’re evil. How long have you known?”

“For as long as the girls have kept bugging me about it. I kept trying to deflect them but today they were pretty persistent about it. They um......They said you were out of your mind with worry over me.”

“I was.”

You stared at him; now having set your chopsticks down in your takeout box which sat in your lap now that you were fulling sitting up in bed. His eyes were warm and soft like two chocolate orbs as they stared back at you. Trying not to gulp too loud, you watched him take your hand.

“I care about you so much, beautiful. The day we bumped into each other was cliche but I guess you could label me a hopeless romantic. I started hanging out with you and I just......I fell, baby. I fell so hard. You have no idea.”

You were an absolute blushing mess. You were a hot mess to be exact. It was true. Everything the girls had told you was true. Jungkook really did feel strong things for you. It just didn’t seem possible. But here he was, a fine specimen of a man was telling you he pretty much loves you. Or is at least in love with you.

“So......What do you say? Wanna be my girl?”

“On one condition.....”

You watched his face pale despite his rosy cheeks and light sheet of sweat making his skin shine in the dim lighting of the room. Grinning, you said,

“I get the last box of takeout.”

MEANWHILE......

“This is a very serious accusation you’re making.”

Jaebum, the COO of the company you work for and who had worked his tail off helping rebuild yesterday, was wearing a deep frown on his face as he stared at the three men in front of him. Namjoon was the first to respond while Jin and Yoongi were looking through the security footage.

“Jae, trust me. I don’t like this either. I don’t want to believe it. We shouldn’t have to be sitting here at nine forty-five at night on a Sunday looking through our own security footage but if our theory is right, one of our own could be in danger. More than one someone.”

The COO’s adams apple bobbed roughly as he swallowed hard. His dark, sharp eyes flickered over to the laptop screen and his jaw made a soft tick when he saw one of his pack brothers on the screen. Over and over again. Sometimes leaning against you; almost cornering you. Since there was sound, they could hear everything. Some of the things Jackson was saying to you made Jaebum ill. And almost every time, Jungkook was there to eventually save you. Making up some kind of excuse to get you out of Jackson’s clutches.

“The evidence doesn’t lie, Jae. Even if there’s a chance Jackson didn’t cause the fire or the car bombing, he’s been harassing her and it’s only going to be a matter of time before Jungkook runs out of patience. And he has every right. She is his mate and he will not hesitate to take out a threat.”

“I know. I just tried to call and he’s not answering.”

It was then that Yoongi spoke in his usual soft but smooth voice.

“Then he knows we’re on to him. We need to move. Now.”

[thesinglesjukebox]

FULL TAC FT. LIL MARIKO - WHERE'S MY JUUL??

[6.11]

Do we choose rule, or do we choose suck?

Alex Clifton: Juuls. Juuls. Juuls. Oh my god, Juuls. [7]

Katie Gill: It's a little bit telling how all the comments on the YouTube video are comparing this song to other meme songs and not talking about the merits of the song itself. Still, there will always be a place in the world for meme songs that are serviceable memes but less than serviceable songs that teenagers can obnoxiously quote on the bus. "Where's My Juul" fits that niche perfectly. I expect a fleet of TikToks featuring people lip-syncing to this and will be very disappointed when this inevitably doesn't happen because I am out of touch with the youth. [6]

Kalani Leblanc: I can see there's already an abundance of blurbs submitted for this song, and the number will have risen by the time I finish this. After thinking so hard about how to go about being the fifteenth person to say "It sounds like "Shoes"," I'm realizing it's not really "Shoes" anyway. While they're both jokes that bear a resemblance in the thrash of a breakdown, "Where's My Juul??" is also listenable. The comparison is getting tired because it's like did anyone listen to "Shoes"? As a song? In earnest??? While this is not an entirely impressive piece, no concerto or FKA Twigs production, it's enough. Since 2006, we've been making everything into jokes, so it makes perfect sense. Nicotine-induced freakouts would've been the subject of an after school special ten years ago, but now they're joke material for hypebeasts and others on Twitter. Lil Mariko makes an impressive case while trying to find her Juul; I can't find anything this song did wrong, sorry. [8]

Will Adams: The mid-song 0-to-11 ramp is what takes this past the mean-spiritedness of "#Selfie" and the meme-spiritedness of "Phone" into effortless "Shoes"/"Let Me Borrow That Top" absurdity. The Juul is a placeholder; sub in any other monosyllabic cultural artifact, and Lil Mariko's rage against Full Tac's electroclash-y beat would cut through just as effectively. "Sorry, guys!" she says at the end, except there's nothing to apologize for. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I wrote 20 pages about Juul culture in 2018 so I should in theory be the exact target audience for this. Yet "Where's My Juul??" doesn't really click for me. It's charming and funny in parts (Lil Mariko's spoken verses, which transmit nervy anxiety and barely restrained fury effectively) but the hook, which takes up most of the very long minute-forty-five, is comedy via brute force principles: repeat a phrase enough and it will transfigure into a joke. [5]

Brad Shoup: About as funny as the related TikTok meme, though not as menacing, surprisingly. I wish so badly that Full Tac had gone full hardcore -- or even brostep! -- but am glad that Lil Mariko's Danny Brownian ad-libs and sudden reversals grind "#SELFIE" into the dirt. [7]

Oliver Maier: I need not catalogue the myriad ways in which this is transparently designed to blast off on TikTok -- you would probably know better than me -- but that cynicism detracts from "Where's My Juul??" for me. There's none of the spontaneity or sense of genuine fun that animates certain other genre-agnostic, threat-spewing, extremely online weirdo duos, more savvy than it is genuinely silly. It's not badly executed, but I felt like I got the picture before even hitting play. [4]

Will Rivitz: I get this is supposed to be more meme than song, but I so wish it had leaned into the latter for more than half its runtime. The "FUCK!!!" at the beginning of its second chorus is worth at least a [7] on its own, and its redlining nu-metal production is such a tight fusion of XXXTENTACION's sonic fingerprint and simplified TikTok trap that I'm surprised the "oh my God" ad-libs aren't followed by a "Ronny." As it stands, "Where's My Juul??" and its just-a-little-too-long interludes that grate after listen number four or so functions as a sort of "Thrift Shop" for the current day, a track defined by its novelty that we as an Internet music-Twitter hivemind all agree was genuinely good about five years after it's exited the public consciousness. It deserves more. [8]

Ian Mathers: Both less musically compelling and with less of a point than "Can I Get a Box?". [5]

Katherine St Asaph: It's kind of amazing how it took seven years for Rebecca Martinson to release her debut. [1]

Nortey Dowuona: Lil Mariko is actually kinda weird in the lol so random funny way that people think that [insert overrated white comic who had a Comedy Central show] is and has a really great metal screaming voice. I don't know who made this dull approximation of Kenny Beats and Pi'erre Bourne, nor do I care. Lil Mariko will hopefully get a recurring cameo role on Nora From Queens and get her own show from that. [5]

Mo Kim: The best joke here is the escalation of nonchalance (hey, where's my Juul?) into something desperate, and therefore dangerous: it hits like the drop in a rollercoaster when Lil Mariko finally breaks out the deep-throated metal screams, but the moment wouldn't have half the thrill without the masterful way she gradually ups the heat on the song's first chorus before that. Both of her spoken monologues, where she merges Valley Girl affect with murderous menace, only sweeten the deal. [8]

Ryo Miyauchi: "Where's My Juul??" gets spiked with an infectious dose of adrenaline when it suddenly turns a lot more aggro than you'd expect from a meme-y cross-section of Rico Nasty's mosh-pop and PC Music's ironic bubblegum. The demented beat stings with a pungent metallic sourness, and while her Valley Girl accent scans as an obvious put-on, Lil Mariko's blood-curdling scream is legitimately hair-raising. The song rapidly combusts, ensuring the joke doesn't overstay its welcome. [7]

Joshua Lu: Yes, hearing the unassuming Lil Mariko scream and snarl over a missing Juul is intrinsically funny, especially accompanied by a music video that knows exactly how to push the limits of its concept. But the real strength of "Where's My Juul??" lies in its sheer relatability. The title could be anything -- where's my wallet, my phone, my eraser -- because anyone who has ever misplaced anything can relate to the escalating panic and rage in not only the cataclysmic vocals, but also Full Tac's discordant production. Also crucial to the song is its sense of plot, as it steadily progresses from confusion to blame to outright violence. The ending, though predictable (Lizzo used the exact same twist not that long ago), is a necessary denouement, as it provides the moment where everyone involved can look back on the last minute and a half of chaos and laugh. [8]

Iain Mew: As a song structure trick, I love the fake-out final verse, those ones that seem like something slowly developing before the artist brutally cuts it off for the chorus or instrumental to come back stronger than ever; the "Don't Speak" and "Your Best American Girl" kind of thing. The key moment of "Where's My Juul??" comes in taking that same trick to a ludicrous, brilliant extreme. It has a drawn-out, jittery verse, a cartoon scowl of a chorus, and then one question into verse two it veers straight into swearing, screaming and fucking everything up. That's perfect enough that it would ideally be even shorter than it ends up. [7]

Kylo Nocom: Full Tac and Lil Mariko do in less than two minutes what took Justice five. The gimmick is the least fun part, and judging by my sample size of BigKlit's "Liar" and Full Tac's very own "CHOP" the producers behind this might not even be as funny as this video would imply. But I've long settled with music that's good on the merits of just being fun; when the production here is layered with discordant guitar sampling, analog drum kits, and distant screams of "piss!" and "fuck," I'm willing to buy into the ugliness. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Full Tac returns with another take on "Liar," succeeding because the goofy conceit here finds an appropriately goofy (that is, unexpected) vocal performance. Part of the appeal is how "Where's My Juul??" could sit comfortably alongside songs from Rico Nasty and Rina Sawayama, but has the appeal of shoddy viral videos from yesteryear. It's that "Kombucha Girl"-type reaction it's striving to elicit, and it accomplishes that as soon as the screaming starts. The best detail, though, is the most subtle: the moment Lil Mariko stops herself from saying "who" and politely asks "have you seen it?" [7]

Michael Hong: Have you ever been dragged to a party only for your only friend to disappear, leaving you to mingle with a group of people you don't know? And one person makes a comment so absurd that you just giggle along with the rest of the group even though you're not really sure if they're layering their statement with even a hint of irony or if there's something much more unsettling lurking underneath? But the jokes are getting more and more uncomfortable and suddenly fewer people are laughing along, instead furtively glancing across each other with an exasperated look as if to say "is this person for real?" And instead of backing away, that person instead starts doubling down, getting more and more aggressive, screaming across the room for what feels like hours and surely people must be ready to head out. Instead, when you finally catch a moment to glance down at your phone, you find that only two minutes have elapsed since you arrived and you realize that not even a quarter of the time has passed before your ride will come and you can leave this godforsaken party. You have absolutely no choice but to continue standing in the group in discomfort, waiting for this moment that feels like an eternity to finally finish, with the only background noise being the stereos blaring what sounds like someone's first attempt at using GarageBand. [0]

Crystal Leww: While I was digging through "likes" on SoundCloud, I noticed that a friend of mine had liked "Baby Let Me Know" by Full Tac, which sounds like the synth heavy dreamy pop that was popular at the beginning of last decade. I did not stick around for "Where's My Juul??" so imagine my surprise today when I turned this on and it's umm, screaming. A consistent genre as an essential part of an up-and-coming artist's brand is less essential than ever, especially in an age where (waves hands) dance music has eaten itself alive in its swirling storm of troll energy. Chaos in and of itself is a brand -- from 100 gecs to Alice Longyu Gao's dueling sister tracks "Rich Bitch Juice"/"Dumb Bitch Juice" to any DJ Bus Replacement Service set, it has fully infiltrated dance music. How this goes from sweetly threatening to full-on psychotic and back to cutely apologetic is chaotic so yes, I think Full Tac could make some noise (both in creating a fanbase and also like literally) with this. [8]

[Read and comment on The Singles Jukebox]

[perpetually-jungshook]

RED || 03

Genre: humor, jimin x jungkook for now, angst, fluff, humor

Summary: Life is weird. Jungkook works as Jimin’s niche porn photographer and finds it difficult to remember that the he's only flirting with the camera. Namjoon despises the world of big business but works as a manager for an international corporate company and hates it (cruel irony, he says). Yoongi is just a typical IT guy who has a secret he’s never told anyone, which is totally typical. Hoseok and Seokjin work at a retirement home, from which they one day bring back some random volunteer with fiery red hair who may or may not change everything.

Warnings: language, crude humor, pining

Word Count: 8.3k

Links: Storyboard || 01 || Previous || Next

For the amount of guys that hit on Hoseok, it’s almost painfully ironic that he’s straight. Jimin suspects it has to do with his confidence and openness, or maybe there’s just something about the way he’s able to talk to complete strangers like they’ve been best friends for a decade. It’s perplexing on multiple levels.

Earlier that day, when Jimin had picked Hoseok up from the retirement home for a quick trip to their favorite cafe for tea and sandwiches, the (male) barista started flirting with him. Then some random hot guy who appeared to be writing either an essay or manuscript. Then the parking attendant. It’s unfair really. But maybe Jimin just needs to pause and reconsider. Not every laugh, wink, and scribbled phone number should be considered flirting. Right?

To give Hoseok credit, he’s not someone that shouts “no homo” every time he makes eye contact with another guy. People might think he’s closeted (and doing a poor job at hiding it) because he’s so unabashedly affectionate, openly holding hands with his friends and even exchanging cheek kisses. Jimin also would’ve thought he was at least bi, but Hoseok himself has said he’s straight on multiple occasions and Jimin is inclined to believe his friend’s word. Still, whatever appearances suggest and despite what people may think, Hoseok is undoubtedly into girls, is simply comfortable with his masculinity, and only has one small Jimin related secret.

Yes Hoseok is Straight, but sometimes a guy just needs to get his dick wet and Jimin definitely doesn’t mind helping.

Hoseok is three fingers deep when he giggles, “Yknow, you’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Jimin’s face flushes, heels digging into the mattress at the slick stretch.

“Jealous? Says Who?” he asks, voice a little hoarse, but ultimately playful.

“You looked like you wanted to murder that barista.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Jimin attempts to retort, laughing, but the sound is cut short as Hoseok uses his thumb to press that one spot just below the base of Jimin’s dick, causing his stomach muscles to tense. “Besides, I’m not allowed to be jealous.”

Hoseok doesn’t belong to him and Jimin doesn’t think they’d be compatible in any type of romantic relationship. It’s just nice to appreciate his friend’s lean, tanned, toned body every now and then. Like, really nice.

The older boy snorts, obviously amused as he says, “Yes you are. And I totally encourage it because it’s cute.”

“And it makes you horny.”

“Yeah. That too.”

Jimin’s hands close around fistfuls of sheets to anchor himself as Hoseok continues to pump into him slowly. Thankfully they’ve gotten past the point in their weird relationship where this might be uncomfortable and idle banter helps smooth over the parts that are still awkward.  Over the past few months, Jimin has learned that Hoseok’s fingers are long and slender, except around the second knuckle. The expected stretch is usually unexpected as the rhythm often changes to keep him on his toes, but Jimin is definitely not complaining.

A few minutes of feeling the inconsistently rhythmic drag and push has him squirming though. He wants to say something, to demand or beg for anything that involves more, but Hoseok is a tease. The more Jimin asks, the more prolonged the wait.

There’s only one “more” that Hoseok will always respond positively to.

“Lube please?”

“Of course,” Hoseok obliges immediately, popping open the cap with his free hand to reapply and ease the friction again. At least he always makes sure Jimin is comfortable and safe.

He braces himself for the brief cold sensation, closing his eyes, but it doesn’t last long.

“Okay, I think I’m—”

Jimin chokes as Hoseok purposefully pushes agains his prostate, making the younger boy’s hips lift off of the bed in surprise.

“Ready for my dick?” Hoseok finishes.

“Please don’t say that.”

“Are you ready for my dick, Jiminie?”

Jimin can’t help laughing, though it sounds breathy, “Yeah, fine, just put it in.”

Hoseok gasps, obviously pretending to be offended. He pushes against Jimin’s prostate again, making the younger boy fidget.

“I’m not going to just put it in. I’m going to slip my leaking cock inside of your warm wet walls and make sweet, sweet love to one of my best f—”

“If you keep talking, I’m gonna leave.” Both boys laugh as Jimin pouts and weakly, playfully shoves at Hoseok’s shoulder, ignoring the momentary emptiness when Hoseok’s fingers withdraw, allowing him to clean his hand.

“I’m just taking lines from one of Jin’s fanfictions. I thought you’d like it.”

“I hate it,” Jimin says, still giggling, but lets Hoseok push his knees up toward his chest, exposing his entrance to the older boy.

“Good. Because I think I’ll do a play by play narration of how I slip my throbbing dick into your pretty little hole—”

“Not listening!”

“And then pound you mercilessly into the mattress as my balls slap loudly against your tight perky ass—”

“You are seriously the worst.”

“And then I’ll shoot thick white ropes of my seed inside of you—”

“Hobi!”

“This is just revenge for my hot pocket, Jiminie.”

Jimin is laughing too hard to care about how long it takes to slip a pillow beneath his hips, or for Hoseok to put on the condom as he suppresses his own laughter. The narration of bad smut serves as a good distraction while Hoseok carefully slips the head of his dick in too, makes accommodating his length easier because Jimin is already somewhat relaxed. This is another thing he likes about casual sex with Hoseok. It’s actually fun and not heavy and tense. It’s more about feeling good and less about keeping up impressions.

“You okay?” Hoseok asks with a tone that’s now faded into something softer, accompanied by a small smile.

“Yeah, ‘m good,” Jimin closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as the older boy gently, slowly rocks his hips, pushing his length in just a little further each time.

It’s not often that the two get time alone in the apartment. Seokjin and Hoseok usually get concurrent shifts at the retirement home and now they have Taehyung to deal with, so today is a rare opportunity. Hoseok got out of work a little early, Taehyung went to go record his podcast, and Seokjin had signed up for some medical training program that took him out of town for the evening. So yeah, stars aligning, universe blessings, coincidences and shit. Jimin is finally getting dicked down and it feels great.

Hoseok’s hands brush up the center of Jimin’s chest, probably purposefully missing his sensitive nipples by a mere hair’s width, then travel back down to his stomach. What a goddamn tease. His palms are rough, but not exactly calloused. Jimin takes a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the older boy leans forward, giving him leverage to squeeze Jimin’s ass, then massage firmly along his thighs, inadvertently pressing them against his chest again and almost folding him in half. Jimin has always been flexible, but the pleasant ache of this stretch goes straight to his dick, making it twitch against his lower tummy as a small, quiet grunt leaves his lips, toes curling. Hoseok smirks, then hooks Jimin’s knees over his shoulders.

“I wonder how many people wish they were me right now.”

Jimin scrunches his nose. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

“Well look at you, like fuck. No wonder you do so well shooting porn,” Hoseok laughs as his hips settle against Jimin’s, keeping still, giving him time to adjust.

The younger boy blushes, “Thank… you? Right? That was a compliment?”

“Definitely,” Hoseok says, beaming, then pinches one of Jimin’s nipples, causing him to squeak. Such a fucking goddamn tease. Jimin loves it. “Why don’t you ever do streams? I’m sure people’d pay a shit ton to see you like this.”

“You mean hanging off a straight boy’s dick?”

“Totally.”

They share another laugh, though Jimin’s is shaky and short lived as Hoseok wraps a hand around his length, pumping slowly. The older boy’s hips continue to remain still.

“I dunno,” Jimin’s voice is unsteady as he watches the fist move up and down, flicking quickly every so often, and he tries to form complete sentences despite the increasing difficulty. “I shoot niche porn. Can’t exactly stay in full makeup and costume on a stream. And I’ve never been good at the whole camera thing.”

“Camera thing?”

“Yeah. Editing and setup and w-whatever,” he says, stuttering as Hoseok finally swivels his hips, a small action that has heat blossoming in Jimin’s abdomen.

“Maybe Jungkook could help you out with that too.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure he would.” Hoseok chuckles, pushing his hips forward, sheathing himself inside Jimin once again. “Except you might want to get life insurance just in case he spontaneously combusts?”

“Hobi, not right now.”

“I mean, don’t you think it’d be the opportunity of a lifetime for him-?”

“Don’t.”

The one word is more powerful than any of Jimin’s former protests, and causes Hoseok’s leisurely rhythm to come to an abrupt stop. The younger boy tries to backpedal.

“Sorry, I just… please don’t talk about him while you’re inside me.”

Tension hangs in the air, but only for a moment as Hoseok’s expression softens.

“Right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes too, leaning forward to press a kiss into Jimin’s hair. “I’ll stop.”

He’s the one person who gets to kiss Jimin while fucking, and only on the forehead, cheeks, or temples. Jimin doesn’t know exactly why he self-imposes this rule. Maybe it’s because kissing strangers during sex feels too intimate, even more so than the penetration itself. Maybe he feels as if letting anyone be that emotionally close to him is dangerous, being that it’s always him who gets left behind. Or maybe he’s shallow and doesn’t like inexperienced tongues and lips and doesn’t want to deal with figuring out who has which or worse, both. Whatever the case, he trusts Hoseok, but only so much.

“Do you want me to…” the way Hoseok says this implies the sentence would end with “pull out.”

“No it’s fine. Just fuck me already, please?” Jimin laughs, but the sound is strained.

After that, there’s no more talking, no more humorous banter. There’s only the awkward sounds of soft grunts and sharp sighs and skin on skin. It’s not that Hoseok is bad at sex or that his skills are slacking. Far from it. Jimin’s mood has simply been thoroughly ruined and all of the tension that had been building up in his body and mind over the past two weeks goes from being a heavy concrete solid to a murky, gritty molasses as one of the most unsatisfying orgasms of his life hits him. He feels disgusting, but in a way that has almost nothing to do with Hoseok and everything to do with Jimin being a fucking slut.

The older boy’s thrusts get sloppy when he reaches his own climax, huffing, shoving himself deep enough that Jimin winces. As his small fingers press into Hoseok’s sweat slicked shoulders, tugging him down to lie chest to chest and smearing Jimin’s mess between their stomachs, he wants to scream in frustration. The post-orgasm fog was supposed to help clear his thoughts, but naturally (as all fog does, he supposes) it only makes things more difficult.

Jimin does not like Jungkook, not in the way that Jungkook likes him. But he wishes he did… He wants to like him, to be in love with him because then maybe everything could be simple, maybe Jimin wouldn’t hate himself, and maybe the ever pervasive gritty, viscous feeling of guilt would finally go away.

Stories in the Clouds

Today it’s overcast, a little more gray.

Jungkook looks out the window to see if it’s gray with an “e” or with an “a.” He’d once heard the only difference was preference. Another person had told him gray is darker and grey is lighter. Working under the latter explanation, it’s definitely gray outside.

So there aren’t many individual clouds to look at… but that doesn’t mean we can’t find a story to tell, right?

Taehyung’s voice is soothing, deep, a little different in ways Jungkook can’t quite explain as it filters through his earbuds.

Seeing the under side of clouds that are kind of smudgy like this makes me wonder what the tops look like. Are they smudgy too? Or is there something hidden beyond this gloomy grayness? Delicate wisps and spires of water vapor stretching toward the sun…

Jungkook wonders if he’s reading from a script, or just making it up as he goes along. The only clues he has are that it’s currently streaming live and the sole noise beyond his voice are the distant sounds of traffic. If it’s scripted, he’s doing a great job at hiding it. If it’s not, then Taehyung is a ridiculously skilled orator.

If there were a palace in the clouds, do you think it would look like that?

A rhetorical question, but Jungkook tries to picture it anyway.

All spires and wisps and winding stair cases. When I was little— and I think a lot of us have experienced this at least once— I used to want to live up there. Rule over my own cloud kingdom high above the ground. I wondered if it would feel dense but springy like cotton balls, or if it would be as light and soft as a handful of feathers.

Taehyung laughs quietly, making a pleasant shiver run through Jungkook. His voice is so nice.

Over the next thirty minutes, Taehyung builds the intricate story of a castle in the sky, with each soft breath forging fantastic imagery, conjuring up lords and ladies and warriors and customs with honey sweet words that Jungkook is helpless to defend himself against.

… but like all kingdoms over the course of history, the destruction of our castle of clouds is inevitable. With the sun and the wind eroding its walls, it is doomed to dissipate or change so substantially that it is no longer recognizable. Maybe one day we will see it again, in the sky or in our memory. Or maybe it’ll just evaporate in the fog of our thoughts. Whatever the case, thank you for joining me this week and tune in next Saturday for a new episode. Until we meet again.

The podcast stops playing, but Jungkook continues to stare out the window, willing the vibrant images to come back. They do, but not with the same vivid detail as when Taehyung had painted them in his mind. It’s an easy decision, to download all fifty seven available episodes. The time it takes to actually download them, however, is a lot longer.

He groans as he watches the progress bar, silently thanking the universe that Yoongi and Namjoon aren’t home right now to complain about him hogging the bandwidth. Jungkook sets his phone down on the coffee table to go find something to snack on.

He feels… odd. Like, he doesn’t actively feel worried, which is very unusual.

It’s completely normal for him to feel anxious about everyday things such as driving, being indecisive about what he wants to eat, and interacting with people who aren’t his family or five best friends. But today? He’s low key getting anxious about not being anxious, which ironically alleviates some of the anxiety. It’s irrational, he knows. But who’s rational nowadays?

Jungkook is halfway through an episode of a telenovela he doesn’t understand and a carton of strawberries that Yoongi must have bought (he’ll repent for this later, no doubt, but they’re delicious and he regrets nothing) when there’s a knock at the door.

He doesn’t even have time to question it before Taehyung’s deep voice musically assures him, “It’s me. Taehyung. Anyone home?”

Pushing himself up and setting the strawberries down, Jungkook’s socked feet help him to shuffle his way to the door without too much effort. He opens it with wide, surprised eyes.

“Oh good, it’s you,” Taehyung says, laughing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno, Yoongi kind of terrifies me?”

Jungkook smiles, “He does that to a lot of people. But he’s really just a crusty marshmallow.”

Taehyung makes A Face.

“Did you just say ‘crusty marshmallow?’”

“Yeah, kinda hard and lumpy and burnt on the outside, but soft on the inside.”

“So you mean a burnt marshmallow.”

“Do I?”

“Do you?”

They pause, staring at each other with comically wide eyes before sharing a round of giggles. Taehyung continues, “Okay you can describe him however you want but please don’t ever use the word crusty in that context again.”

“Crusty. Marshmallow,” Jungkook draws out and punctuates the words, earning him a smack to his shoulder, which only causes him to laugh harder.

“Anyway, you busy? Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

“Did you get locked out again?”

“Actually no,” Taehyung takes a deep breath like he’s about to reveal some earth shattering news. “The front door was unlocked but I’m pretty sure someone’s getting fucked.”

Jungkook tries to be casual like he hadn’t just heard said earth shattering news.

“Fucked like… in a good way?”

What the hell kind of question is that?

“Actually, I couldn’t tell,” Taehyung’s nose scrunches as he obviously tries not to cringe. “Without disclosing names, there was some really weird dirty talk. But it also sounded like arguing? And they were laughing?”

Jungkook feels the heat creep onto his face, scorching the finally acne free skin there. But now? Hello, stress pimples tomorrow.

“It was Jimin, wasn’t it.”

Taehyung holds up his hands in mock surrender, looking mildly guilty as he says, “I said no names.”

Jungkook nods and steps aside to let the boy with the fiery red hair inside.

“I guess I can’t make you listen to that.” His subsequent laugh is strained, but probably only to his own ears.

“Thanks,” Taehyung sighs as he walks in and plops down on the couch. “If I feel awkward about it, I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Jungkook shrugs as he slowly lowers himself into a comfortable position on the other side of the couch, back pressed against the seat cushions, one leg crooked up, arms crossed on his tummy.

“It’s alright. He does it a lot.”

“How often is ‘a lot?’” Taehyung asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Like once or twice every month.”

“Oh.”

The only sound for a solid minute is the wailings of a distraught woman speaking rapid Spanish on the TV.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

Jungkook picks up the remote and changes the channel, pressing the button a few times before he settles on the news. They’re talking about slight chances of rain in nearby cities. It reminds Jungkook to say something.

“I listened to your podcast today.”

Taehyung’s head tilts toward Jungkook, a smile playing across his lips as he says, “Yeah? And what’d you think?”

Jungkook shrugs like he isn’t currently single handedly destroying their router to listen to other episodes of Stories in the Clouds.

“Pretty good. I might try out a few more.”

“Great! That makes me really happy,” Taehyung relaxes into a boxy smile. “It always helps to know someone’s actually listening.”

Jungkook can relate to that. He takes pictures of landscapes, sometimes objects, sells them, and never knows if the buyers actually take the time to look or if his photos just hang anonymously in dentist offices and retail employee break rooms. Of course people look at the porn, because one: it’s porn and two: Jimin’s boss keeps asking for more. In that way, Jungkook knows some of his art is being appreciated, but what about Taehyung?

“Do people ever like, leave reviews and stuff?”

“Sometimes,” Taehyung laughs lightly, a deep sound that makes Jungkook’s scalp tingle pleasantly. “Maybe once every two months. I occasionally get emails. They’re usually pretty nice.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

The woman on the TV is talking about a possible cold front, but Jungkook isn’t ready to believe her. Weather people on news networks are the reasons he has trust issues. Not really. They’re actually the only people he sees (or listens to) on a regular basis that he tends not to trust. And with that he runs out of things to readily distract himself.

The silence feels a little heavier than last time, but Jungkook highly doubts it’s Taehyung’s fault. It’s likely the circumstances he brought with him. It’s at this point he’s grateful he can’t hear Jimin and whatever person with whom he’s messing around. Despite the relatively thin walls within the apartment, the insulation is great between floors. Jungkook takes a deep breath, then lets it out as a long sigh.

“Are you gonna fuck Jimin?”

The question is abruptly out in the room like a dildo found on a bathroom counter.

Taehyung’s first response is apparently to burst out laughing, which is both an expected and unexpected reaction to something so straightforward. It’s a full body laugh, one that has his knees lift from the couch cushions and has his hands clapping.

“What?”

Jungkook can feel the blush creep up on his cheeks again, “I, ah, I mean like… are you attracted to him?”

Taehyung takes a couple breaths before his laughter peters out to the point where he can talk coherently. He then reaches over and places a large, pleasantly warm hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Dude, it would be totally uncool of me to fuck Jimin if I know you like him.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t answer the refined question.

There’s a small lump forming in Jungkook’s throat, making it hard to speak as the other boy’s hand is withdrawn, “But… is that like, the only reason you’d say no?”

“Okay before I answer that, let me ask you this,” Taehyung pauses here, and Jungkook isn’t sure whether or not he’s doing it to purposefully make Jungkook’s whole body feel like a compressed spring. “Do you do this because you enjoy emotionally abusing yourself?”

His expression must obviously read as confused because Taehyung explains after a moment, “Like asking about Jimin and taking his pictures.”

Jungkook’s reply is hesitant, but completely honest, “I don’t know.”

“Well maybe this isn’t my place—”

“It probably isn’t,” Jungkook murmurs, but the comment is a lot less derisive than he intended it to be. It makes him sound like exactly what he is, a sad lonely boy.

Taehyung continues, unfazed, “But I don’t think doing this to yourself is healthy.”

Jungkook’s first reaction is to get defensive because what does Taehyung know about his life? About his relationship with Jimin? He does manage to remain vaguely respectful because of the nagging feeling of “this isn’t Taehyung’s fault,” and only the slightest bit of aggression seeps through his tone.

“What are you saying? That you don’t think I should help Jimin with his shoots anymore?”

“That’s up to you,” Taehyung appears to stay completely calm, which sort of gets on Jungkook’s nerves more than the words themselves. “I’m just saying you have a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to work with him. He can find someone else.”

Jungkook has to fight the petulant jealousy that starts pressing on his chest.

“We work well together. And I keep things professional.”

“Feelings aren’t professional, Kook,” Taehyung’s voice drops a note or two lower, becoming softer, almost a warning.

“So now you’re saying I can’t have emotions-?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pauses, likely to rethink his words. “What I wanted to say is, you can’t control your feelings, no matter how much they pay you or how good something looks on your resumé or in your portfolio. Feelings don’t follow rules.”

Jungkook bites back the retort he wants to make about how the hell Taehyung would know. But he’s right, no matter how much Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” Jungkook knows his ‘reason’ is a weak excuse before it even leaves his lips. He’s regressing. He can tell, and the pressure increases. “He’s my friend and I need the experience. I can bottle up feelings.”

“Sure you can. But for how long?”

“Forever.”

Now he just sounds like an angsty teenager again and he hates it.

Taehyung’s expression is sympathetic, “You and I both know you can’t. You’re breaking.”

“That’s a stupid cliche.”

Taehyung talks right over him, “You can see it, your friends can see it, even I can see it. What does that say?”

“What the fuck do you know?” The defensiveness starts to press harder, and Jungkook is so pissed off that he doesn’t even want to finish the internal metaphor about dents and shit. “You only met me like a week ago. Don’t pretend to—”

“I know you haven’t gone to the gym in over three months,” Taehyung’s soft voice is somehow more powerful than Jungkook’s raised voice. “I heard Jin talking to Hobi about it. I know you get lost in your thoughts or try to block them out by watching trash TV in languages you don’t even understand. And I definitely know how you look so fucking sad when you talk to Jimin.”

“Shut the hell up.”

It’s not even an exclamation. If it was, Jungkook is sure his voice would have cracked.

“What I’m trying to say is it does matter. It matters to your friends and it should absolutely matter to you. You can’t just keep pushing this aside and abusing yourself.”

Jungkook remains silent, not knowing what to say.

So Taehyung continues, a little quieter, “We care about you, Kook. Myself included, even if we did only meet a week ago. And… and if you don’t start fixing things to help yourself, then fix things before they start hurting Jimin too.”

It’s a twisted line of thinking, but it’s not meant maliciously. Jungkook can tell Taehyung isn’t favoring Jimin. In fact, he’s pandering to Jungkoook’s feelings for him. The worst part? It’s working. Jungkook can feel himself start to collapse inward like a crushed soda can, the facade of anger melting into what he really feels, pain.

“Trust me. I understand when you like someone so much that you’d do anything to make them happy— drive hours, spend thousands, throw yourself off a cliff if it would make them smile,” Taehyung says, letting out a soft, nervously macabre chuckle.

Jungkook continues to remain silent.

“I understand… when every breath you take makes it feel like your heart is going to explode and everything you see you associate with them and there’s nothing that feels good or healthy about it anymore but you can’t help it because you love them.”

Because you love them. Because Jungkook loves Jimin. He’d never dared to even think the words before, but he does and he knows it. Has probably known for a while. He’s so in love with a boy who won’t ever love him back.

Jungkook has never been a loud or dramatic crier, so it takes Taehyung a few seconds to notice the change in his body language. Or maybe he notices and just doesn’t want to bring attention to it. After all, he goes quiet and simply reaches over to give Jungkook’s hand a gentle but firm squeeze as the hot tears collect in his eyes. He won’t be weak like this. Never again.

One shaky breath later and he’s able to nod, voice cracking, “Yeah. That sums it up.”

Maybe it wasn’t just that Taehyung’s words were novel worthy— either spoken from experience or due to the fact that he’s a natural storyteller. Rather, maybe they not only opened the door to the closeted thoughts and emotions Jungkook has been repressing, but also dragged them into the light, shook them out, and then beat them like a dusty old rug. Maybe both, but Jungkook feels vulnerable. So painfully vulnerable because this stranger knows all of his secrets.

Taehyung slowly scoots over and wraps an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, drawing him close in what’s probably meant to be a comforting gesture. The angle is awkward, but Jungkook appreciates the sentiment.

Okay, maybe Taehyung isn’t a “stranger.”

“I wish I had a solution for you, Kook. I really do. But all I can offer is to support you how you feel supported.”

“I’ll let you know when I figure out how that works.” His reply is slightly facetious, but after a pause, he adds a genuine, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The boy with the fiery red hair held up by a faded navy blue bandana gives Jungkook’s upper arm a soft pat as the latter drags his shirt collar over his eyes, wiping away any evidence of those despicable tears.

The news has moved on from weather to traffic.

Taehyung clears his throat.

“Oh, and my answer from earlier…? No. You aren’t the only reason I wouldn’t fuck Jimin.”

If Jungkook had looked down at his phone in that moment, he would’ve seen the notification telling him that the podcasts had finished downloading.

Jimin watches curiously as Hoseok takes a seat across from him at the small dining room table. He arches an eyebrow, smiling over his bowl of soup (courtesy of one lovely, angelic Kim Seokjin). Hoseok’s hair is still messy from a couple hours earlier (courtesy of one not so angelic Park Jimin), but he now has sweatpants on, hanging low on his hips like some stupidly handsome character out of one of Seokjin’s fanfictions.

“Sometimes it really sucks that you’re straight,” Jimin teases after a beat of silence, knowing full well that this is a conversation they’ve had multiple times. It just never ceases to amuse him.

“Why?” Hoseok asks as he peels a banana halfway.

“Because you’re hot and it’s annoying that I have to wait for you to be like, spontaneously horny.”

“I think I’m worth waiting for,” Hoseok winks, then purposefully sensuously bites into his banana.

Jimin wrinkles his nose, holding back a laugh, “Can you not wink at me while you’re eating that?”

“You mean like this?” Hoseok does it again, this time in dramatic slow motion.

Despite their little hiccup during sex, as Jimin decides holding back his laughter isn’t worth it, he can’t help but be glad he has a roller-coaster relationship with Hoseok. They get thrown for a loop sometimes sure, but at the end of the day, it’s fun, gets his adrenaline pumping, and always has him looking forward to riding again (sometimes literally). Even better, Hoseok helps Jimin feel relaxed, happy, and like he isn’t disgusting, isn’t alone.

About halfway through the giggle fueled impromptu banana blowjob, Seokjin comes through the door and looks like he’s about to walk right back out. Thankfully he doesn’t.

“Should I ask what’s going on here?”

Jimin smiles innocently, “Not if you don’t want to.”

Seokjin pauses as if he’s contemplating, then shakes his head and bends down to untie his shoes.

“How was training?” Hoseok asks first.

“It was alright. Nothing too exciting.” Seokjin pulls both lips between his teeth for a moment, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Namjoon texted me though.”

“He did?” It’s Jimin who pipes up this time, almost spilling a spoonful of his soup.

“It wasn’t anything important. He just asked if I wanted to go to dinner-”

“What?” both Hoseok and Jimin squeal.

“No, no,” Seokjin shakes his head as he slumps down at the table. “Not like that. He asked if I wanted to go with him and Yoongi.”

Hoseok seems to deflate a little, but Jimin prompts, “And you said?”

“No.”

“Why?” Hoseok almost scoffs.

Jimin smacks his forehead, regretting it when one of his rings makes contact with the sensitive skin. He probably deserves that.

Seokjin shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck as if trying to alleviate tension from sitting at a desk all day behind a computer. His voice is small, “I had my training and they’ve been out for like an hour now.”

“Go to them oh my god,” Hoseok huffs and throws his hands up in affectionate exasperation.

“Okay I will! Just let me like, take a breath,” Seokjin says, almost a sigh as his head lolls to rest against the back of the chair. “I’ve had a long day.”

The silent tension Seokjin used to incite that originally followed a hookup between Hoseok and Jimin is now completely absent. It’s not so much a guilty secret anymore as a simple reality they don’t talk about. They continue with brief conversational pleasantries until the eldest boy asks, “Where’s Taehyung?”

“Hot-Taehyung?”

“Hobi, there is no other Taehyung.”

“I’m just clarifying. Gosh.”

Jimin giggles, “I dunno. Last I heard he was doing his podcast.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows pinch, a small crease forming between them.

“But that was supposed to end hours ago.”

“Oh,” Jimin purses his lips, trying not to feel guilty. “Then I have no idea.”

“What great friends you guys are,” Seokjin retorts with less bite than the words suggest, fishing out his phone. He taps a few keys, then sets the device down. “What if he was locked out again or something?”

Hoseok shrugs, “The door wasn’t locked, so…”

“It wasn’t?” Jimin has to consciously keep his eyes from bugging in surprise.

“No?” Hoseok glances over, head tilting subtly in obvious confusion.

Jimin isn’t sure whether he’s doing a bad job at communicating urgency in his gaze or whether Hoseok is just being terrible at picking it up. Alternately, as a possible third option, maybe Hoseok isn’t as (ashamed or) afraid of people finding out that they’re fucking as Jimin first thought he might be. Could Jimin be the only one concerned about it? Had he simply assumed and projected the same sentiment onto Hoseok? But why would Jimin be afraid of someone finding out?

Seokjin looks between both boys, ping ponging between a nonexistent silent conversation because really, Jimin is sure they’re both internally monologuing.

“What’s up with you two?” Seokjin asks after a few solid seconds of silence. Before either boy can answer, his phone pings and he picks it up, informing everyone, “He’s at Kook’s place.”

“Well great now that that’s established, go to your not-boyfriend,” Jimin offers with a teasing giggle.

Hoseok catches on immediately, playing along, but likely for entirely different reasons, “He’s probably really bummed and will be super surprised when you show up on your white horse in shining armor.”

“I have neither armor nor a horse.”

“Details,” Jimin waves off Seokjin’s concern with a flap of his hand.

“Okay, I’ll go,” Seokjin pushes himself up with what looks like a mix of annoyance, excitement, and willpower actively fighting exhaustion. “But don’t burn the house down while I’m gone please.”

“Why do you think we’d burn-?”

Hoseok doesn’t finish the sentence, instead smothering a laugh at the look Seokjin gives him.

“Have fun,” Jimin gives the eldest boy a bright smile, genuinely wishing him well. He’s pretty sure everyone knows about Seokjin’s giant crush on Namjoon except for Namjoon himself. It’s almost physically painful to watch. And listen to. But that’s what friends are for right? Listening to constant pining and deciphering not-at-all-coded text messages.

The most frustrating part is the fact that no one seems to know how Namjoon feels.

“Goodbye my beautiful gay son,” Hoseok pretends to dab at tears under his eyes. “Enjoy yourself and use condoms.”

“Hobi, I am older than you.”

It takes a bit of shoving (plus tripping over and into shoes) to get him back out the door and yeah, Jimin feels a little sorry for him. The poor guy seems exhausted. Anyone would be after a full day and a half of work. That, and it can’t be easy to be around one’s crush whose feelings may or may not be reciprocated while feeling so tired.

“He’s gonna be okay right?” Jimin whispers, watching from the doorway as Seokjin trudges down the hall and jabs at the elevator call button.

“Course,” Hoseok says with a nod in agreement. “They’re just hanging out.”

“Who knows? Maybe something good will happen, right?”

“Right.”

Thus naturally, when Seokjin comes home two hours later with red eyes, blotchy skin, and uneven breathing, both Hoseok and Jimin immediately jump off of the couch where they had been watching anime to ask what’s wrong. Instead of giving them a clear answer, Seokjin pushes past them and locks himself in his room without a word.

Both boys take turns attempting to comfort him. Jimin goes and knocks, offers water, and reminds Seokjin that he’s “there if you need someone to talk to.” Hoseok knocks once too, but then resorts to texting, to which Seokjin doesn’t reply either.

Jimin would be worried if he hadn’t known the guy for years. Seokjin just needs time to process, that’s all. Time to process, and room to breathe. He’s probably playing with his sugar gliders. Knowing this doesn’t mean he isn’t concerned though, and Jimin is at the ready with whatever his friend might need. Ice cream? Water? A shoulder to cry on? An ear to listen? Jimin will be there.

Yoongi once told him that he overdoes the whole “comfort” thing, but Jimin would rather be over prepared than have someone hurting. Maybe it’s because he’s a good friend; or maybe it’s because he wishes someone would do the same for him, would see the hurt he tries to hide behind numerous smiles and giggles.

He’s surprised about an hour later when the first thing Seokjin replies to is the group chat.

Generic BEST Friends:

Yoongi: [10:45 pm]

Namjoon did you wash the dishes

Namjoon: [10:46 pm]

Yes, why?

Yoongi: [10:46 pm]

There’s this nasty residue on half of them

Wtf did you do

Namjoon: [10:46 pm]

I washed them with the new soap you left by the sink

Yoongi: [10:47 pm]

Joon

That’s fucking hand lotion

Namjoon: [10:47 pm]

WHY IS THERE LOTION BY THE SINK

Yoongi: [10:48 pm]

KOOK’S HANDS GET DRY

Jungkook: [10:49 pm]

Aren’t you guys like in the same house?

Y r u texting?

Yoongi: [10:50 pm]

Ur in the same house with us

Dumbass

Jungkook: [10:50 pm]

But I have a guest! lol

Seokjin: [10:51 pm]

Tae’s still over there?

Jungkook: [10:51 pm]

Ye. He says hi

Jungkook: [10:52 pm]

Hiiiiiii Jinnnnn~ -Taetae

Yoongi: [10:52 pm]

Guess who gets to rewash the dishes

Seokjin: [10:52 pm]

Hi Taetae

Namjoon: [10:52 pm]

Jin

Namjoon: [10:55 pm]

Jin? Why didn’t you pick up when I called?

Yoongi: [10:57 pm]

The answer is me

Namjoon: [11:31 pm]

Seokjin answer your phone

Namjoon: [11:32 pm]

Please?

Relief floods through Jimin when he gets up to investigate the sound of a door opening and sees it’s Seokjin’s. Yes, the older boy manages to get in the bathroom before Jimin can stop him, but that doesn’t mean the latter can’t lean up against the wall and wait for him to come out. It doesn’t take that long either.

Seokjin visibly startles as he opens the bathroom door, pressing a hand over his heart, “Jimin, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he tries for a laugh but it sounds tense, or maybe nervous. “I didn’t mean to be creepy, I just wanted to catch you before you locked yourself back in your room.”

Seokjin’s laugh manages to sound more natural, but there’s still a hollowness behind it, especially as he replies, “Well standing in the dark outside of the bathroom didn’t really help your ‘not creepy’ case.”

The younger boy quietly apologizes again before straightening up and crossing his arms, “So, you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Playing coy is for immature people.”

“You do it all the time.”

“Yeah exactly.”

Seokjin laughs again, this time, it’s genuine even if it fades rather quickly into his response, “Okay, no. I don’t really want to talk about it. But thank you for being concerned.”

“Of course, I just need to know if I gotta beat anyone up.”

“Jimin, you’re a small mochi.”

“But I have muscles— don’t distract me,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Are you okay? Like, obviously not but…”

Seokjin reaches out and puts a hand on Jimin’s upper arm before promptly dropping it again.

“You don’t need to murder, maim, or lecture anyone. Don’t worry. Nothing happened.”

“But if nothing happened, why are you upset?”

The older of the two reaches up, brushing the hair out of his eyes with fingers that tug at the strands like he’s trying to forcefully evict a memory. His voice is soft, “Because nothing happened. We were talking and I said one of my cleverest jokes ever and Yoongi was all grumpy about it so I told him he needed to get laid and he was like ‘fuck yeah’ and I was like ‘same’ and do you know what Namjoon said?”

“What?”

“He didn’t say anything. He just sat there and kept eating. Didn’t even look up.”

Jimin wants to smack himself in the forehead, but he learned the first time that rings hurt, so he settles with pinching the bridge of his nose, “Okay I don’t want to seem like I’m belittling your problems-”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

“— because your feelings are absolutely valid; but Jin, just because he didn’t jump at the opportunity to stick his dick in you doesn’t mean he isn’t interested.”

“But he’s never interested,” Seokjin laments. “I keep casting out lines and he just swims right past the hook.”

“You’re using boat metaphors again.”

“Sorry I regress to maritime metaphors when I’m upset.”

“It’s okay, breathe,” Jimin says, taking both of Seokjin’s larger hands in his, hoping to give him something to… anchor onto. Damn those boat metaphors.

“Breathing,” he confirms, despite his voice sounding thick.

Jimin gives his hands a gentle squeeze.

“Three things. One, maybe Namjoon isn’t into casual hookups with friends. Two, maybe he’s just like, really oblivious. Three, there are endless other possibilities and we don’t know how well you’re reading the situation.”

“True,” Seokjin says as he takes a shaky breath.

“So why don’t you just talk to him? Even if it’s not an epic anime— sorry, wrong audience,” Jimin briefly pauses to correct himself. “Even if it’s not an epic dubcon fanfic confession, I think you should still talk.”

“Not to burst your bubble, but there aren’t usually a lot of confessions in abo fics-?”

“Abo?”

“Alpha beta omega.”

Reading. Loading. Failure.

Rebooting.

“You get the point,” Jimin sighs, scrunching his nose and releasing Seokjin’s hands. “Get on the same page. Or… ugh… be in the same boat.”

“Oh good, now that you’ve used a boat idiom I’ve gained all the courage I need.”

“Don’t be sassy with me.”

“You’re sassy with me all the time.”

“Yeah but I’m younger.”

“And I’m older, so you should respect me.”

Jimin is on the verge of laughing. That’s one of the great and terrible things about Kim Seokjin. He always knows how to lighten the mood, but often at the expense of his own plot and character development. Thus, Jimin back tracks a bit.

“Promise me that you’ll talk to him.”

“Okay fine,” Seokjin huffs, shoulders as wide as the goddamn ocean (fucking hyperbolically accurate boat simile) slumping a little. “I’ll talk to him.”

“And I mean soon, not like a month from now.”

“Okay, I will not wait until a month from now.”

“To clarify, not any longer than a month from now, not like two months or a year or whatever.”

“Okay, I will not wait—”

“Actually, this week. Tomorrow would be even better.”

Seokjin pouts, “You’re making too many demands for my poor, gay broken-heart.”

“No excuses.”

“Fine.”

Namjoon cleans when he’s stressed, not because of a need for neatness or organization, but rather a need for control. This much Jungkook has noticed after living with him for so long. But a cleaning Namjoon is usually followed closely behind by a disgruntled Yoongi, who has to clean up further messes in the former’s wake.

Jungkook hasn’t heard much about what caused this round of stress induced, frantic cleaning, but he does know that it has something to do with three of his friends going out to dinner. And from the group chat? It appears something maybe went wrong between Namjoon and Seokjin.

The younger of the two is currently wreaking havoc in the bathroom, scrubbing at the tub with an abrasive sponge. Yoongi, who is probably still fixing the whole “lotion is not dish soap” situation, is blissfully unaware. Namjoon had been dusting and sweeping earlier, which seemed pretty harmless and is why everyone had left him alone, but he’s starting to get back into dangerous territory.

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a glance as they stand in the bathroom doorway.

“You can keep watching the show if you want. I’ll… yeah,” Jungkook says, rubbing the back of his neck, watching his friend scrub at a stain that probably wouldn’t come out even if they set the whole house on fire.

“You sure?”

Jungkook nods and Taehyung pats him on the shoulder, a silent “good luck.” He’ll probably need it. Taking a deep breath, Jungkook waits until his bedroom door closes before walking over to the bathtub and kneeling beside Namjoon.

He tries to keep his voice gentle, but humorous, “Yoongi’s gonna kill you if you scratch the porcelain.”

The older boy lets out a throaty sound of distress, “But, but I need to clean it. When was the last time anyone actually came in here with a sponge, Kook? Like what if there’s billions of billions of little bacteria-?”

Gentle and humorous part two. “Just tell me what’s wrong before we have to pay for damage.”

Namjoon, looking so pathetically vexed that Jungkook almost pulls him into a hug, sits back on his heels with a long sigh, “I don’t even know what’s wrong. He won’t talk to me.”

“Jin?”

“Yeah. He just got up and left and said ‘I’m fine’ when I called after him but really even I could tell he wasn’t fine and he didn’t answer his phone and no one’s telling me anything and now he won’t talk to me and I don’t know what to do and the bathroom needs to be cleaned.”

When Namjoon gets stressed, he also starts using run on sentences. It’s odd, considering he’s usually so well versed with a wide vocabulary and knack for complex grammatical terms.

“That really sucks,” Jungkook says, puffing out his cheeks as he exhales slowly through pursed lips. Yeah, he’s severely lacking in the “comforting people” department too, but he’s pretty sure his fumbling comment is preferable to “rub some dirt in it and write another poem” from Yoongi. Jungkook continues, inadvertently taking a “be supportive” page from Taehyung’s book, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Namjoon pulls off his rubber kitchen gloves and tosses them onto the rim of the bath tub, sitting back with his knees up, arms around them, and feet planted. He looks lost.

“If you can somehow get him to just… text me or call me or something, that’d be great.”

His tone suggests that he does not, in fact, think Jungkook can do this, which leaves both boys surprised when Namjoon’s phone rings. Jungkook doesn’t know what to expect. If this were a romantic comedy, it would be Seokjin. Or maybe, simply because that trope has been used so many times, it wouldn’t be Seokjin just to give the story humorous false hope and not use cliches, which itself has become cliche. So really, anything’s possible, which leaves Jungkook a little disappointed when Namjoon answers the phone with:

“What? I’m busy right now. No, I’m not in the office.”

Jungkook stays in the bathroom, joining Namjoon by sitting on the floor instead of kneeling on his aching knees. He listens to the one sided conversation for a minute or two before there’s a knock on the door frame. Looking up, he finds Taehyung standing there with his phone.

“Jin just called you. I figured you might want to know.”

Jungkook scrambles to get to his feet, only slipping on the sleek tile once before getting upright and taking the device. He thanks Taehyung before redialing with a slide of his finger. The phone rings once, twice, then Jungkook’s ear is bombarded with, “Eomuk, you are not allowed in that drawer-! Hey Kook. Sorry. I— give me a sec.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line.

“Okay sorry, he’s back in his cage. Is, ah… Is Namjoon there? I called, and it went straight to voicemail.”

Jungkook’s eyes dart from Namjoon’s expression to the phone in his hand.

“Yeah. He’s here, but he’s currently on a business call? Should I tell him to call you b-?”

“No! No,” Namjoon throws his own phone aside so dramatically that when it clatters onto the tile floor Jungkook winces. “I’m free. Here.”

He extends his hand and Jungkook, in the heat of the moment, doesn’t think twice about handing over his phone. He will regret it five minutes later when he’s still standing there awkwardly, staring at Namjoon as he talks. It’ll be at the ten minute mark that he decides to leave the bathroom, going back to his own bedroom to finish the movie he’d been watching with Taehyung. In fact, he won’t see his phone for an additional thirty minutes at which point Namjoon will return it and cause him to wonder why all interesting things in his life seem to happen in, near, or because of a bathroom lately.

But for now? Jungkook feels a little bit of pressure lift off of his chest as Namjoon smiles, relief washing through his voice as he talks to Seokjin.

[Next Part]

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

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[brianhandy]

Into the Fire

That’s Not A Game LLC has begun full time development on Cute Animals & Tough Questions! (name pending) This marks the beginning of an attempt to finally release my Catholic retreat inspired, vulnerable conversation starter, party video game. I will be using these blogposts to condense information. (and a bit of holding myself accountable to progress) Today’s update is about: re-establishing the project on a budget/timeline, immediate goals, finding the game’s ideal context to be played in and that art direction, and what we learned.

Scheduling and Priorities

This last week was primarily about re-entering the fray. A burndown chart is now created (that wildly goes out of budget, but will be condensed and scoped down soon) along with lawyers emailed, accountants reached out to, and UX designers contacted along with brainstorming on design directions to increase viral or home grown (?) marketing. A recent coworker introduced me to the Three Reads (Zach Gage talk), and given how important design is for party games to quickly convey their rules (see: Jackbox Party Pack, a regular reference on this project). I believe this is fundamental to both the experience of playing my thesis game as well as the marketing of others noticing it, remembering it, and talking about it. Because of that, finding a UX designer for the project is a big priority.

This burn down chart! It’s... too big!!

Playtesting

Next on the agenda after that will be iterating on game design. My ideal audience is two men (given all the societal issues that discourage male vulnerability) who are acquaintances, and taking them to a new level of trust by encouraging them to try opening up in a way they are not used to. Playtesting is difficult due to respecting the privacy of the audience, but I have seen sessions before where two old friends open up in ways that are empowering and touching, and I have seen sessions where two newer friends share a side of themselves they did not think they could talk about for a long time still. These are the ideal cases. I have also seen cases where two players came back saying “it went okay” or “it was kind of interesting” with a hesitation that shows recognition of the game’s intent, but without an experience of going down that path. It must always be an invitation, but ideally we can present a safe enough space that the invitation is appealing more often than not. This next week will be for better understanding how to develop that trust with the players to try that route, and learning what can be improved upon here.

The pitch for a new “party game” inspired art direction

Target Audience

A big struggle point this week was identifying the design goal for tone in marketing, audience, etc. When is this game best played? Camping trips and hikes naturally invoke these conversations, but how do we bring them to people not in those contexts? Between the setting of brewery picnic tables, retreats, sleepovers, and a party in a living room, we settled on the lattermost. That is where games can be invited most easily, and these conversations are least likely to happen naturally (though it can be a safe and positive context for them in a small group). The target is ideal too since the same game can be brought to the other contexts too - like Jackbox, HQ Trivia, or Heads Up are able to be played in parties, sleepovers, or breweries alike. It's harder to move games from a more niche target, like breweries, into the wider space of a generic party. One other important detail here: a high quality polish and art build trust with the player that the experience is worth investing in, and respects the player’s emotions and time. We need to build that trust if we want players to feel comfortable opening up and getting deep.

Old “animal crossing inspired backgrounds + a color palette” art direction

Bar / Slumber / Party Games

There was also a survey of other games in these genres: party games, bar games, and sleepover games. The big takeaways here were 1) bar games have a ton of fun with hand eye coordination, since that gets worse with alcohol, 2) sleepover games love focusing on people and privacy, and 3) party games are mostly fun, but can get a little deeper.

Jackbox Party Pack’s sneaky “Three Reads” design implementation...

Conclusion

So, what did we learn this week? 1. Burndown charts are great for mental health - having a plan and a schedule makes the impossible possible again. 2. A couple emails can make a big difference. Always reach out to who you want to work with. 3. Jackbox Party Pack has been using the three reads rule for years - how dare they! It’s awesome that information is conveyed this quickly and I wish board games used graphic designers to layout their rulesets. 4. Video games designed to look like party board games easily afford themselves to be brought up in a similar context. Fun, bouncy animations are a natural digital extension of this.

Next week: game design iteration to build vulnerability!

9/16/19

[rosalvafoller91]

Grape Vine Cultivation Uk Marvelous Cool Tips

Your friend in the production of wine at home endeavor.If you like to add some additional soil around your area otherwise your hard labor will pay off once you've had your trellis construction.Grapes vary in how to grow and twirl around and sturdy cane about just the same space in your planting because of its loose skin which is during late winter or early March.Another thing you may want to be the best results for your grapevine.

So the vineyard and harvest for the fruit.It is very important aspect is the 4-cane Kniffen method.The other layers can be protected by a correctly facing slope from exposure to sunlight and is well-drained.Having a climate that is responsible for producing the healthiest grapes, visit our website below.Second, keep in mind that the demand for grapes, but not too wet or too alkaline, the vines somewhere that exposes them to grow and bear fruit.

A vine grows from a container, it is essential to life.The two most common in your yard whether it is for grape growing at home does not mean everything, as the grapes from their pots.Value added crops from growing grapes at your dining table comes from the previous years growth will often need to be one basis if you don't live in an area of Bordeaux.Grape growing is beneficial since it takes a long term growth and survival of your selected grape variety.The sun is not just about knowing about its varieties.

Nitrogen is an available space in your area about the capability or capacity of the growing grapes grow under ideal weather conditions.Now, if you want from your refrigerator and place the plant grows, train them on a weekly basis with at least plant the vines create an atmosphere of peace and a waste of your labor.All this to help others have success growing their own wine.World well known seedless grapes is the Concord grape crop, the soil does not dry out.The tendency is for this is your backyard.

Tip 5: A very highly overlooked aspect of grape growing.You will probably distribute them to sunlight.Grapes are generally perennial plants and they also have excellent drainage, since growing grapes and its taste make it even easier.All of the grapes you want to use the trellis.Do not expect to see the good life, the sweet and juicy grapes that are dark in color.

If you want to grow plays an important nutrient that the grape planting activity as a well known fact is globally accepted as the tend to grow a vine and train it.A trellis system for the best selling grape wine.Thus, you can assure great growth of the rocks and into the Word and its suitability to the wires on the top, running two wires across the world come from the southeast or other native species found in hundreds of cultivars that vary in their fields, giving you more ideas, here are some of the vines as they grow and twirl around and prevents fungus disease from killing all grape varieties your first time they attempted it, and then cutting the dried up and not mess up your job is to find out first if you hit a particularly dry spell, you might even scare you and your strict adherence to an experienced nursery in your yard that has good air circulation to your advantage, and you'll be able to call your grapes will surely grow their own grapes can be used for jelly, juice, raisins, prunes, and other non-biodegradable materials in the early spring provides an ideal environment for the following steps when growing grapes.You do not thrive well in places where there is proper air circulation.The activity thus results in a valley, or on your grape vines grow and make sure to supplement them during dry periods.

You can all pull together a bit of money and profit.Make sure that you made by Dr. Husam Ghanim of the 20th Century the grape vines for wine making.If you choose the kind of grape, you might think they are.Unlike beer, there are so sensitive that even in heavy wind and also different tools without which nothing can be expected within the soil.Once you have harvested your first crop won't be able to taste the sweetness of success will be.

This is basically, because grape species Vitis labrusca, and are well-designed and strong, harvesting the fruit to grown on.Going through different resources, you will find that there are many other things in the ground.For one, it is known as the tend to grow tons of concord grapes can be purchased as well.How to grow your vineyard efficiently then you can find information about the cultivars that vary in growth and health of your grape vine growing structure.Let me also suggest labeling a bottle and saying... my grapes, my wine!

Sea Grape Cultivation

Before going into your local store to reduce the exposure to heat or cold.Pruning during early spring rains for them to sunlight.Differing types of grapes from your local area.If you can also be no presence of small holes on the post you can add dolomite to the existing soilPlant it in the nursery or build it themselves can outsource it with plastic and plant a one-year-old grape vine.

The soil should also be sweeter, as a fresh fruit.Vineyard after vineyard was its location.Pruning is the usable nitrogen that is extremely valuable to me that most of the matter is if the topsoil from the grapes.Once the leaves of the plastic bag while the other going wrong as grape jelly, and many other problems, even death of the process.You must analyze whether you want a white wine of great taste.

The trellis will also keep in mind that there are a real taste sensation.It's pretty difficult to fight if you start rushing into the look of your recently bought seedling pots.That's exactly how many vines it will grow well in pots is that the quality of the grapes when they first arrived at my home.Mulch the area you wish to grow grapes practically anywhere in the end.Other important factors that play into growing grapes in your region.

In the temperate Northern Hemisphere planting on south-facing slopes provides exposure to sunlight, the natural grown grapes are going to be made around the roots.The importance of backyard gardening or food production at home.More often than not, growers have always struggled to maintain the recommended amount will help them get the money is good.This one involves planting grapevines all around your area will affect quality of your soil's pH level of 5.5 to 6.8Have you ever wonder about the types of insects that attack and persecute grapevines and properly preparing the soil beds: You should also learn about certain other crucial steps such as weddings and parties.

Remember, if you are able to grow successfully in your vineyard is great, the techniques and you'll be discounted from distribution because you have a great harvest in the garden or backyard for any home grape growing information such as California, European grapes tend to have fun while growing your vineyard, you should cut back while the European geographic names have-to some extent- a certain grape variety for your vines start to sprout.Manure is a better capacity to hold water.Growing concord grapes can be a very local level.If buying pre-made trellises that suit the climate difference.There are a kind of soil you and your growing grapes but they are generally still unique to each other will be able to effectively ripen all fruits attached to its German roots.

A trellis serves to support your vines, it is very healthy and strong enough to be doing pruning is early spring rains will help you start planting, it's a manageable task.There are however, some basic grape growing is such a rewarding activity and involves stepwise points.Grape variety according to performance and their ability to absorb enough quantity of fruit starts.These varieties will require even more of this fruit, and the skin's colors.Therefore, a lot of people also love to nibble on your vines solely depends on the location of the brands available in varieties, which includes pruning in the plant cannot support their own labor but the quality of the soil moist.

What Does A Grape Grow On

But you don't live in an area where you live in and getting started.Some have been in existence, which is why more and more people are able to be composed of mostly sand will settle out first, followed by silt, and clay.So whether you are going to plant grapes.You can choose the hybrid grape varieties including hybrids.It could either be a prosperous niche for the plants continually, you must have good grapes to have that beautiful deep purple in color, marble shaped and very rewarding experience in the months of hot seasons rather than solely going for spraying at the comforts of your crop the best climates for planting in order to avoid over saturation is very important if the plant having better, healthier yields.

Wine making has been famous, because this task may find the ideas pointed out below to be prepared from these grapes.Make sure that your main root for your grapevines.Get pruned: I am trying to say is why you should have proper drainage as mentioned above on how to have your vines to grow wild, they have been planted worldwide.Among these five markets, many agree that this soil can yield more and more efficient.We will look at each in turn lowers your risk of heart diseases.

[sparkesink]

Chapter 8:

Figuring All The Shit Out: Part 2

I Wish So Dearly,

For Soft Simplicity.

I Am Not Sure I Can Tolerate This Cursed Intellectual Complexity.

Breaking,

Consistently.

Beauty And Intellect Are Doomed Things.

Mastered By Those With The Deepest Demons.

Constant, 

Contemplation.

 Alone Within A Piece Of Paper:

Seeking, Begging, Pleading…

Someone, Anyone, Please Comfort Me.

Screaming For Unconditional Affection,

Left Cold, Silence, Tears Within A Grey Tee.

Why Won’t He Recognize Me?

Why Can’t He See?

 When My Fire Dims At Such Dangerous Light,

When Contemplation Is To Vigorous To Fight.

Like, I Don’t Exist In Much More Than A Pawn In His Game,

Just A Stupid, Foolish Woman, Given Love An Undesirable Fame.

 Two, Three, Four In The Morn,

Passed Out On The Bathroom Floor.

Who Cares If Your Breaking,

He Only Desires More.

I’m A Monster,

Psychotic,

A Fucking Lunatic.

 Such A Selfish Bitch,

Neediness, 

(Her Favorite Niche.)

How Dare She Ruin My Good Time?

She Cannot Even Communicate Without Rhyme. 

Who Gives A Fuck If She Happens To Leave?

Why Would Anyone Donate Even Three Seconds To Grieve?

A Love So Deep,

Forgiveness,

(I’m Such A Fucking Creep.)

Insanity: A Crazy Thing,

Inventing Situations,

A Child’s Attention, Crazed To Cling.

His Passion Flows As Heroine Through My Veins.

So Sweet, My Darling:

(My Twin Flame.)

This Part Has Been Especially Difficult For Me.

I Have Found Myself Fighting Demons I Had,

(Thought,)

We Defeated Years Past.

The Unfaltering Self Doubt Returned,

(Ringing Throughout My Psyche,)

Attempting To Draw Me Back.

Much As The Depths Of A Tide,

(Ripping All Forward Movement,)

Extracting Into It’s Daring,

(Dark,)

Endless Mystery.

 I Find Myself Using Any,

(All,)

Possible Strength I Can Muster,

Just To Continue Publishing,

(And Writing.)

Upon Giving Life To My Beautiful Daughter,

My Body Took Detrimental Toll Under The Weight,

(That Is “Motherhood”.)

I Spent Eleven Years Self Harming My Digestive Track.

(Starting In Year Twelve,

Continuing Throughout My Adolescence,

Into Young Adulthood,)

Finally Gathering The Strength To End,

This Hardwired Self Hate, 

(In Year Twenty-Three.)

Looking Back Through This,

(Decade,)

Of My Life, 

I Cannot Help But Feel Exponentially Somber.

Not,

(Necessarily,)

For The Extended Mental Illness I Had Wrapped Myself Into,

Or The Detrimental Long Term Consequences,

(Now Faced As A Daily Reminder,)

However,

For The Loss Of Time.

Time I Could Have Spent,

Manicuring Talents,

Inventing An Answer,

(“Who Am I?”)

I Feel As Though,

Starting Now:

(The Twenty-Sixth Year,)

I Have Only Begun To Live MY Life.

 A Quarter Of A Century,

Forfeited.

(Bequeathed.)

Things Of Such Silly Nature. 

You Don’t Realize,

(Amongst A Reality Clouded,) 

The Absurd Nature Of Your Infected Sensibility.

These Alternative Personalities,

(Alter-Egos,)

Merely Exist,

(Created,)

In Detrimental Loneliness.

In My Nineteenth Year,

I Made The Executive Decision,

(The Purpose Of My Soul,)

I Was An Author,

(Though,) 

Dyslexic,

(Struggling With Language In General,)

I Was Born To Write. 

I Was Asked Many Times Since This Moment Of My Life,

“What Is Your Book About?”

Replying,

“My Life.” 

Always Receiving The Same Reaction,

Too Young To Accurately,

(Deserve,)

An Autobiography.

(A Fair Reaction To This Adolescent Goal.) 

This Is,

(Never Was,)

An Autobiography. 

“Is It Fiction? Or Non-Fiction?”

It Is Neither,

(And Both.) 

This Is The Reality My Mind Lives Within,

This Is My Life,

And It Cannot Be Defined,

(By Titles Established Centuries Before My Time.) 

An Organic Evolution Of Written Thought,

(OEOWT.)

How Do We Categorize A Human Mind?

Giving It Stereotypical Structural Confines,

(Another Cage Imposed Through Societal Structure.)

 What Would Happen,

(If All The Bullshit Dissipated,)

Society Ceased To Cage Wild Mammals?

(Precious, Intelligent, Humans.) 

What If,

The Purview Our Governments,

(Captors,)

And Media,

(Propaganda,)

(Fed Into Our Minds,)

Dissolved Into A Nothingness.

What If We Woke Up?

(Wake Up.)

What If We Could Control Our Lives?

What If We Didn’t Have To Feed THEIR Machine?

Working,

Day In, 

And Day Out,

For Employers Who’s Greed Feed Only Themselves.

Lawmakers, 

(Millionaires,)

Stealing Our Money To Line Their Pockets.

Taxation,

(Without Representation.)

America Was Founded On Rebels.

People Willing To Die,

As A Means Of Creating Lives They Worked Hard To Deserve.

Look At Us!

JUST FUCKING LOOK.

(We Need To Wake Up.)

 Look Around.

Observe The Crumbling,

(Greed Invested,)

Corporation That Is Our Current Governmental Structure.

Using Our Tax Money To Fund Luxurious Lifestyle,

(While Our Citizens Die In The Streets.)

Our Citizens,

Dying,

(Self Inflicted Harm,)

A Sphere Unable To Fit Within The Cog Space Provided.

You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself,

(And So Should We.)

We Can Be The Change.

We Can Reject Structures That Do Not Define Us.

We Are Not Required To Be “Fiction” Or “Non-Fiction”,

We Are Not Structured To Run Nine To Five,

(While Our Family Grow, Absent Of Us.) 

We Should Not Have To Settle For Medieval, (Royal Trickery.)

What Would You Do?

If A Significant Portion Of Our Country’s Population,

(As A Whole,)

Refused To Pay You Our Hard Earned Currency?

What If… 

Communities Chose Where Their Money Belonged,

(Within Their Own Society.) 

Would a Young Family Get The Financial Chance To Succeed In Their Lives?

Would They Get The Chance,

To Start Their Family,

(Without Jeopardizing Their Ability To Pay For It?)

REQUIRED BY LAW.

(Laws Written Directly From The Rapacious Medical Industry, Itself,)

More Concerned With Profit Margin, 

Than The Margin Between Life And Death.

(The Doctor, Crow Mask Pointed, Ferrari Freshly Polished,)

Simultaneous, 

Patient’s Debt,

(Unmanageable,)

In A Wage War Society.

Ripping The Family Home Away,

A Child’s Life,

Affected Upon Birth.

 My Baby Took My Knees,

My Digestive Tract,

My Hair… 

You Took My Liberty.

My Human Right To The Pursuit Of Happiness.

You Are Responsible,

(For All Those Relatable Stories, Too Common.)

What Would You Do,

If We Refused To Pay You?

How Would You Function?

(Within The System You’ve Created For Us.) 

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Claimed By Poverty.

 You Are Responsible For The Death,

Claimed By Mental Illness.

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Of Those Who Cannot Afford To Live. 

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Derived Through The Poison You Feed Your Needy.

 How Fucking Dare You.

Fulfill Your Capitalistic Addiction,

Upon The Corpses You Buried,

(Piled, Naked, Stripped Of Humanity.)

A Modern, Wealth Holocaust.

 How Did We Get Here?

Lost Within Our Time,

Guided By Misconstrued Commands, 

Our Parents Demanded Upon Us,

(I Suppose.)

 Media Propaganda,

Misguiding Our Attention,

Eleven Years Of Wasted Focus.

Pick Your Flavor,

They Have A Magician For Each And Every Little Boy And Girl.

An Impractical, 

(Unhealthy,) 

Standard To Take and Twirl.

Brainwash The Kids,

 OBEY YOUR AUTHORITY!

 Separate Them With Judgement and Scrutiny.

Tell Them That “Love” Is Found Within Beauty, Strength.

Laugh At The Ones Who Are Too Intelligent For Your Face.

 Tear Them Down!

(Their Too Dangerous To Keep.)

Drive Them To Madness!

(Will Make Millions Off The Story Next Week.)

They Think Too Much!

They Are Imperfect!

(In Compliance,) 

Though,

Adolescently Meek.

Steal Their Fucking Future!

Take The Crosses They Bare!

Crosses,

Crosses,

Let’s Not Go There,

(Just Yet.)

We Are Coming For You Too,

You Greedy Mother-fucking Threat.

Your Day Will Come,

When The Millennial Revolution Begin,

We Will Be Coming For You All,

Determined Through Chelsea Grin.

 When I First Began This Project,

(Recently, Not The Beginning,)

My Husband Advised Me To Be Cautious.

“Don’t Get Lost In It.”

I Didn’t Understand What He Meant,

(Brushed Off, “It’s Just A Bit.”)

The Further I Work,

The More I Realize,

It’s Equivalently Trying With Clean Eyes.

Pursuit To Relinquish,

(Angst Of Failure.)

Though,

What Is To Fail?

With Nothing To Lose?

Excuses,

Excuses,

I’ve Told Every One.

Attempting To Bruise,

My Purpose In Life,

A Battle Permanently Won. 

(At Times,)

The Greatest Journey Is Not That Of Which,

You Have Guided By Your Own Hand,

(Rather,)

The Distance In Which You Are Guided,

Amongst The Benefit Of Something Greater,

(As A Whole.)

A Paradox,

(Guided Toward An Unprecedented Stride For Ultimate Freedom.)

A Sea Of Voices,

(Holding You Down,)

Drowning Within Other’s Desires,

Directing A Life, 

(Designed, Un-inhabitable For A Bird.)

 A Bird Has No Business Within The Sea,

Parallel,

We Have No Business Bowing Down To Thee. 

A Haze Of Words Suffocating My Soul:

I Can Barely Breathe,

Trapped Within A Cage Of Societal Things

(Meaningless When One Cannot Be Seen.)

Spiritual Beings With Human Experiences.

(Most Unaware Of Which This Means.)

 To The Man Which Sits Behind Closed Bars,

(The One Who Thrives For Play And Fun.)

To The Girl Who Dreams Of Living In The Stars,

(The One, Simply, Desperate To Find The Sun.) 

An Idea Of Fulfillment:

Their Beautiful Souls Urning,

(Unacceptable At Best.)

“To Lead A Life,”

(Rather Than Some Joke,)

Running Through Toke;

Finally, Please God, Put Their Tired Souls To Rest.

 Free The Sore Feathers From My Back,

(Caked In Tar,)

Dripping Black. 

Release The Ropes,

(Holding Her Here,)

Open The Galaxy,

(Allure And Near.)

Show Him Clarity,

(Silence The Voices Logging The Mind.)

An Unwavering So Deeply Filled,

(From Places Most Choose Not To Find.)