#there's no respite w this guy it's either this or the eyes or the hair or

[akiacia]

what-ifs

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

           “They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

           “Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

           The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

           “I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

           She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

           Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

           “I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

           He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

           “Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

           Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

           You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

           “Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

           “Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

           He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

           You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

           “It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

           That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

           “I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

           “Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

           “I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

           Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

           A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

           “But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

           His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

           The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

           He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

           It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

           A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

           And you woke up.

           The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

           But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

           When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

           And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

           Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

           “How long have you been talking to Dean?”

           He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

           You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

           “For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

           “Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

           Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

           “He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

           He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

           You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

           “It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

           You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

           “I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

           He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

           “The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

           “Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

           “I’m surprised you remembered.”

           Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

           “Can I help?”

           After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

           You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

           Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[hecticcheer]

This is ~2,000 words of fluff, inspired by late-night brain’s inadvertent mashup of this suggestion by boxofsfic with the ending of this story by sickiepop. (If either of you are seeing this post, hi! I love your work, and I hope you don’t mind what a monster I conceived while reading it…!)

The OCs I made up for the occasion are both around 30; the sick one’s a guy, and the other is nonbinary; they’re housemates; they might be in a QPR, but I don’t think they know that yet either.

I mmmmight write the sequel foreshadowed in the last few lines? Not sure yet; depends on whether I still like what I’ve written by tomorrow. But if you’re reading this and you’d dig that, please let me know!

—

Mr. Bartholomew Fox lay on his classroom’s hard, dusty floor, trying to remember how to pronounce respite. It had been a vocab word this week in some of his tenth graders’ books, but grading their worksheets had not required him to say the word aloud. He could remember that it wasn’t phonetic—it did not rhyme with despite, like its spelling suggested it should. But did one say the word as though it were spelled respeet? Reecepite? Resspit? The remembered voice of a friend from the days of his first smartphone reminded him, You have 3G; he fumbled for his phone, hoping the dictionary app would load this time deecepit the classroom’s shoddy cell service. When he lifted his phone, however, a text from Leverton distracted him.

You ok? At a meeting I forgot about or s/t?

Barty (he was Barty to friends, Mr. F among his less-creative students) hadn’t quite felt like himself all day, though he wasn’t sure what more than that to say about it. His joints and muscles ached, sure; his head throbbed for a bit after every movement, yeah; he’d been shaky and dizzy all day, true—but none of that was weird. He guessed these symptoms must be worse than usual, but no one of them seemed enough that way to justify what an unpleasant day he’d had. Or at least, none had done so until his final class ended, when struck the irresistible urge to lie down on the floor instead of heading home. On the floor, with nothing else to think about, they all seemed urgent. He felt so dizzy it made him hot all over, his upper lip prickling with sweat. If he moved in any way, and whenever he opened his eyes, the feeling grew worse. His left shoulder, right wrist, that mysterious place in his lower back, both knees, the muscles in his neck and thighs and forearms and halfway down his right calf—all traded off shouting for his attention. The throb behind his left eye grew sharper now, more electric, like the start of a migraine (but those usually came on earlier in the day). That side of his nose was clogged. Was he getting a cold? Not unlikely, this early in the school year. Or was it just allergy season.

He’d gone about this far in his musings and then apparently quit thinking at all until something (he could no longer remember what) had made him reach for his phone. Now, having read Leverton’s text, he laid the phone down on his chest and closed his eyes, trying to think how to reply. After he’d typed I’m okay, just and then lay still for a bit pondering how to make must’ve fallen asleep sound less dumb, another text arrived from Leverton:

Just send me an emoji or something so I know you’re not dead? You’re probably just at a meeting and I don’t want to bug you, but, starting to worry a little

I’m okay Barty sent back therefore, deleting the comma and the just. They’d both long-since turned off their phones’ “Read at 4:18 PM” feature—it made Leverton anxious, and incensed Barty on principle. Sending a quick reply took priority, therefore, over explaining himself. The little green progress bar hovered for eons about two thirds of its way across the screen, which it would never have dared at home unless he had tried to send multiple photos. Making sure not to touch the phone’s sides directly, even though he knew that made no difference on this non-dinosaur model, he wrote further, No meeting; fell asleep in classroom. Somehow that one went through at once—so quickly that he’d barely had time to close his eyes and set his head back down before it buzzed again.

Oh my god

Are you ok??? That sounds so unlike you

He didn’t know what to say. The first I’m okay hadn’t felt like a lie, since in that case it was clear he meant okay as opposed to dead. But now neither Yes or No seemed like the right answer. The long pause he elected to respond with instead probably treated Leverton worse than either one:

Are you still in your classroom? Stay there, I’ll come get you

I don’t knw [sic] if I’m comfortable w/ the thought of you driving like this.

On its face Barty found this absurd. Students fell asleep in his class nearly every time he turned on the projector, and that seemed a much greater feat than dozing off while lying alone on the floor. Besides, it hadn’t been real sleep—only stage one or two. If someone had asked whether he was awake he could have honestly said Yes, without startling first. Don’t, he began typing back, but once the initial guilt wore off he thought again about Leverton’s words (Stay there, I’ll come get you). The corners of his eyes grew hot when he pictured them setting out on foot to collect him. Leverton was right, after all—Barty never fell asleep during the day. He deleted the message he’d started and sent instead, Okay.

By the time he heard Leverton’s hand on the doorknob Barty had drifted back into early-stage sleep: close enough to the surface to recognize the sound, but far enough under that it surprised him a little. He’d forgot where he was, his thoughts (now vanished) so vivid they’d seemed realer than the floor under his back. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and his sight went dark blue from the corners inward.

“Hi,” he told Leverton as the latter entered—too quietly, as it turned out, for them to hear over the sound of the closing door. They peered around the room, but it took them a few seconds to spot him; he could tell they were looking for a seated person, rather than one on the floor. Barty cleared his throat and this time said, “Hello.”

“Oh my god—did you fall? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m fine,” Barty insisted, shaking his head, and then, smiling inanely, added, “I meant to do this.”

(Meant to do that was a long-standing meme of theirs, an offshoot from Leverton’s comparisons of Barty to a cat. After a cat does something stupid, it recovers its dignity so quickly you’d think it was trying to look like the stupid thing it did was all part of the plan. Thus whenever either of them made a mistake too large to ignore but too small for a real apology, they’d say to the other some variation on, Meant to do that.)

“You just thought the linoleum seemed like a nice change of pace from the nice couch we have at home,” summarized Leverton, and Barty noticed how they used the word nice twice in a row.

He lowered his head back to the floor, feeling too dizzy and neck-sore to waste his strength on trifles. “It’s vinyl; they just replaced it.”

“What?”

“The floor.”

“Ah. Vinyl. Excuse me.” They sat cross-legged down next to Barty, on the aforesaid vinyl.

“I’m alright,” Barty said again.

“Yeah, but that word doesn’t mean a lot coming from you. Excuse my cold hands,” Leverton warned, and placed the back of their hand to Barty’s forehead and each cheek in turn, brushing some hair out of the way first so it wouldn’t get in his eyes. Barty flinched slightly, having gone from unpleasantly hot to unpleasantly cold in the time since he’d first made contact with the floor. “Feels like you’ve got a fever. Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

“You just said your hands are cold, though,” pointed out Barty.

“Well, yeah,” Leverton conceded with a snarl of laughter—“‘cause compared to a face I figured they would be.”

“Thought you meant ‘cause you’d come from outside.”

“No; I wasn’t cold out there.”

This week had brought their town its first cold snap of the season, but in California an early-fall cold snap parses out to more like absence of heat wave. The last few days it had been cool enough to keep the AC off, but it was still t-shirt weather out from ten to ten. Leverton’s tie dye, sweatpants and flip-flops attested to this—as well as to how quickly they must have hurried to meet him. Though they worked from home, Leverton usually put on jeans to meet the public. And that tie-dye t-shirt, Barty knew, had a small hole in one armpit. It pleased him to remark that he could still keep track of details like this; too bad these examples of lucidity were invisible to Leverton.

“You look pretty sick,” said the latter. “How do you feel?”

Come to think of it, the word lucid itself could also mean translucent. That was about how he felt: diaphanous, vague, barely-there. His mother always said with it instead of lucid; though she’d never said so, he’d deduced the antonym of with it must be out of it.

“Not my best,” Barty admitted.

“But you didn’t faint, or hurt yourself, or anything.”

“No. Worried I might, but figured I’d preempt it.”

“Always thinking ahead,” scoffed Leverton, combing their hand through some more of Barty’s hair. “Your hair’s all sweaty; did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“You don’t usually sweat that bad just from feeling faint, I didn’t think.”

“You’re right.”

“So again I say, You look sick.”

“I’m probably getting sick.”

Leverton sighed through pursed lips, making them billow noisily. “Well, shit, pal, this is a terrible place to be sick.”

“Such language,” mumbled Barty, without conviction. He was so unused to letting swears pass without comment in this room that it would have taken more effort to say nothing. But Leverton, rightly, ignored this comment:

“Can you stand? Maybe I could get you some water—would that help?”

“Yes, and yes. On my desk,” Barty said, pointing without looking up.

“Uhhh… ah! I see it.” Leverton stood up and brought back Barty’s bottle of water. They sat again, uncapped it, and, once Barty had sat back up on his elbows, handed it to him and gripped his shoulder, presumably to help him keep his balance. Barty gulped down several mouthfuls, broke off to catch his breath, and shoved the cold-sweaty bottle back into Leverton’s hand, eager to lie back down. “Ah!—no—wrong way!” squawked Leverton. “Are you sure you can stand.”

“Just need a minute. Can you drag the desk chair over? Seems a pleasanter middle ground than.”

“Oh—good point. Sure.” They rolled it over, apologizing for the squeaky wheel. When he had more energy, among his friends Barty would sneer and hiss at such unpleasant sounds; the chair’s squeak hurt his head now too, of course, but somehow at the moment he found it easier to withstand unpleasant phenomena than resist them.

After a minute, he did indeed pull himself up and slither into the chair. (Leverton evidently knew better than to offer a hand to help him up; such offers would hurt his pride, and possibly also his shoulders.) His hands shook as he gripped the arms of the chair to haul himself up into it; his head spun; he was so weak the exertion hurt his chest and all four limbs. When he subsided to catch his breath his head throbbed raucously. He leant it into his hand—whose support Leverton then seconded with their own hand. Their touch chilled him at first, but he lacked the strength (whether of will or body who knew) to scoot away. He hadn’t realized how much the weight of his head had hurt his wrist until Leverton’s help removed that hurt.

“You’re really not feeling well, are you.”

“Seems that way.”

“Thank god I didn’t let you drive yourself home.”

“Too bad for the kids, they’re all gonna catch it,” Barty muttered, regretfully; “as will you, of course. And I won’t do nearly this good a job of looking after you.”

“I don’t mind. You’ll do your best.”

“Will I?”

“You always seem to. From my limited perspective.”

“I don’t have your patience. Or your empathy.”

Leverton scoffed: “Empathy? Yes you do! You feel other people’s feelings just as well as I do—you’re just shyer about it. You’re just emotionally constipated.”

“Perhaps,” granted Barty. He doubted that first half, but could already feel himself smiling at Leverton’s flatteries, and knew if he tried to argue that they would hold the smile against him as an admission. So he gave his doubts no more explicit form than, “Nice of you to say so.”

“Are you ready to try and walk to the car?”

Barty sighed, sort of phlegmily—almost a hiss. “Might as well be.”

[moonah-rose]

Let Me In

Once again, for some reason, I get a sudden burst of creative energy around midnight. I was only thinking, god, if this scene had been in then TTDS would have had to be very different (for the better), so here it is.

Michael tells Eleanor the truth from the start.

SUBJECT WAKING UP IN 05:00

“Oh good!” Eleanor takes a sigh at the green counter flashing on the back of Michael’s office wall; “At least you’ve got a few minutes to read his file and prepare, right?”

Michael hums, still retaining that sheen of sweat on his forehead that she’s noticed since she entered. He hasn’t quite seemed his excited, determined tree of a demon-self since she walked in. He claimed it was just nerves which, fair enough, made sense considering humanity itself was counting on them.

He’d always seemed so confident since she met him on Earth. She can hardly speak for the Michael she had paired up with before, those memories were lost to her, or the brief glimpses of the ‘evil’ (still putting it mildly) manipulator she saw in the flashbacks of her and Chidi together. The only Michael she’s truly known up until now is the one before her now, the one who saved her and has been watching over her and her friends all this time, guiding them, their constant leader and protector...even if Janet ended up doing most of the physical protecting, the thought still counted, very much so.

This Michael...Her Michael...was no demon. He was their guardian angel buddy. And she didn’t believe anyone could be in charge of the experiment that would fix this screwed up afterlife more than him.

“Hey,” she gets his attention again, deciding that he’s going to know this before she leaves; “Whatever your plan is? It's gonna be great! We trust you.” 

His eyes meet hers, a smile full of surprised warmth appearing on his face.

“Your friends will always trust you.” 

No one has earned that trust more than this dude.

She gives Michael a thumbs up and turns to go out the back door so he can get ready to wake this ‘John’ guy up and get his shirt together. She dimly hears Michael muttering to himself.

“You go...I’m going...And I’m gone...”

Eleanor turns in time to see all six feet of her buddy’s skin suit crumble to his knees. 

“Michael?!” 

She moves to catch him as he slumps against his desk, falling on the floor, her hands on his arm. No, no, no, what the fork is wrong?! Is he sick? Did Shawn or another demon poison him?! All sorts of horrors run through her head to the point she forgets what they’re even supposed to be starting in less than a few minutes, her focus entirely on Michael’s wellbeing. 

“I can’t....I can’t do it....” He starts to hyperventilate, looking at her, eyes wide behind those specs; “I can’t do it, it’s too scary...Oh no, oh no, oh no!”

She’s never heard his voice break like this. Fork, he’s always held it together around them, been their firm if quirky champion. Had that all just been an act?

Was the quivering wreck in her arms more like the Michael she befriended in the last reboot?

“Michael, look at me.” she takes his hand, clutching it tight; “I know it’s a lot but you need to get it together. You’ve got this!”

“No, I don’t! I don’t got this, Eleanor!” He starts to whimper, burying his face in his free hand; “I can’t do this, I’m nothing special, I’m just Middle Management!”

“Bullshirt! Dude, listen!” She says, fiercely; “You are better than all of the demons and Judges and angel nerds I’ve come across so far! You actually want to do shirt that matters, you try to get it done where they either give up or don’t care! You got us this far, man, farther than anyone has ever come out of this ridiculous system...You even got me to snap out being a selfish bench drowning in my nihilistic, determinist crab - You are...You’re our hero, Michael, don’t you get that? And you can be a hero for these humans we’re gonna welcome in too, and for every human that ever dies-.”

“You know you’re just adding to the pressure, right?” 

“Right, fork, forget that last bit.” Eleanor retreats, taking a breath; “Look, all I’m saying is, you have nothing to worry about. You can do this, I have faith in you...Me! I never had faith in anyone since I stopped believing in the tooth fairy after I stayed awake to try to mug her.”

Michael laughs with her, and for a small respite, Eleanor hopes she’s managed to crack through the stress and let him calm down. But then he meets her eyes again, his gaze lingering, before he crumbles into tears.

“No, no, no, I can’t...I can’t, it’s too much...Too much to lose...”

Eleanor looks at the timer. Three minutes thirty seconds. Damn, they don’t have long.

“Michael, what do you mean?” She asks, putting on her no nonsense voice; “We’ve always known what’s at stake, bud, this hasn’t phased you before, why now? What changed?”

He hangs his head, bringing his knees in close and hugging himself like a frightened kid.

Eleanor places her palm on the side of his head; “Talk to me! I just told you that your friends will always trust you, remember? That needs to be two-way, buddy. Trust me. Let me in. Can you do that?”

He remains frozen, meek sobs choking out, eyes shut.

“...For me?”

He looks up at her again, a shift in his expression. As if he’s only seen her there for the first time.

“Shawn called.” Barely a whisper.

Eleanor’s jaw clenches, her fingers tightening on Michael’s wrist.

“What...?” The fork?!

“B-before you came in...He called to say that...He wanted to taunt me about you all being tortured when...I-if we lose...” He sniffs, rubbing his nose; “B-but that also...He’s going to torture you by having one of the demons...w-wear a suit of me. So you guys think that I’m the one...I’m the one who...”

His voice breaks apart again as he shatters once more.

Eleanor’s guts twist in rage. How the fork dare that low-rent Satan mess with her buddy like that?! When they’re only a minute away from...?!

She puts her hands to Michael’s face.

“Hey. Hear me, bud.” She’s truly fired up now, “There is no way we are ever going to fall for a trick like that, even if we do lose, which we won’t. We’ll never believe any of those losers are really you. Especially now you’ve told me.”

“That’s it...That’s why I wasn’t going to...” He confesses, cringing with shame; “He said that he’d erase your memories of finding out. And...”

Another look of horror passes over him.

He tries to shuffle away from her.

“Y-you’re never gonna be sure if it’s me or not...Or if they’ve swapped me, you...” He shudders, uncontrollably, fingers clawing at his own face; “How can you ever trust me now knowing what I’ve told you?!”

He recoils as if she’s already voiced her rejection.

“Dude...It’s okay....” she tries to be soft at first, wanting to reach out and brush those tears off his stupid, pretty but stupid face.

He just shakes his head and keeps looking away.

Eleanor darts forward and reaches for his hands again, pulling them close to her. 

“Michael. I didn’t think it was possible to trust you more than I did five minutes ago but, after you just told me this, and seeing what it’s done...I trust you with everything, with every piece of this...hot soul of mine before you, ‘kay?” She tells him before reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek; “I see you. I know it’s you. And as soon as we get a moment, we can tell the others and organise some sort of plan to ease your worries about this, but for now....Just breathe. Go on.”

He obeys her, taking a deep breath in, then out. The anxiety remains etched into the lines on his face. No wonder, that little mental torture of Shawn’s clearly did a number on him at the worst time.

She reaches out to place her palm on his chest.

“Does that help? I see Jason do it all the time.” she asks, frowning.

Michael is able to manage a tiny smile amidst his distress, looking down at her fingers over the space where his heart should be (but isn’t).

“...It’s helping.” 

Eleanor shuffles forward on the floor and tugs him into her arms, wrapping him up in the tightest of hugs. She wishes, for a moment, she had the power to snap her fingers and take this message from Shawn out of Michael’s memories. Or just beat the shirt outta the guy. Or both.

No one messes with her demon.

“I know you, man. Even without my memories...I feel like I’ve always known you. I ain’t ever letting any stupid demon make me forget you again, or the real you.” She leans in and plants a lingering, sweet kiss on his cheek, leaning back a bit to look into his eyes; “We’re gonna win this. I’m sure we will...And none too soon, we’re gonna be celebrating that victory over Shawn by burning all those fake Michael suits and getting drunk off our ashes.”

He sniffs, raising his hand to stroke her hair, tears soaking his cheeks.

“Eleanor, I...It was so hard to have you guys forget me again but...Not having you trust me, or think I’d ever hurt you again, I...I can’t cope with it...!”

“Then don’t! Don’t let him get to you!” She urges, turning to the wall.

00:30 REMAINING

It’s not enough time. Not for Michael to suddenly clean himself up and be as normal as an only somewhat fake angelic Architect can be. He’s too shaken up. She can give him all the comfort in the cosmos but it won’t restore his courage in time.

Well. Eleanor steels herself. She’ll have to have enough courage for the both of them.

“I’ll do it.” She tells him; “I’ll tell John that I’m the Architect. You just sit in the corner and pretend to be my assistant.”

“What?” Michael blinks; “I....I can’t ask you to...”

“You don’t need to. I’m stealing that chair of yours, bud. I look better in it anyway.” She tells him, resolute; “I can fudge my way through it and then you help me work it out from the shadows, that sound good? Like I said. We’re gonna do this as a team.”

She takes his hand and interlocks their fingers together.

“Trust me?”

He glances at their hands and then at her, taking another deep breath.

“....A-always.”

She smiles, hoping she’s not about to make a huge fork-up. After all Michael has done for her, she has no qualms about taking this role on for him to get it together. 

As the last few seconds count down, she crushes him in another hug.

“Say it with me, man.” she whispers, feeling him tighten his hold as if she’ll disappear; “We’ve got this.”

He exhales, melting in her arms for the last spare moments, before they get back on their feet. Somehow feeling like they’re on the same level now, even with the silver devil still towering over her, a renewed spark of hope in his eyes.

“We’ve got this.”

[hollyhomburg]

Butterfly (Part 3)(BTS x Reader)

Summary: You’d always imagined that your relationship would be over if your seven boyfriends found out you self-harmed. But after a slip up involving Namjoon, everyone finds out about your bad habit. To your surprise, they make it clear that they’re not going anywhere.  

Warnings: Panic attacks, Graphic depictions of self-harm, , suicide attempt, hospitals, panic attacks, breakdowns, horror, blood

W/c: 13.6k

Song rec: Make it right ~ BTS

A/N: I know it's been a long time but I hope people enjoy this installment of Butterfly! warning- it’s pretty heavy, but it ends well. As I've stated before, it’s not my intent to romanticize mental illness, prompt someone into a negative headspace, or make light of any mental health issues. This work has been cathartic and sometimes difficult to write. 

Please, if you feel like you are not in a good place, reach out to someone, I promise you people care more than you think they do- Even if it doesn't feel that way. 

National Suicide Prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255

*** This chapter contains graphic content of a that may trigger some readers, Please take note of the warnings and Read at your own discretion ***

The day is soft and leisurely- almost euphoric, people running around the Han river and the sun shining somehow brighter. Of course, the humidity outside is an oppressive weight that stops everything from being completely enjoyable and keeps clothes sticky. But it fails to put a damper on the overall incandescent mood that all of the boys feel. 

As Practice finishes earlier than expected, a rarity in itself; the boys feel the giddiness of summer making any exhaustion dissipate. What is rarer is that they have no plans for the next day or the day after that- a rare stretch of free time a respite from their constantly full schedules, and they don’t want to waste a moment of it

The ac unit is pumping freely into the air as they step into their apartment, the same place where all farce falls away. Suddenly hands get heavy and tender and Shoulders lean into arms that will gladly support them. Kisses pressed to hot sun warmed lips that linger in the safety of things known and mutually cherished. Hoseok trips over Jungkook’s shoes but only laughs instead of scolds Hoseok gives him a playful nibbling kiss in retaliation. Everything is good- nothing stressful. Idyllic.

Jungkook claims the largest shower to a chorus of groans from the others who are also sticky with sweat from the dance practice.  The 3 other bathrooms are  steadily claimed, eyebrows raised and questions asked with raised eyebrows, “want to join?” 

Jungkook takes off his clothes and puts them right into the washing machine. He grins when Yoongi tells him that he shouldn’t be a tease. And licks his lips in answer to the wandering hungry eyes, Tae already has Jimin pressed up against the counter in the kitchen, neither of them caring much that they’re both sweaty. But they won’t waste the day doing this here, there will be time for that later. 

Jungkook giggles and walks in the direction of the largest bathroom. The one just off of Namjoon’s room. The blinds drawn against the sun is the first indication that something might be wrong- that and, your clothes are folded there, neatly, on the bed, your wallet on top. 

You must have left it. He doesn’t remember you leaving in their clothes this morning, but maybe they’re clean and Namjoon just folded them for you. You do that sometimes, leave wearing their clothes claiming that theirs are so much more comfortable, only to forget half your wardrobe here. 

Jungkook smiles, thinking of how forgetful you can be, the countless times that you've gotten somewhere looked up and said “oh I forgot my phone!” and Namjoon would look over his shoulder and shake his head sometimes saying, “We spend too much time together you’re starting to act like me.” Hoseok slinging his arms around your shoulders from behind, frog walking with you for a few feet until it gets too inconvenient, making noises in time with your steps. Hoseok can’t see it but you're smiling but the rest of them can.  

“She’s just distracted by our handsomeness~” he sings, the same moment you join in. And Jungkook finds himself impossibly endeared, tipping his head into Hoseok's shoulder and grabbing your shoulders at the same time.

“Help- she’s been consumed by a junghope sandwich, someone get me a plate” Seokjin deadpans, making everyone erupt into laughter.

The memory is sweet and fond on jungkook's tongue. He misses you, he want you here right now to enjoy this day with them. He feels your absence as keenly as he would with any of the others. The clothes are a reminder that there is 1/8th of them missing. Though you were there that morning when they woke up (You’d slept between Jimin and Taehyung last night). You’ve probably gone back to your own apartment to get some work done. Sometimes Jungkook wonders why you even still live apart from them at all. 

“Hey has someone called Y/n? She should come over today!” his request is answered by a few muted agreements. Words swallowed by the largeness of the house.

Things have been so much better between you and Jungkook recently. Not quite the best, but he’s coming around and you’re letting him in again. Namjoon had given Jungkook a mountain of articles to read about helping people with your type of problems, and it’s safe to say he’s dedicated himself fully to the mantle of being an understanding boyfriend. understanding and not helpful- because it was irrational to think that they could fix your mental health (Namjoon’s words not his- Jungkook swears he’s an expert on this). 

The lingering awkwardness felt between you two had disappeared after he’d done the hard thing and apologized. 

The night Jungkook finally man’s up, You’re in Jimin’s room. Fiddling around with something on his computer trying a find a new drama for the two of you to watch having finished the previous one the night before. Jimin’s hair is curly and floppy and bleach fried. He reclines on his bed in a baggy set of blue pajamas and prattles to you about things on twitter when Jungkook had come in, propping up his shoulder on the door frame. 

“Hey, do you mind if i um- talk to you for a minute?” Jimin looks up from his phone, sending a concerned look in your direction, almost looking like he might want to stay to mediate. The fact that Jimin thinks he might need too only makes Jungkook feels worse. But he swallows down the feelings shame, because this isn’t about him or how he feels- this is about how he’d hurt you and owning up to it.

So he can’t take it personally, Jungkook knows Jimin doesn't want to risk another incident like the one a few days ago where Jungkook yelled at you in the hallway and inadvertently made you go… hurt yourself. No mincing words. Of course, that hadn’t been his intent, but that had been the effect of his actions. 

Whatever look you give Jimin must make him decide that it’s okay to leave the two of you alone together, “I’ll go get the popcorn.” Jimin says as he gets up off his bed, brushing Jungkook’s hip affectionately with the tips of his fingers in passing as he slips by and gives you both privacy. Jungkook shifts from foot to foot. Until your eyes flicker up from the computer. 

“You can just sit Kookie.” Jungkook squishes down on the edge of Jimin’s bed, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees As you forgo the computer and turn the rolly chair in his direction. He runs his hands through his hair. 

Jungkook looks at the ground, unable to meet your eyes,  “I don’t know where to start.” You don’t respond, and when he looks up he finds you not looking at him either. Your hands clenched together in your lap, twining over each other in the way he knows you do when you get nervous.

Are you thinking about indulging in your bad habit right now? Is that why you look so distracted? Is it like a notification on your phone? Dragging your attention away from the present? How does it feel? Are you okay? Would you even tell me if you weren’t? Tell me love - tell me please- I only want to-

This isn’t about me, he reminds himself.  

“I want to apologize to you- I know that I didn’t make enough effort when you first told us about your…your self-harm” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out, but it’s a start to being more forward at least. He doesn’t want to tip-toeing around it, especially when he knows you have more open discussions about it with the others. You finally look up at him, at jungkook’s words falling uncontained and unfiltered “But I want to be someone you can rely on- like you rely on the others. Like I should have been in the beginning. God do you know I would get jealous?” 

That prompts a little quirk of your lips. Small and barely there, and he feels the tension in his shoulder break. Jealousy is never something that any of you really get in this giant poly relationship as impossible as that sounds. There is always so much love to go around, everyone spoils each other so that it’s easier to ask for more space than for less. There is very little room for jealousy and even less time for it. “I can’t imagine why.” 

“When I would see you with Yoongi or Namjoon, and you guys would go all quiet when I walked into the room because I knew you were talking about mental health stuff- Jesus, I just wanted to be a part of it- but I let my stupid preconceived notions get in the way of that.” Jungkook swallows. “But what I’m trying to say is that- I’m sorry for treating you so terribly, and I’m going to change so that You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me anymore- and I know you can’t forgive me but-“ 

Jungkook is knocked out of his reverie by your hands, soft and delicate, cup his cheeks, and he realizes he was looking at his feet again. Thumbs come up to brush across his cheeks affectionately. “Jungkook it’s okay- I know it’s not easy,” your lips quirk down at the side, eyes getting a little shadowed, a little distracted by whatever internal monologue it is that makes you sad, the opposite of what he wants,“I know I’m not easy-“

“No don’t-don’t excuse what I did.” Jungkook says with a shake of his head, grabbing your hands in his and holding onto them tight.  “It doesn’t have to be easy, you should never feel like you need to be perfect like you have to sacrifice yourself and your happiness to be perfect for us. If I was a good boyfriend I would have accepted you for you and not demanded you change without a reason. I want to try to be better- to understand you better- If you still want me.” 

His voice tapering off into an unsure hush. In the weeks since everything blew up in between you two, it’s been a little off-kilter. It’s not like you and Jungkook had broken up and he and the other boys were still affectionate. But you could both admit that it had sort of feeling like you’d broken up. And you realize as you look down at him, his eyes wide, the chiseled jaw that you love so much and the kind man in your arms that you know never meant to hurt you, you don’t want to stay in limbo. 

You slot yourself more fully between his legs, standing and tilting his head up to look at you his hands clenched on either of your thighs, Your nose traces his as you whisper, “bunny” chiding and delicate, Jungkook hates the nickname from anyone but you. Your breath a warm soothing wave over his skin. “I’ll always want you.” you kiss him, soft and sweet, and before Jungkook realizes it he’s crying a little breaking the kiss and burying his face again in your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs through the tears, holding onto you tightly like you're going to leave, but you aren’t going anywhere. 

you run your fingers through his long hair, curling the ends around your fingers. “I forgive you Jungkook.”

Jimin and Taehyung watch through the crack in the door, munching on the popcorn as Seokjin walks by with his sugar glider on his shoulder. “What are you two meddlers up too.” He whispers if he listens closely he can hear you and…is that Jungkook? Talking softly. His hand hovers on Tae’s hip. 

“Just listening to the show hyung,” Taehyung says through a mouthful of popcorn. Grin boxy and happy. 

Inside you and Jungkook are too. His hand running up and down your back, face buried in your stomach, as he promises you that he will never dismiss you so terribly again, that he’ll treat you better, that he’ll treasure you every day. 

He wanted to fix it.  

Fix it so badly. 

When Jungkook opens up the door to the bathroom, on that hot day in June, he realizes that he might not get the chance.

Is this another bad dream? An intrusive thought, Jungkook stands there frozen. 

How many times had he had nightmares about this happening, how many times had he dreamt of finding you like this? how many times had the others had the same fear?

This has to be another bad dream. A piercing scream, half shout of anguish, Jungkook’s disconnected from the sound even though he knows it comes from his own mouth. 

But the image of you, lying eyes closed and prone in the bathtub, lips blue and skin ashen, the cold water blood red, your hand dangling over the side and a puddle on the tile, won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks. 

A still life. A painting, 

His knees hit the floor with a crack but he pulls himself over to you, lifting himself up on the edge of the bathtub, his breathing ragged and tearing through him, “please please don’t- be- don’t” he chants as he presses his fingers to your throat, and nearly sags to the floor when he finds a heartbeat there, beating unevenly but strong, still there, and still alive.

“Fuck Y/n!” he sobs, hauling your body up and out of the water, not caring about the blood that splatters against his bare chest or soaks into his grey track pants. “Someone! Please! Someone Call-“ but his choking sobs cut him off. He screams for his hyung’s, voice shrill, breaking. He shouts again and again and again for Namjoon, for Seokjin or anyone of his hyungs, for his loves, the people that have always helped him and loved him.  

Jungkook shakes and sobs as he pulls you up against his chest. Small and limp and unmoving. And someone must here him because all of a sudden Jungkook hears a voice on the phone with police and paramedics rattling off their address. Seokjin’s shaking hands on his cellphone, choking back something in his throat as he looks into the bathroom and can’t- can’t handle it, turns away to steady himself and talk to the operator.  

And someone is telling Jungkook to let you go- “Let go jungkook please”, Namjoon climbing over Jungkook to push him back- what’s going on- Namjoon why are you- what could they even- his back hits the wall after Namjoons shove. He looks up, Namjoon lying you out flat so that he can put his full weight on your wrists which are still gushing blood a little bit- but they seem to mostly have stopped with the added pressure.

Someone’s sobbing in the other room. Jungkook has your head in his lap tears drip onto your chest as he grits his teeth, and all Jungkook can say is your name, like a record that’s stuck on a loop. Namjoon holds your wrists down and keeps you from bleeding out- if you haven’t already. 

A few Minutes drip by, like the leaky faucet in the tub, like the blood on the bathroom floor soaking into the grout of the tile. 

The apartment is a flush with activity and everything hazy through panic, the idyllic world disturbed by all this red, and you and your limp body. The pill bottle clatters as Namjoon accidentally knocks it off of the side of the tub, though now it’s empty- Hoseok’s sleeping pills? didn’t he just fill his prescription last week? Why is the bottle empty?

Namjoon and Yoongi talk to the paramedics because Jungkook can’t, can’t see anything other than your face, your lips turned blue, the same ones he kisses whenever he gets the chance. The ones he could never kiss enough- maybe would never kiss again. The paramedics drag him back, get him out of the bathroom as they rush because there simply isn’t room. 

Namjoon and Jungkook are the ones who get to pile into the ambulance with you. Though they’re originally only going to let Namjoon in, Jungkook won't leave your side, won't have anything come through the haze- not the words of the paramedic telling him to get out before they clothes the doors- not Namjoon who insists he comes. Both of them pile into the spot in the ambulance that’s meant for one person and not two above average size young men. 

The others will follow a short time later. The ambulance door closes against Jimin’s nearly shrieking sobs as Taehyung tries to hold him up, almost unable to under the weight of all this panic- just as week with fear his teeth gritted. 

You have to be alright- have to- they can’t lose you, not like this. Not when they should just be starting building a future with you. Yoongi drives everyone to the hospital and he does not speed and risk crashing. Though he does have to wipe away his tears whenever they have a stop light. And his whole body shaking too much to hold onto the steering wheel as well as he normally would- should- if he wants to make sure his family gets to the hospital unscathed. 

Jungkook and Namjoon arrive at the hospital and watch as you are loaded into the gurney, doctors in blue-green scrubs shout statistics and numbers like a separate language that makes little sense to either Namjoon or Jungkook. A nurse tugs Namjoon along asking about your allergies and getting a clearer story of what happened. 

Hoseok’s empty pill bottle is handed over as they push your hospital bed at a breakneck pace, disappearing behind doors that clearly state “operation gallery: doctors only” in red lettering. An orderly is pulling Jungkook back behind that line. But Jungkook can’t hear him, can’t hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears. 

Eventually, he gives up and leaves Jungkook watching those doors, waiting for you to come through it, someone put a sweatshirt on him at some point and it’s half zipped over his bare chest. Jungkook looks at his bloodstained hands for a second before his eyes go back to the doors, waiting for you to hop out and say “sorry just a bad prank!” but it doesn’t come, it doesn’t happen. 

He’s dimly aware of Namjoon talking a few feet away arguing with the nurse at the front desk. His low and panicked words, his begging “please- please is there anything you can tell us- how she’s doing- anything-“

The first flash of a camera startles Jungkook. 

He turns, someone in a facemask a cell phone out, another flash as his face. And then someone else, with another more professional camera who came from who knows where takes a photo of Jungkook. They must have been waiting outside of their apartment and followed them. 

After all, they do live in a complex known for their celebrity clientele. It’s a good bet that they didn’t even know who was in the ambulance and only hoped it was someone famous. And then Namjoon is there tugging Jungkook’s hood up and over his face with shaking hands as well as his own. He turns to the nurse asking for a private room to wait in. 

The hospital is already scrambling with activity by the time the others pull up. All in varying states of distress. The sun just barely setting. Seokjin supporting Jimin while Yoongi rushes through the paparazzi trying to remain stoic but unable to conceal his puffy eyes from them without a face mask. 

By the turn of the hour the internet and the news are roiling with questions. What was Bangtan doing at a hospital? Was one of their family members hurt? Was one of them hurt, why was the youngest covered with blood? Who was the young woman who came in just before them? The internet was abuzz with activity while the others filed in, intercepted by Namjoon, the only one who's somewhat steady because he has to be right now. 

Jungkook is still standing by the door, still watching it and waiting for you to reappear. The cameras flash regardless. By the end of the night, there will be enough photos that no one will be able to deny that yes it was him and the rest of Bts there. Was the youngest hurt? Why wasn’t anyone seeing to him?  

“Jungkook come on-“ Seokjin tries to grab his arm but Jungkook flings it off of them.

“No! She has to be okay hyung, she has too-“ he breaks off, a sob silencing him. The adrenaline is fading- His chest is breaking open like a cracked egg without anything to hold it in place. legs shaking and nearly giving out. 

“Jungkook- please” 

“No I’m not leaving-“ he gets out through gritted teeth. 

“There’s nothing more we can do Jungkook, we just have to wait,” Yoongi says, voice low, blinking away tears his shoulders shaking, hands fisted in the arms of Jungkook's sweatshirt. Through the glass, the cacophony of reporters is flashing, photographing their every movement. 

Though the hospital staff has quickly moved not to let people in. and keep a barricade at the door. They can still capture the way Yoongi’s fist is clenched around the bloody sleeve of Jungkook’s sweatshirt.

Yoongi puts himself in front of Jungkook, blocking his view of the door. 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi begs, just his name, and Jungkook takes it as some sort of permission to break. His hyungs are here together, they’ll keep him afloat under the tidal wave of all of this. Sobs tumble uncontained from the cavern that is his chest, the kind of sobbing that comes from fear and desperation. His face buried in Yoongi’s shoulder, hands coming up to cover his face, to feel the shuddering breaths that manage to escape from his lungs even though Jungkook feels like he can’t breathe. 

Together Seokjin and Yoongi lead Jungkook towards the private room guiding him away from prying eyes to hide his breakdown. One of the nurses watches them with something that looks like pain- like she knows something about grief like this because she sees it every day. Yoongi feels anger flare in his chest at the look- though it’s extinguished almost instantly by the maknae’s next shaky sob. 

Inside the room, Jimin, finally calmed down enough to try and stop crying- tips his head back against the wall. He’s only partially successful as he’s breathing heavy enough to call it a panic attack and he’s not the only one- Hoseok is shaking that way too. Hands digging into his sides. None of them can seem to stop crying. 

The only one who doesn’t take a chair is Namjoon. He tries to but can’t, instead standing by the door, knee shaking in an anxious jerk, scanning the hallway for anyone, anything that might help. 

His phone in his pocket rings and the others watch as he lets it. Taehyung looking up from where he’d pressed his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. But only after the third call does he answer. “yeah uhm- Mr. Bang, it’s Y/n- she’s- she“ 

And he breaks off, covering his mouth with his hand to try to keep his sobs contained, tears finally consuming him when he has to explain what he just saw- what he just witnessed- The trauma finally hitting him.

Jimin’s breath stops coming in gasps the second Namjoon needs him, standing just in time to grab under his arms as Namjoon’s knees give out and steer him into the chair he just vacated. taking in a deep breath as namjoon shatter, half in-between his legs and half still holding him, picking the phone from namjoons hands. 

“I’m sorry.” Jimin starts, and then it's hard for him to stop talking. His voice the only one in the room, as he spills the contents to their boss- why, the how- everything. 

“I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand this.” Hoseok sobs, pulling at his freshly dyed hair, as he makes these offal-wrenching gasps. The way that Hoseok cries- almost tearless, that makes it sound like his lungs are rattling around his rib cage. 

No one has an answer for him. Seokjin’s shaking hands fist in his pant leg next to him.  The others silently watch the door, straightening up every time a nurse or doctor passes it. 

Around the end of the first hour, The PR team starts doing real damage control. More protection is set up in the hospital, noticed by them only because of the two guards that come to stand outside their door. though their faces are recognizable only vaguely (there have been so many new guards recently).

Mr. Bang is there too. Talks to Jimin and Seokjin and manages to get a word through to Taehyung, who only answers with a shake of his head when he’s asked if he wants food. If there’s anything he can do. While the others just sob or stare blankly after he clarifies that there is no news about your condition yet. No one asks about what’s online. No one checks their phones to see the photos or the theories; half of them don’t even have their cellphones or left them in the car. 

Mr. Bang and another manager leaves to get them food, which no one touches. Jungkook stares down at his hands. Stained with your blood but drying- flaking off onto the floor. 

Seokjin kneels down in front of him, a wet wipe in his hands, stretching out carefully to clean them off, finger by finger, slowly and gently. Taking care of Jungkook like he has since he was fifteen.

Jungkook doesn’t mention the fact that Seokjin is sobbing himself. But when the elder finishes, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull him close. Needing something to hold onto, and it’s the saddest Seokjin has ever felt with someone’s arms around him. 

It’s almost midnight by the time someone comes by to tell them anything at all. the doctor is still wearing her scrubs, the sleeve of her shirt blotted with blood. The boys, still life at one moment and then a flurry with movement when she appears at the door- asking about you, swarming her, asking If you were okay, how you were doing. If there was anything they could do. 

taehyung stays in the back, breath held, as he waits for the words he dreads. Doesn’t let himself feel anything until he knows. Knows for sure. He waits to hear the words come from the female surgeon's mouth. I’m sorry, but there wasn’t anything we could do she was too far gone.

The doctor inhales. 

“We managed to seal the lacerations on her arms after a few hours of surgery, she had to get her stomach pumped due to the medication she took. She’s very lucky that you found her when you did, she would have overdosed and gone into multiple organ failure if she had gotten here 5 minutes later-” They fall silent, waiting for the shoe to drop. And then in the back again, Taehyung letting out a jagged sob in relife, holding onto the windowsill for support. 

“-We need to monitor her overnight to make sure there isn’t any damage to her organs and probably for the next few days, she might not wake up right away either.” 

“So she’s- she’s okay? She’s not going to die.” Taehyung almost doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“For now yes, the chances are slim.” The nurse purses her lips, almost about to ask another question. Before Hoseok pipes up, voice raspy and quiet. 

“Can we see her?”  

Namjoon didn’t know what the hardest part was going to be, he’d thought the hardest part was going to be when he’d held your wrists in the bathroom to stop you from bleeding out, but this- somehow this was worse. 

Your body underneath the sterile white blanket, your hair tangled in places, your purple lips, tube going into your nose, your hands above the blanket, everything from your hands to your elbows wrapped in thick white gauze, the heart monitor beeping steadily but slowly. Calmly even. 

The nurses realized quickly that none of them were going to obey the “only 3 people at a time” rule. The manager talked to the head orderly and gave them special privileges, these continued when visiting hours ended. They knew it might be a little while before you woke up after anesthesia. The doctor had come by to talk again, about how personal drive had a lot to do with it. 

Namjoon knew what they meant- they meant that if you didn’t want to wake up you might not, but didn’t say it outloud for fear of what it would do to the others. A look in Yoongi and Seokjin direction lets him know that he’s not the only one who understands what this might mean. But the maknae’s are still so hopeful. Looking at you like they haven’t given up yet. 

Hoseok is still- still half not there. He moved from the waiting room to your room like a ghost, where he chooses a chair and just stares into empty space. The rasping sobs have subsided and now-now he just sits and watches. Shrugging off any hand that might touch him with the intent of wanting comfort or giving it. 

Hoseok grits his teeth in anguish, able to keep the sobs in his throat, his eyebrows knit together as he tries to keep himself from breaking down.  his breaths coming out short and labored. as he locks the part of himself away that’s panicking. His eyes sting, and he knows his face is looking pinched and severe. “you always look so angry when you cry.” You’d teased him before, after their last award show when they’d come home and Hoseok and Taehyung had been admittedly a wreck. 

Hoseok can’t forget the conversation he had with you almost a month ago. He should have asked again- he should have told someone. Blame sits on his shoulders, heavy. 

The night had started with a win from an award show, and ended with Hoseok falling giggly into bed next to you. He doesn’t often reach the right amount of drunk vs sleepy, but tonight- everyone had let loose more than usual, high off the win and rush of getting an award and beating another record. Even though he usually doesn’t like alcohol, it sings like a special kind of caffeine in his veins tonight and he almost dosent want it to end. 

You are equally as trashed, and equally as soft looking in his bed. You’d been waiting at home after the award show. Food and glasses of champagne ready and waiting for them. Ready to celebrate and dance around your living room. 

Hoseok doesn’t know how he got so lucky in his life, the liquid gold threading it’s way through his heart like some kind of magic, he smiles at you and leans over to press his lips to yours. You can taste the happiness in it and the delightful cinnamon and spice taste that is Hoseok. 

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to be serious for about a quarter of a second before he fails, falling into giggles again, hiding his face in your shoulder hand fisted in the sleeve of your shirt. Suddenly dizzy with all the excitement. He keeps his tone joking “Want to have angsty conversations until two in the morning and drink wine?”

“That’s what me and Yoongi do!” you cry, for some reason indignant, kicking your socks off. 

“Yeah but I can be that way too! We could even, like- invite him!”  

You snort “like he’d ever get out from under Namjoon right now- not even for all the wine in the world” as if on queue, a high-pitched breathy moan and a muted ‘yes Joon right there’ is heard echoing from across the hall. Someone- jin from the sound of it- bangs on a wall crying something like “stop being nasty!” 

“A min Yoongi venting sesh without min Yoongi” both of you giggle at the thought. unlike other nights, when you might be interested in more of a supine eventing, tonight you just strip off your clothes to the barest forms without being truly naked, falling asleep in Hoseok's favorite way, your skin pressed against his. 

He’s drunk enough that he doesn't stop to wonder about what tracery the darkness hides on your skin instead settling into your arms like a ship would at port. Your hand running up and over his lithe shoulders tempting groans of pleasure from his throat. Hoseok has always always loved being touched, and being touched by you makes him feel like his very soul is shivering. Falling easily asleep in each others arms, the alcohol sending you into a spiral towards sleep.  

When you wake up, your head is pounding, and Hoseok is warm next to you, his fingers stroking through your hair, a look at him confirms that he’s awake and watching you. You know the wetness in his eyes as he looks down at you. You wonder if his head feels as bad as yours. 

“What’s wrong baby,” you say, reaching up to wipe the tears off his cheeks. 

“Bad dream,” he says. His eyes searching your body, his hands holding on a little too tightly. Hoseok doesn’t dream often, but whatever he must have dreamed about is clearly weighing on him. 

“Want to have that venting sesh now?” you pry gently, pulling yourself up so that you’re at his level and not snuggled in near his chest. His breath brushed over your cheeks when he breathes out. And in this lighting of very early morning, all of the red is diluted in Hoseok’s hair, making it look almost grey. 

You wonder what he’ll look like when it turns grey with age, you wonder even more if you’ll get to see it. In the dark, Hoseok looks like he’s wondering the same thing. He shakes his head, and your hands tighten on the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you want me to Y/n.” 

You stuck in a bated breath “what did you dream about Hobi?” 

He didn’t want to ask, maybe he didn’t want to know. All of the last weeks have been burning that question through him and he knows- all of them know what you said to Yoongi in the bathroom a few weeks ago when he caught you. Hoseok hears the words as good as if he was there himself - ‘I’m not going to kill myself’- But Yoongi- Yoongi wasn’t asking the right questions. “it’s just-“ he breaks off, swallowing a thick breath. “Do you ever think about dying? Do you want to die?”

You smile at him- or try too at least, the answer you give him isn’t what he wants not by a long shot. “I don’t want to make you sad Hobi,” your smile, your smile isn’t sad, regardless of what your words hint at, or the horror that wells up in Hoseok’s throat at how hopeless you look. 

Hoseok doesn’t want that.  You shouldn’t be resigned to this, this sadness that’s consuming you. You should be trying to fight at it. You try to give him a tired smile, a little stronger than before. Tugging him to turn onto his side so that you can put your arms around him. Hoseok doesn’t know what to say, what to do for that matter, his head pounds with the after-effects of the alcohol. “Let's just go back to bed okay?” 

Hoseok curls up against your throat and listens, hearing your heartbeat, and is lulled into a thankfully dreamless sleep, not realizing that later- he would wish he wouldn’t have, he would wish he had stayed up and asked you what you meant by that. If you really wanted to.  

“Do I ever make it better? Do any of us?” he murmurs, nearly asleep.

“Of course you do.”

If they had thought finding you in that bathroom was bad- it was nothing to compare to the pain of you waking up. 

Sometime in the early morning, muted grey yellow light filtering through the cracks in the blinds, some of the boys had collapsed into the so-called “parent cots” that the hospital staff had been nice enough to bring around.

The two smallest curl up swathed in Seokjin’s arms, with Jungkook and Namjoon in the other cot. Jungkook shaking through a nightmare in Namjoon’s arms at one point in the night, though by that time everyone is losing track of time. 

While every beat of the heart monitor had everyone feels a little better- because At least you were alive. 

Taehyung is propped up against the wall, coming to sit by you when he gives up on sleeping. After the first few hours of emotionally exhausted listlessness, Jimin couldn’t sleep either. Shifting out of Seokjin’s arms going to join Taehyung in the slightly larger seat probably not meant for two people. Hoseok is in a haze, half asleep and half awake, and never totally present.

From their side of your bed, Taehyung and Jimin watch and wait for him to fall apart. 

Hoseok has been awake the whole night, the only one who at one point hadn’t fallen asleep or at least tried. Hoseok looks like he might fall over, the bags under his eyes and the coldness in the room making his shoulders shiver uncomfortably, he watches you and he waits.

At one point in the night, Taehyung leans forward, taking his hand in yours, your hands are cold, but maybe a tiny bit warm on the palm, Taehyung warms it with both of his, careful not to jostle your bandages as he kisses your fingers. If he had any more tears left he would cry. 

“I promise, one day- we’re going to take a trip together, leave this whole city and everything that bothers you behind, and it will be just the 8 of us, maybe you and I could take day trips on our own, and I’ll make your life so happy and full that you’ll forget this ever happened, that you’ll forget you ever where sad.” Taehyung looks up when he senses Hoseok’s heavy eyes on him, his lower lip shaking. But he says nothing.  

Hoseok does reach forward and take your other hand in his. Thumb rubbing along the back of your hand slowly and gently. Eventually, Tae pulls back, leaning into Jimin’s shoulder, and drifts a little, not truly asleep and not truly awake. leaving Hoseok and Jimin to stand vigil. 

Jimin watches Hoseok almost as much as he watches you, he watches so hard he almost doesn’t realize when your eyes are fluttering open, he’s imagined it so many times over the last few hours he’s half-convinced it's not real. There is stillness for half a moment. The heartbeat monitor beeping unconvincingly in the corner.  

Your eyes are hazy and unfocused; Hoseok lets out a choked noise in relief, maybe your name, hand tightening over yours. “Y/n! Thank you- oh fuck thank god, thank you for not fucking dying- holy shit-“ Hoseok sobs, holding your hand so tight as he collapses forward onto the bed, knees sliding to the floor as he breaks uncontrollably. 

You blink through the cloudiness in your eyes as those sleeping stir awake. Seokjin blinks sleepily, unintentionally shifting Yoongi in his arms. On the other side, Namjoon stirs as Jungkook bolts awake. Jimin has never moved quicker in his life moving to your bedside. Taehyung jerks awake without Jimin's shoulder to lean on almost falling out of the chair. 

Hoseok is right- thank god for waking up. A god that Jimin has never believed in but might now just for this. He wants to collapse in exhaustion as all the fear leaves him and relife takes its place, he feels like he might just with how his legs feel like jelly. 

“What,” you say, voice small and rough, but it’s the most beautiful word Yoongi has ever heard in his life, more beautiful than any melody or rhythm. Eyes darting around the room taking in them: your family sprawled out in the grey hospital room. 

The heartbeat monitor kicks up beating faster, uneven. Your breath comes out worse. Suddenly taking everything in and understanding what it means. blood rushing through your head.

fuck- fuck you didn’t- you didn’t succeed when all you wanted to was- and now- and now they’re here and you’re- The white bandages on your arms are cumbersome, don't allow your arms to bend at all when Jimin and Hoseok take your hands in theirs. 

And Jimin’s expression is absolutely painful- painfully happy. 

It doesn’t make sense, not when the blackness in your lungs is sticky and suffocating- your treacherous heart hurts in your chest pumping despite everything. The dysphoria at living feels- it feels god awful. Worse than the pain that laces up your arms like gauntlets, worse than the swirling nausea lurking in your empty stomach.

Hoseok smiles at you through happy thankful tears. Jimin too- Looks so happy that you’re alive. It doesn’t make sense at all why he would be happy- not to your brain with everything- everything harsh and biting to your very being- god your head hurts. You’re dimly aware of Namjoon letting out a half laugh half sob in relief. Jungkook standing, his long hair half ruffled, his bunny eyes wide and tear-filled, looking so stunned, a smile slowly painting his face. 

It doesn't feel real, nothing does. The only thing you’re really aware of is the thunder in your ears of your own heartbeat, you can’t take it all in fast enough, everything- nothing you see makes its way through the fog in your mind and yet you’re overwhelmed with stimulus. 

The thunder of the heart monitor, Jimin’s and Hoseok’s hands holding yours, skin on skin warm but you feel so cold. Yoongi sitting up looking sleep ruffled but his eyes screwed closed with tears, back bending with the weight of it all as he holds his head with his elbows on his knees. Namjoon smiling at you tearfully with his dimples that you love so much on display, looking thankful. The sluggish pull of painkillers in your veins makes everything startling off-kilter like a ride at an amusement park. Taehyung crumpling into Jungkook’s side, falling to pieces in his arms. It’s all so much- too much. 

You give a shaky breath, pulling your hand out of Jimin’s and Hoseok’s hands, Jimin tries to hold on- but it’s almost violent how quickly you retract your hand from his, pulling at the iv drip there too so that it dangles out of the back of your hand. Pulling both of them to your chest, placing them there like you're guarding yourself against them. The heart rate monitor kicks up to the point that a warning tone sounds. A nurse opens the door as Yoongi stands. Not sure what to say- even less sure what to do. 

“Please- please why are you- why.” 

What are you begging for, what do you need? Just tell me how to make you better love, just let me help heal you. Tell me why you did it- why did you do it- why why why. There isn’t enough air in the room for your lungs to breathe easily. you can’t handle this- all of their eyes on you. Black spots start to dance in your vision  

The nurse strong-arms her way next to you in the bed, shining a flashlight into your dilated eyes “Miss do you know where you are? Are you in any pain?” Your breath still comes too fast-to-fast. 

“Please- why- what’s going on- why am I-“ your words are strangled by your breath, the panic all-consuming. The nurse hits the blue button; Seokjin utters your name- still blinking away the sleep in his eyes. Everything harsh and slanting and doesn’t feel real. 

“Miss you need to breathe, you need to calm down, you’re in the hospital.” 

There is another nurse at the door now, their hand on Yoongi’s side. Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s too. The room is full of people at this point. “You need to give her some space.” 

“No” Tae growls out, watching as you push away an oxygen mask, panic picking up again from the way you’re pushing everything away not just them. How afraid you look of everything, especially the hands that only want to help. 

The beeping from the heart rate monitor reaching a fevers pitch. The surgeon from before shoves her way past the guard at the door. Followed by another orderly who quickly tries to lay hands on Jungkook, who throws them off. 

“Someone gets them out of here- and pump 3 cc’s of Midazolam, she will tear her stitches if she keeps moving around- someone gets these boys out of here!” 

“Fuck off we're not leaving.” Jimin spits. The surgeons head whips up to look at him, her eyes narrowing at him, and Jimin has the good sense to look absolutely terrified. They all do.

“I do not care who you boys are. if you put the health of my patient at risk more than you already have I will ban you from her room and this hospital.” You still fight against their arms, even as the nurse shoots something into your resecured iv, another nurse holding your arm down to make sure you don’t try to tear it away. 

“Let me go. Let me go- please-please” you plead; the orderlies have to grip Jungkook around the waist before the door to your room closes behind them. sealing all the panic inside. 

Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair sagging against the wall, pulling at it harshly- and doesn’t know if he wants to punch a wall or be punched himself. 

“Okay- this is- that was. This whole thing is so fucked up.” 

He’s not wrong.

Food is unanimously decided on, a separate office room that one of the nurses leads them too. Namjoon doesn’t know what kind of strings Mr. Bang must have pulled to get them special treatment, but he makes a mental note to thank his boss later. 

For once, they’re all lost for words as they eat. Though Jimin doesn’t touch the food in front of him. And for once, no one forces him. This might have to do with the fact that he’d thrown up when they’d walked into the room. Yoongi and Seokjin both only nurse a coffee not feeling up to solid food just yet.

It’s around an hour before the same surgeon finds her way back into their room. “She’s okay.” She opens with, glaring at them like a hawk, Taking in the visible sigh of relief from all of them. 

“Why was she-” Seokjin swallows against the lump in his throat, “why did she push us away? why was she so-” he breaks off. Looking up at the doctor imploringly for answers to soothe the ache in his chest. 

“She was in distress, with all the painkillers and medication lingering in her system it’s likely she didn’t even know what she was doing.” everyone in the room sags in that. The doctor crosses her arms, giving everyone a warning glare. “If you put her in distress like that again I will have you banned from this hospital until she becomes more stable,” 

For the first time, everyone pays attention to what she’s saying. “You are not to touch her wrists or her stomach. We’re running tests right now to make sure she’s not in any immediate risk for acute organ failure, we’ve given her a sedative to keep her from potentially hurting herself or panicking the way you all made her but I swear if.-” 

“Is she awake? Is she still talking? Is she-“ Namjoon starts the same moment Yoongi says “let us see her.”

The surgeon snorts, rolling her eyes at the rapper. And Yoongi finds himself wishing that he were just a little bit taller so that he could stare down at her and intimidate her the way he’s trying too. Not that it looks like it’s doing anything other than piss her off. 

It was worth a shot anyway, and next to him, Taehyung is crossing his arms, looking at her with that unsettling blank look that seems to be doing enough. “If it were up to me you all would have been thrown out already.” Her hand hovers on the door, eyes going softer after a second “But she’s been asking for you- so follow me.”

You’re sitting up in the bed when they walk in. The yellow hospital gown clings to your shoulders- far too big. Hands lying on top of the covers your arms are bound in fresh white bandages From wrist to elbow. 

Someone’s opened the blinds of the window. And the morning light spills across your face. Looking much calmer and put together than when you woke up it’s almost startling. You try to smile at them, and say a muted ‘hey guys’, but it comes out so strangled it’s almost not a word. 

The bags under your eyes are almost purple. In the hospital bed- you look worn. The very soul of you looking like someone had washed a rag too many times and still hung it out in the sun to dry, leaving it crumbling and crusty and oh so delicate. You look a little sleepy too- must be the drugs, hell Seokjin could actually go for a sedative right now too. 

One of the beds has been removed. Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook sit on the other. Jimin looks so unsteady on his feet that Namjoon immediately yanks him into the chair. Hoseok takes a seat at the end of your bed. Tae stands.

“I’m-I’m so sorry guys.” You say, a little tear coming out of your eyes as Jimin thoughtlessly takes one of your hands, realizing what he’s done the second he did and how you reacted before. But thankfully You don’t pull away this time. And he sees wetness sparking in your eyes. “I didn’t mean- I never wanted you all to-“ you look from boy to boy hunting for absolution, for forgiveness for something that none of them know how to give. 

“Are you sorry you tried? Or because you didn’t succeed? or was that even your intention? did you just go too deep?” Taehyung asks, not bothering to wipe away the tears that haven’t stopped falling since he saw you sitting alive in the hospital bed, calmer than before. There is nothing accusatory in his tone, he just wants to know. 

You don’t answer. Jimin takes the silence as his own, clamping down on the nausea.  

“You know I thought there’d be a sign if you were really going to do it?” he says, and you turn from Tae to focus on Jimin. Your fingers holding onto his hand weekly. And like before, once he starts talking he just can't stop, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession. 

“I thought that maybe we’d be able to anticipate it and be enough of a support system to catch you before this point. I even- fuck- you don’t know this but I even checked your phone? Even though I knew it was a breach of privacy? I thought ‘she’s definitely the type to leave a note and she’d probably draft it before she sent it out or something’ so I’ll be able to know before she does it. I’ll be able to stop her.” 

Jimin is trying so hard not to break down, you can see it in every twitch of a muscle that he makes, every single deliberate word. His collarbones look incredibly sharp under the collar of his t-shirt. And his other hand bites into his shoulder, holding on tightly while the one in your hand grips gently. As gently as you would touch something soft and newborn. Jimin’s lips are red bitten, his eyes puffy but clear. “But you know what the last words you said to me where?” you shake your head, trying not to cry yourself. 

“You said ‘see you in a little bit’ yesterday morning before we left for practice. like it was just going to be any other day- and after we found you all I could think about what that. That I’d see you when” his voice cracks, but he presses on the ache in his lungs, needing to get the words out. “That I’d only see you when we both died, and maybe that was what you meant. Maybe I’d have to wait my whole life before I saw you again in whatever what comes next.” Jimin is sobbing now, openly, doing nothing to stop the halting trail that they carve down his cheeks. Over cheeks and over lips that you’d kissed a thousand times. 

And almost never got to kiss again.  

“But I don’t want to see you then- I want to be with you every single morning, every single time I wake up I want to see your face, from this day on until the day I die I want to be able to see you every single fucking day.”

He’s crying too hard to let the words get through towards the end. You reach up, your hand stopping when it tugs on the iv but Jimin is already falling into you taking your reaching as permission,  already burying his face in your shoulder as much as he dares, worried like that you would disappear with too much force. And you cry, the weight settling on you like blame- because you’ve hurt this man, this lover of yours who wanted nothing more than the tenderest of lives for you. 

A life that you have never wanted. And you wish you did, you wish you had. If not for anything else than to avoid this mess that you’ve made, the pain you’ve caused in the people you love so much.  

You’ve hurt him so much by tearing yourself apart that now he is falling in shambles. You wish you could move your hand to run them through his bleach fried yet greasy hair, you wish that you had any soothing words for him- but you don’t. 

You’d tried to kill yourself, nothing more than that and nothing less.

You’d tried and failed and you were still here, and now you had to deal with the consequences. Jimin won’t move, won't stop running his hands over your throat to feel the pulse there, nose pressed to your neck to hide his tears. to reassure himself that you’re alive, that he still has time with you. 

On the cot pulled next to you, Yoongi sits, his hands shaking around a coffee that he doesn’t sip it. He’s the next to speak, the next one who has enough courage, “you know what I thought when I came into the bathroom and found Namjoon and Jungkook there with you?” Yoongi’s voice shakes, his hands in fists at his sides, he looks so so small there, his teeth gritted against the emotional pain in his throat. “I thought fuck- how are they going to survive this, how are they going to put up with losing both of us.” 

Jungkook lurches to his side, “Yoongi no-“ he says, as the others look on horrified, Yoongi bites his lip and brushes the tears out of his cheeks angrily as Seokjin fists a hand in the back of his jacket. “I know I wouldn’t have done it- I know it was just a passing thought, but also- fuck, I would have been a ghost had you not come back to us- a part of me would have died if you had, and I don’t want you to think that I’m holding onto you just to hold onto myself- but fuck, fuck I need you. I need you every day. Every moment like Jimin said every day that doesn’t have all of us in it is hell for me.” 

Taehyung pipes in, teeth gritted against his tears, “I want you to be here, and I want to you want to be here- I want you to get better. I don’t know what would be good for you.” Taehyung’s lower lip trembles as he tries not to cry, in taking several shallow breaths, “we’re not enough to properly take care of, and I know that now” Taehyung sees how your crying anew and rushes over his own words. 

You don’t want to admit it- none of them do, but the fact of the situation is that no one would be here if they were enough to keep you alive. “I know, I know you try really hard, and I know that all of us do too, but-but we couldn’t stop you, we couldn’t help you in the right way, and I know you need a better safety net than us. Do you think-” 

Taehyung pauses, closing his eyes for a moment- he knows he won't be able to go back from his next words, his next suggestion, once he says them you’ll act regardless of what he wants, but it might be what you need to keep this from happening again. 

 “Do you think that it might be better if you went to a recovery center? Or a mental hospital for a little while? Just to make sure you’re okay and safe?”  Seokjin and Jimin stiffen, but no one protests, no one tells you that you shouldn’t- even if they don’t want you too, they all know it might be best if you do go. 

“I don’t know-I don’t think that i-” you shudder and shiver, eyes darting from each of them, waiting to see if any of them are going to jump up and say that they don’t want you to be admitted to a hospital. Don’t want you to go somewhere that they can’t follow. 

Seokjin grabs your hand from where he sits folded over your right side, winding his knobby hands with yours, “you don’t have to decide now” the words you’d needed to here, a tense breath released from all of them.

“You can think it over and we can try to figure something out that works.”

The next few hours are marginally less sucky. You meet with doctors, they check your stitches and run a few more tests. There is a tenser meeting with the police. But everything goes smoothly- probably because of a stack of cash slid to them by one of the managers to keep it quiet. Always focused on containing scandals. 

By the end of the day, some of the boys need to go home and at least shower and change clothes if not get some sleep. Though Jungkook straight up refuses too until Namjoon gives him a look. Yoongi and Tae go to retrieve dinner from somewhere better than the cafeteria to get food. 

The others will be back soon, Seokjin stays with you, the others promising to bring back a change of clothes- he’ll just shower in the small bathroom attached to your room. He leans up against the door, the tv droning in the corner on some drama. Watching your face silhouetted against the yellow light. indulging in the image of you for a moment. 

You’re quiet just watching the tv going in and out of sleep. They’re going to try and wean you off the painkillers in an hour or so, and the doctor had warned you to try and get some sleep while you can. After a moment, you notice Seokjin by the door, giving him a small tired smile. 

Seokjin struggles to find something to say, but doesn’t, putting his hands in his pockets. You scoot over a little, patting the bed next to you. “Want to sit and wait for food with me?” neither of you mention that you probably won't be able to eat any of it. You’re on a liquid diet until they get your second-day labs back. But one of the nurses did promise you a very tasty strawberry and watermelon shake, so there’s that to look forward too. 

Seokjin nods and carefully gets into bed next to you, on top of the covers while you’re underneath, careful to leave some distance between the two of you in case you want it. His heart fluttering when you don’t instead turning onto your side and reaching to set your arm over his chest gently. Seokjin shifts, letting you tuck your shoulder under his arm. 

The television changes to a news briefing. a car pileup, and then before Seokjin can change it, “No news yet on the most recent celebrity news. What were the members of Bangtan Sonyeodan doing at Asan Medical Center and why aren’t the police saying anything- more on what we know during our celebrity bulletin at 8.” 

“I really made a mess of things for you guys didn’t I.”

“Don’t worry about it please” Seokjin begs, running his hand down your arm and kissing the top of your head. Reaching for a moment, for the clicker to shut the television off before they play anything else. 

“But you-” 

“I’m serious Y/n” Seokjin cuts you off, looking down at you, a bone-deep exhaustion in him as he reaches a hand to brush at your cheeks, hooking a hand under your jaw to turn your face up so he can see you better. 

“The managers have dealt with it, and we’ll see if any of the doctors breach doctor-patient confidentiality- and none of us care, we’re all just relieved that you’re still alright now.” the thudding truth of that last statement makes Jin feel like he’s gonna cry again, but he doesn't want to- he’s tired of crying. 

“You should get some sleep before the others get back.” You nod, seeming to accept his words for now at least before you snuggle further into his side. you’ve lost a little bit of your ashen tint to your body, but you’re still a little bit cold, a little weak from the blood loss (though they did have to give you infusions during surgery. Seokjin rubs a hand up and down your back rapidly to warm you up. 

“Can you...” you start for a second, cutting off, looking shy. cheek against his chest. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Seokjin asks murmuring the words into the top of your head (even if your hair is a little greasy)

“Can you sing for me?” you ask quietly. 

“Of course,” Seokjin smiles, you’ve asked him to do that before, in the kitchen in your house, before you go to sleep, you love the sound of his voice, of all of theirs really. “Any requests?” 

“Whatever makes you happiest.” Seokjin swallows, turning it over in his head for a moment before he decides on it. He starts up, the words falling from his lips the way they’ve done 1,000 times. 

“Will you stay by my side will you promise me~” he continues the rest of the verse of butterfly until he gets to the rap part. Slipping into Yoongi’s lines with a slightly more joking tone, changing the words to puns as he sees fit. “butter cake~ butter cake~”

 Even after all these years- Seokjin still can’t rap. But he does his best switching around the lyrics and making them goofier while keeping the rhyme, swaying side to side with you in his arms as much as he can in the hospital bed. The giggle you let out is soft and rippling, coming from your belly. Making the first real smile he’s had today appear on Seokjin's face, his hands holding onto you a little tighter as he breaks off “You’re going to make me lose tempo ~” he whines. 

Outside the door, Yoongi and Taehyung pause, listening to the sound of your and Seokjin's laughter. Looking at each other, the bags of food in their hands, just soaking in the sound for a second, even as it fades. You start singing too. your voice gentler and quieter, sleep-roughened, joining in with Seokjin's. 

Taehyungs hand squeezes his roughly, the younger taking in a shaky breath.  And for the first time since they got home and found you, Yoongi lets himself believe for a moment that everything is going to be okay. 

4 WEEKS LATER 

“So,” Mr. Bang says as he makes his way around the edge of the table, it’s only him, their manager Sejin, and boys in the conference room today, this decision is purely between the head of the company and them really. “We’re here to discuss which one of you should go public with Y/n as your significant other.” 

The room erupts with the conversation, Jimin and Seokjin actually sit up, everyone simultaneously volunteering themselves for the position. It wasn’t really a position, they knew that whoever went public with Y/n would undergo severe scrutiny and probably a hit to their popularity; it would incur the wrath of the fans, several trending hashtags of twitter. And make everything much more difficult for them in general. 

They didn’t care at all of course, how many times had they each wanted to take you to a party or an award show with the company’s blessing- or have you sit in on an episode of run BTS or star in a Vlive. Being your official boyfriend in the company’s eyes was just permission in general to do just that. 

The only reason why none of them were jumping out of their skin in anxiety about having you not in the room with them was that you were currently exactly 3 floors below them, in the practice room- Soobin had invited you to watch their practice for their upcoming first concert. 

None of them knew their juniors all that well yet. But they knew there would be enough staff around to keep an eye on you. No one had come out and told any of them what had happened, or even knew the nature of your relationship with the boys. But all of them knew that you were somehow special to them, though only the managers knew anything more to speculate about your relationship- Mr. Bang and Sejin where the only who knew the full story. 

You hung around so often that you knew all of the staff by name, had brought doughnuts to the break room often enough and volunteered to help many times, enough that the staff liked you. In the first week after the hospital stay, one of the makeup noonas had even asked Jimin where you where, tensely asking, “is she- still in the hospital?”

Jimin had been able to choke out “She came home last night.” while he barely managed not to burst into tears. Taehyung had stepped in, stepping in with a hand on Jimin's shoulder, and comforting words in his ear, gripping his hand hard. 

“it’s okay Jimin, she’s fine at home, Namjoon is with her now- we don’t have anything to worry about.” 

So at the moment, they had nothing to worry about. And as much as they all hated to admit it, it wasn’t because they trusted you- no- it was because The staff was under explicit instructions from Namjoon at this moment not to let you leave the company building without texting Namjoon first. 

Your hospital stay had been all over the news for weeks even if no one had ever figured out your identity. A small miracle in its self. Some talk shows were still speculating about it- and hopefully, this business with them coming out with you as their official S/o would put the matter to rest. 

You understood why it was necessary, even if it meant lying about what had really happened. Saying that you had fallen into a glass table, would be your official story, the youngest member finding you first which was why Jungkook had been so dazed, why there were more than 400 photos floating around on the internet of him half shirtless and bloody. 

An accident- even if it was anything but. 

This particular discussion had come out of a few tense weeks- following your…attempt. When the boys had decided that hiding you were doing more harm than good. They’d initially intended to draw straws for it- pure luck was the only way to do it fairly. And they’d alerted the company more as a courtesy than anything else. 

The company hadn’t like that one bit. None of the management, Accept for Mr. Bang, who had sat back on his thighs, given them a tired smile and said, “you really love to give me a headache don’t you?” 

So now they did it the company’s way, with statistical evidence to who it would affect the least, who was most likely to not cause too many waves. It was an ineffectual and unemotional approach to it, and all of them hated it. To Taehyung especially- it seemed like the statistical information in front of them discounted on fact. 

The facts being that they where all in this relationship together, every party an equal piece of the love that you shared, even if the nature of that love and the way it was felt and received was different for each member. 

Everyone needed different things and from each other- they got it. Tae needed companionship more than anything, someone to be there- but not necessarily to speak, simple enjoyment of each others company which was why sometimes he was content to sit back and let the others be loud for him. 

It was different than the way that the others showed and receive love the same way Jimin needed physical affection like it was air, and Yoongi- Yoongi only really needed it on the bad days like Tae. Whereas Namjoon- wasn’t exactly the most affectionate of the bunch but was always okay with receiving even if he wasn’t initiating it- different then the way that Seokjin sometimes needed his space and needed that to be physical- Seokjin who got just as much satisfaction from caring for others as he got from being cared for. Which was why he and Jungkook had a symbiotic relationship, Jungkook needed to feel snuggled down and smothered with love to feel secure. 

And you, the way that you needed understanding and care without enabling your worst habits. Care and gentleness without accommodation. That in itself a challenge that they were slowly conquering together, though your therapist was helping them in no small way. 

They were all a puzzle piece fitting perfectly with the ones around them. And this- this arguing and analysis of them- it felt like management was trying to shave down a piece to fit better when in reality- they already all fit perfectly together. 

So the others might shout and ask questions- but Taehyung just sat back, and waited. 

“Before you try to speak your case, you should know that both of you have been eliminated from consideration.” Yoongi has to grip Jimin’s hands to stop him from sitting up, he can feel the rage underneath the younger skin as Jimin’s whole body tightens. 

“Would you at least tell us why?” Seokjin asks scalding, never one to take the company’s wishes into account. 

“It’s simple,” Sejin says, shuffling the papers on the conference table in front of him. “You’re the most popular domestically, and Jimin is the most popular abroad by a number of twitter engagements- statistically the group would take too much of a hit if either of you was viewed negatively.” 

The members don’t comment on this, rolling their eyes if anything.  They’d long since stopped being jealous over each other being more or less popular that each other- since just after their debut. Seokjin slumps back in his chair rubbing his lower lip with his finger. And surprisingly, doesn’t protest. 

He’s thinking of all of us, Yoongi realizes with a start- his heartstrings pulling, Seokjin might have tried time and time again to piss off the company as much as possible with his hair dying, hair cutting and liberal style opinions. But this time- he’s not just accountable for himself.  

“Because of this Hoseok is also out.” 

“What the actual F-“

On the other side of the table, Seokjin forcefully pulls the redhead down. Taehyung looks like he might laugh if it wouldn’t make him sick. 

“We also believe that the fans will think it’s strange if the youngest member is in a relationship before his hyung’s” Jungkook’s jaw tightens but he waves his hands for Mr. Bang to continue. 

“Which leaves us with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung as possibilities.” The three are rim rod silent. Taehyung looks tired, blinkingly lazily, Namjoon’s tapping the table agitatedly. Mr. Bang turns to Namjoon first, leaving no room for preamble. “We’ve come to the conclusion that Namjoon would be the best pick, we believe that next to him, Y/n will leave a favorable impression. Namjoon is best equipped to deal with all of the stress as the leader.” 

“But won't this also add to this stress?” Taehyung asks, leaning forward, his eyes dart to Namjoon’s “I’m not trying to advocate for myself it’s just-“ Taehyung makes eye contact with Namjoon. “this is going to be…a lot” 

Besides Namjoon, Yoongi nods, “it is- but it’s going to be worth it.”  

“Are there any objections?” Mr. Bang asks.

Inside the practice room, you watch the members of txt perfect the ending of one of their songs- Soobin is the only one who you really have any interaction with, as he’s not that much younger than you or Jungkook. But you’re slowly starting to get to know the other members better, even if the age difference is a little more insurmountable. 

They’d offered you an in on this practice more as a courteously to their hyung’s than anything else. Here at the company- no one knew exactly how to place you. Most of them taking bets on who were you dating this week, which was a subject of constant debate at the beginning after a makeup unnie had walked in on you kissing Namjoon and Yoongi in the same week (in the same closet no less). The unnie had even tried to tell Namjoon after a little while- not that it hadn’t already made it around the rumor mill. 

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if they broke up? But she distracts all the boys when she comes around and they do have an even busier schedule coming up.” Imagine her surprise when her confession, what she had seen was greeted with an understanding laugh from Namjoon and a flushed face by Yoongi. “So that’s where you went off too when you were supposed to be working on your mixtape- you asshole! I waited for 30 minutes for you!” 

Now, most of the staff knew you by name- and knew not to ask what kind of weird relationship you had with the boys, not that they’d ever believed the truth of the matter. You were all good at hiding it and dodging any questions. But they did notice the marked shift since the hospital stay. 

Everyone could put two and two together. Especially given how the boys were with you now compared to before.

They’ve been treating you so gently the last few weeks, so tenderly, even in front of the staff. Yoongi had brushed a hand across your cheek when they left for the meeting, and Jimin hadn’t seemed to want to let go of your hand. If any of the staff was watching the 8 of you, when you’d looked up- you hadn’t noticed. The assistant that usually babysat you when you were without one of your boyfriends (not without good reason- you’d gotten lost on more than one occasion wandering around the company before) gesturing you towards the leather couch in the corner where you could sit and watch the practice without fear of disturbing them.

You have another week until you can get the stitches out of your arms but the scars will stay for a while- if not for good. Your light blue sweatshirt is tight at the wrist; there isn’t a risk of your sleeve slipping up and any of them seeing. Before the Txt members can finish their current song the door to the training room opens. And a mask-clad Jungkook pokes his head in. You shoot up and gather your stuff.

You cast a quick glance around making sure that there aren’t any cameras around to record or microphones- it’s just a general practice so you shout. “Thanks for letting me kill some time cucumber!” before you hurry out the door. 

Soobin’s reply comes with the start of “yah! Noona-“ but you don’t hear the rest of his protest at your weird nickname for him as the door closes behind you and Jungkook. 

“How was the meeting?” you ask sweetly as you follow Jungkook, and you can see his eyes crinkle and know he’s smiling at you under his mask. The tips of his fingers brush yours after you’re done hooking your mask over your face. You’ll enter the car through the underground parking garage, but it never hurts to be extra safe in the face of paparazzi. “You guys figure out which one of you is going to be my fake boyfriend yet?” 

“Yeah, there isn’t anything fake about me you brat,” Yoongi says as he exits his studio as you pass flicking you on the shoulder before running his fingertips down your arms gently, joining you and Jungkook on your way down the hall to the lounge room where the others wait. Yoongi like Jungkook only brushes fingers with yours though he does playfully tug on one of the strings of your hoodie- he’s in a good mood- but the heaviness in his eyes tells you that whomever they’ve decided for you it isn’t Jungkook or Yoongi. 

At the same moment, Jimin passes on his way out too and almost stumbles when he sees you, that same heartbreaking boyish smile that makes his eyes disappear erupting on his face when he sees you. 

Pulling you away from Yoongi and Jungkook and giving a careful glance around to make sure there aren’t any unwanted prying eyes. Pressing his lips to yours in hello when he realizes there aren’t. His plush lips sucking yours in a passionate kiss, one that seems a little resigned though. 

“So it’s not you either,” you ask when you break apart. Jimin giggles, and shakes his head. “No, but I wanted to see you before I left, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be back later,”

“What are you doing?” you ask shyly, as Jimin kisses your fingertips, his fingers lingering on your rings you have there, small and perfect, a small red stone at the center of a delicately thin band. He slides one off your ring finger and puts it on his own, though it’s a tight fit. “This is pretty- who gave it to you?”

“Namjoon” you smile, letting him take it, you and Jimin are the type of couple who share jewelry all the time. “You never answered my question” 

His answering smile is mischievous, “you’ll find out later,” he says, kisses you again quickly, letting his forehead rest against yours for a second.

“Number sweetheart?”

2 weeks earlier was when you’d devised the number system.

 “If you’re not going to go to the hospital, then I think we should set up some rules- or just some things that could help you.”  

You suck in your lower lip, hands tightening on the blanket in front of you. and Namjoon is already soothing a hand over yours. It’s a comfy night in, take out, your staple these days and everyone in pajamas. You yourself are in a cooky themed top and tata themed bottoms. All the others are piled around you likewise swathed in fluffy blankets propped up against pillows. 

Someone had the bright idea of dragging two king-sized mattresses out into the living room a few days ago and you’ve all been sleeping out here, like a massive sleepover every night. It’s more out of necessity than anything else, after the second night that you’d slept home, you’d woken up to Yoongi sleeping in Namjoon’s chair again for the third night in a row, just to keep an eye on you. and this might not have been an ideal arrangement (everyone was woken up whenever someone stirred to use the restroom) it was better than that alternative. 

You play with Seokjin's fingers in your lap, tracing along the double joints and the lines of his palms as he talks. “you promised you’d be more open with us Y/n. And you’ve tried before- you’ve tried to tell us how and I know it’s too hard for you. But maybe it will be better if we’re not all comparing notes and you give us something to jump off of.” 

“And you know I’m not sure it if-if I can give you that.” you have to be open with them, even if it’s hard but sometimes, it’s just impossible for you to be open. When you say this, some of them look tired, some of them look a little angry. But what’s best is Jungkook leaning forward to take your hand, your feet in his lap  “I understand,” he says, nodding a little, his fingers smooth over your knuckles in admonishment, His long curly hair falling in his eyes. 

it’s Taehyung who suggests it, curled on his side, head half in Namjoon’s lap. “What if we devised something easier, some way that we can check in without feeling like we’re going to make you close off, kind of like the colors system.” You nod, as do the others. You’re all familiar with the stop light system for your more intimate encounters, enough that you all understand what he’s is getting at. 

“So like- numbers you’re thinking?” Namjoon clarifies, sucking in his chin and mulling over the words in his head. his fingers absentmindedly trailing along Taehyung's jaw. below him, Tae basks in the affection, it looks like he would purr if he was a cat, but Namjoon is so thoughtful that he doesn't notice. “So like, 10 for like, needing to be checked into the hospital, and 1 for like, so happy I think everything could be okay?” he clarifies. 

“I feel like it should go the other way maybe like 10 is happy, and 1 is sad,” it seems almost too simple to use those words but the others know what you mean. Sometimes it comes down to something just that simple. 

“We should write it out,” Jimin says, standing up and almost falling over as he steps over bodies to get a nicer marker and a clean sheet of paper, switching back and forth with Namjoon, scrawling in elegant Hangul as you bounce things back and forth. Eventually coming up with this:

10- So happy that I think everything’s okay from now on. 9-  A really really good day, 8- I’m gonna be okay probably for a few days after this, Cuz I feel so nice, 7- happy, (the feeling like when you get a hug and the warmth stays for a long time) 6-  happy, might feel a little meh, but it’s nothing that’s getting in the way of everything. 5- I’m okay. 4- I’m not okay but I might be in a little bit. Be gentle with me, maybe don’t leave me alone. 3- Don’t leave me alone. Bug me to talk until I do (even if I don’t want to). 2- Don’t leave me alone, get everyone together, cancel whatever needs to be canceled. 1- Check me into the hospital.

Jimin is careful as he pens the last line. Thinking about the possibility of a one. The list gets pinned to the refrigerator, alongside a picture of the 7 of you (minus Seokjin who was behind the camera) all sprawled out and sleepy in the living room after a movie night.

It’s a few days until it’s used. But Jimin is surprised how much better it makes him feel when Taehyung asks you “number?” and you sit and think about it for a second, looking at the list on the fridge. “Probably a 4.5,” you say in a quiet voice, a little bit worried how it will be received,  But it’s honest, and that’s all you promised to be with them. You’re feeling just the slightest edge towards delicate today. 

Taehyung and Jimin spend the rest of their free time snuggling you and running their fingers through your hair until they have to go record. And throughout the evening and most of the afternoon, you sit in the corner of the recording booth watching the seven of them record a chorus until their throats hurt. Flashing them smiles and thumbs up whenever one of them turns to look at you.

“Number sweetheart?” Jimin asks, in the hallway after they’ve decided which of them will go public with your relationship. 

You think for a moment, “probably a 6 or so.” Jungkook still lingering nearby, nods, then gestures you to follow. Jimin’s heart a little lighter after checking in that and making you’re okay, knowing that even if you weren’t the others knew and would take care of you. He takes a moment, Kissing you again, making it deeper this time, his hand on the small of your back, tongue licking at your lower lip hotly, before he’s breaking away again leaving you a little breathless and flustered. 

“See you tonight!” he calls, dancing away, at the same moment you yell “Park Jimin you are a tease!”

It’s isn’t until you’re all back home that they tell you, Namjoon shyly looking down- trying to hide his dimples. As you shout “Joonie!” and hug him. His hands slipping over your shoulders, holding you tightly. His dimples and his smile incandescent. 

“Ah I’m so jealous,” Seokjin comments behind you at one of the bar stools, though he doesn’t look all that upset with a lap full of Hoseok who seems to barely be paying attention, almost asleep in Seokjin’s lap. 

He didn’t get a good night sleep last night- and you try not to think about why that is, and why he crawled into bed with you and Jungkook so early this morning either, all of them have a hard time leaving you alone- or going to sleep in general these days, especially since you’d taken apart the group bedroom in the living room and switched back into your usual sleeping arrangements.

“Your knees are so boney” he comments, shifting to sit better on Seokjin’s thighs. “Yah! Like your ass is any better!” Seokjin replies, but there’s no bite to any of it. Especially when Hoseok slumps against Seokjin’s shoulder. Tipping his head into Seokjin’s neck, a safe harbor despite the teasing, looking small and in need of protection in a way that he rarely asks for but sometimes needs.  

At the same moment across the city, Jimin sits in the expensive and plush chair, the room is private enough where he can take off his bucket hat and his facemask, running his fingers through his hair before the manager enters his office after having left Jimin alone for a moment. “We’ve had it altered of course to your specifications. And changed the color as you specified in your last email.” 

“Thank you for that, and for allowing me to respond via email.” they usually don't allow that, preferring in-person meetings for non-overseas clients. The manager nods, he knows who Jimin is, and has seen the copious amount of media coverage in the last few weeks. Enough to suspect why Jimin might be busy, and also might have put a rush on this. But the jewelry designer is one he picked particularly for Its anonymity as well as for its high-end designers. 

The manager opens the velvet box carefully, and Jimin almost wants to sigh when he sees the engagement ring in the center, it’s hexagonal cut stones surrounded by a flurry of rose cuts in the shades of lightest pink. Glimmering in the lights. Jimin takes it, barely hesitating to feel the coolness of the stones. Already imagining it on your finger. Jimin nods, showing his approval before he slides your ring out of his pocket. 

“This is exactly what I had in mind, when can I have it sized?” 

(Please comment and reblog! Likes are nice, but they do little to support content creators!)

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Eleven: Heart of Gold

Day Ten -- Masterpost -- Day Twelve

As devoted to her work as she was, Moenbryda was well acquainted with noticing when others were paying attention to her. Then again, she thought as she gave a sidelong glance through the curtain of her hair at the two who were trying and failing to not be seen, at least they had innocent intentions.

Roger and Lara, the two Warriors of Light, were shoving each other and bickering in whispered tones. Their “hiding place” was just behind one of the bush planters that the Rising Stones had placed around it as more natural dividers. For as young as they were, the two would have to crouch to keep their heads from being spotted. They were too focused on their heated (if quiet) conversation to notice that it wasn’t concealing them at all anymore. From the way they were pointing, clearly it had something to do with her.

She might as well have some fun with them. 

Gently easing herself out of her chair, Moenbryda padded over to the “hiding place” of the Warriors of Light. Neither of them sensed her as she got close enough to hear what they were talking about. “--don’t see what the big deal is, you should ask her!” Roger hissed.

“It’s your question, you need to ask.” Lara whispered back just as fiercely. 

“Yeah but you ask this stuff way better than I do! And! I’m the one that keeps getting scared by him anyway so I shouldn’t have to ask!”

“All the more reason for you to do it, Roger! You’ve got to show you’re braver than that! Sh-she’ll just think it’s stupid if I ask.”

He stared at her for a few seconds before he responded. “...so you’re whole reason why you won’t talk to her is because you think she’ll think you’re stupid. And that’s why you’ve been getting all blushy around--”

“I don’t! Get that blushy around her!!” Lara whisper-exclaimed, whilst her cheeks grew a darker and darker pink by the second. She seemed to be in the process of hiding her face behind her fingers while she rambled. “Moenbryda’s just! Really amazing and strong and smart and gosh all I did right was fight a few nasty things.” 

It was a choice between giving away her position by laughing or giving away her position by commenting on the not-very-secret conversation happening right in front of her. Moenbryda chose the latter, if only to spare the girl’s feelings. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing.” Both Warriors of Light let out a very squeaky yelp before simultaneously running their backs into the planter they had been hiding behind. This had been the right call; Lara’s face had only become pinker instead of pale with shame. Moenbryda gave the two of them a wink. “Don’t knock what you’ve done, though. Primal slaying is far more impressive than what I’ve been up to.”

“N--you, uh,” Lara mumbled, her voice getting quieter with every attempt at a word. “R-roger wants to know why…” 

Either in response to getting caught or as a reaction to save his best friend further embarrassment, Roger blurted, “Why is Urianger so weird?” Moenbryda blinked. He continued on when it was clear she had to think on an answer. “He talks in riddles and is always so serious and he always scares me cuz I forget he’s in the room half the time so like why is he like that?” His large green eyes stared up at her own silver ones. “The other Scions say you’re the closest to him, so...?”

What a question. “If I’m going to answer this, we’re going to be sitting at a table instead of crouching behind a planter. With some tea, preferably.” Moenbryda reached down and picked up both Warriors of Light by the arm until they were able to stand on their own. Roger had the more defined musculature, but otherwise the two young midlanders were pretty lightweight by her own standards. Lara was stuck in admiration again until the seawolf had sauntered past her quick enough that the girl had to scramble to catch up.

Not much longer after, the three of them sat at the round table that Moenbryda had taken over for her research. Books and papers were gathered up and set aside, far away from the cups of steaming hot tea that she’d poured. After getting settled in, she looked from boy to girl and back before raising a gray eyebrow. “So. You want to know why Urianger is as eccentric as he is.”

“W-well…” Roger couldn’t meet her gaze, instead scratching at the side of his face. “I just...don’t know much about him. All the other Scions trust him so I know he’s a good guy, but…” He trailed off.

“He’s like a really tall brown wall.” Lara finished for him. When the silver gaze came to rest on her own dark blue eyes, she fumbled for words again. “I-I mean, kind of like R-roger said he’s just...just really hard to guess at what he’s thinking. Even without the…”

“Pray tell, whatever dost thou meaneth, young Lara?” She fluttered her eyelids, putting a hand to her chest even while imitating Urianger’s usual tone. “Surely thou canst thinketh that this manner of speech be...obtuse?” That got a genuine giggle out of the girl. Nothing like making fun to offset nerves. “Surely one such as thee can fully grasp the intricacies of language far better than that of thine peers! Oh the youth of today hath fallen in scholarly pursuits! For shame!” The extra drama Moenbryda added got both of the teens to laugh. A success if she should say so herself.

“In all seriousness, though, Urianger has always been more in favor of keeping to himself than spending time with others. I’d say it was miraculous that he’s stayed this long in the company of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, except that our Master Louisoix helped bring them together. And he’s grown fond of them since.” She blew at the hair that partially covered her face. “Ever loyal to those he deems worthy of loyalty is our dear Urianger.”

Lara and Roger looked to each other. There was something of a silent conversation between them before he seemed to lose and so spoke next. “Is that also why he sneaks up on people so easy? Because he keeps to himself a lot?”

She couldn’t stop the grin from growing on her face even if she wanted to. “He’s perfectly capable of making noise while he walks. I suspect he stays quiet around you purely for the amusement that comes when you discover him, though you’ll never be able to suss out that confession from him.”

“What!” Roger stood in his seat, getting dangerously close to spilling what was left of his tea. 

“Did you not think him capable of humor?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean--” The boy sat back down hard and dug his hands into his red hair as he stared at the table. “Oh my gods he’s been laughing at me this whole time.”

“Now now, he’d never laugh.” Moenbryda pointed out. “Smile, maybe, but definitely not when you could see him.” 

“He can smile too?!” 

“Wonder of wonders, I know.”

“Loyalty and humor…” Lara mused. “Well that’s two things we learned about him that we didn’t know before.” She carefully looked at the older woman out of the corner of her eye. “...Is there anything else you want to add?”

The possibilities of further embarrassing her childhood friend were laid out in front of her like a feast. Anecdotes from their shared past. Hilarious mistakes on his part while they were both under the tutelage of Louisoix. Odd quirks from childhood that he most certainly kept even after having not seen her in so long. Any of that could become ammo for the Warriors of Light to use in order to fluster and annoy him like he deserved after being particularly difficult to understand. 

With a monumental amount of restraint, Moenbryda settled on a far more mature tact. Even Urianger would be proud, were he privy to her current thoughts.

“Loyalty and humor is fine and all, but one must take care if that’s all one knows about a person.” She took a sip of her still-warm tea. “A person of ill intent can still be loyal to their unrighteous cause. Humor can just as easily be derived from cruelty, not just harmless pranks.” Roger looked like he begged to differ, but she continued onward. “It’s the core of a person that one should look out for most of all. What they choose to do, again and again, when there is no reward to speak of or even if they are aware that the result will lead to negative consequences for themself.” 

Looking between the two teens again, she smiled gently. “A concept you two are already familiar with, I’m sure.” 

This time, the quiet was contemplative. 

Lara spoke first. “But...we haven’t seen him doing a lot that involves his core. He’s always so...closed off. Or like he’s hiding, I guess.”

“Well then it’s good you came to speak to me about that.” Moenbryda winked. This time, the girl merely jumped instead of froze. “If I had to say any one phrase fit Urianger well, it would be that he ‘has a heart of gold.’”

“Really?” Roger piped up. 

“Absolutely.” She nodded. “He will always put the wellbeing of others long before he thinks of himself. To his detriment in some cases, but admirable nonetheless.” Pointing a thick finger at the boy, she added, “Even his scare tactics, such as they are, are minor in nature. Enough to make you jump, but not enough for you to go for your weapon, right?”

It took him a moment to think back that far. When he finished, he sounded awestruck. “...yeah. That’s right.” 

“See? You already had some of the evidence in front of you. All you both needed was a fresh perspective.”

Roger stared openly at Moenbryda before turning his gaze back to Lara. “No wonder you like her so much.”

The brief moment of respite for the girl’s poor face died as the pink came back in full force, even darkening into red in places. “Roger!” She shouted at him. 

Moenbryda gave a happy sigh to herself and leaned back a little to drink her tea while the teens argued again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the far more stealth experienced members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn snickering at the scene. 

She might not have known the Warriors of Light for long, but it was good to see that such responsibilities hadn’t weighed them down enough that they forgot how to be their own age. Now if only someone would stop pretending that he was twenty years older than he actually was around her every so often.

[spyder-m]

Shumako Week 2020, Day One: The Set-Up

@shumakoweek​ Day One: Study Partners / Confessions

AO3 / FF.net 

Summary: The Phantom Thieves face one of their most challenging operations to date, getting a confession out of their leader and advisor. 

.

It was no secret that the Charge Commander of the Phantom Thieves, Sakamoto Ryuji, was not one for subtlety. Despite his best efforts, there were times where he became overzealous, words slipping out without a thought.

Their latest operation was one of he was having trouble keeping under wraps.

With a near-impossible task and seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against them, the pressure was becoming too much to contain. The urge to speak out, to try and find advice was tearing away at him.

The Phantom Thieves had managed fine without Joker's guidance before; pulling off operations during his interrogation and time in prison. But a mission without both their leader and advisor, in many ways, his second-in-command, wouldn't be easy.

Yet, Ryuji knew they couldn't let themselves become distracted by what they were missing. They needed to stay positive.

They still had Futaba's hacking skills, and that furball, as much as he hated to admit, was their most experienced member. Most of what they knew had been because of his teachings.

And while he, Ann and Morgana could get on each other's nerves at times; when united by a common goal, they were a powerful force as original members. They would need to harness that force as much as possible, considering this could be their hardest mission yet.

Not only were they short team members, but they had two targets they needed to get a confession out of this time.

Ryuji leant back with an exhale, warm water lapping at the knots in his shoulder; allowing him a momentary respite from the concern clouding his mind.  

He and Ren were visiting the baths across from Leblanc again; a momentary respite Ryuji was thankful for; particularly now that there weren't any old dudes constantly cranking up the heat.

Though, the trip couldn't alleviate his worries entirely. Even it was part of their plan. He needed to stay focused.

The setting was perfect, an excuse for him to bring up the conversation they'd had last time without raising suspicion.

Back then, Ryuji hadn't expected Yusuke to show much interest in girls, beyond aesthetics. Though, he had been surprised that Ren played coy when asked about Ann; talking up her strengths as a teammate and a friend.

Tsk, what a cop-out.

Ryuji had the feeling Ren was well-versed with women. At least, based on how well he'd handled the maid incident compared to Mishima. Not to mention, for the short time he'd lived in Tokyo, he'd certainly made connections with a lot of them.

Ryuji found it hard to believe he didn't have a preference.

Still, thinking on it, his words rung true.

Over the past few years, many things had changed. Their team had grown, and there were more female members. There was someone Ren carried herself around quite differently from anyone else on their team.

It had to mean something.

Though he was quiet, at times hard to read, Ryuji suspected the response to his question would be a bit different this time around and decided now was as good a time as any to probe.

"So, Renren. When are you gonna like... ask Makoto out?"

Though, as established, Ryuji was never one for subtlety.

It was fortunate that Ren had the foresight to remove his glasses before they entered the bathhouse. For; despite priding herself on keeping calm and level-headed throughout even their most dire Metaverse battles; he was completely rocked by Ryuji's question, his body slipping beneath the surface of the water with a shocked cry.

Ryuji chuckled, pleased to have caught his usually cool, stoic friend off guard. The reaction was telling, there was definitely something to his suspicion.

Ren emerged, moments later, a maelstrom of coughs and damp, shaggy hair. Though the springs were warm, Ryuji wasn't sure they were the reason for the flush building across his face.

His laughter died, though, under the glare Ren leveled in his direction.

"W- what? Where did you get that idea?"

"Come on, man. I'm not that stupid. You’d have to have been hit by Marin Karin to not see that you two are totally into each other."

"Oh, really?" Ren challenged.

"Uh, yeah. Remember back when we broke into Boss' house in the middle of a storm and the lights went out? Makoto was practically hanging off of you."

"S- she was just scared. Futaba does the same thing whenever we're somewhere crowded."

Ryuji took satisfaction in the flinch that crossed Ren’s face. He had a weak point and capitalise on the advantage.

"Well, speaking of Futaba. When we were fighting that cognition of her mom, you knocked Makoto out of the way when that pillar was going to hit her."

"I didn't want her to get hurt! I would've done that for any of you guys."

"Really?” Ryuji grinned, smugly, his arms folding. “Cause you sure held onto her for longer than necessary though. I'm pretty sure she was fine."

"That's-"

"Not to mention, I heard from Ann that you've been going on double-dates with Makoto and her friend."

"That's just a cover. I'm helping her lookout for Eiko."

Ren’s protest trailed off, perhaps the most half-hearted of them all. Ryuji’s expression softened, his words carrying a more sincere lilt.

"But you wouldn't mind if you were actually dating?"

Ren sighed, his eye’s carrying to the ceiling as he leant back.

"All I'm saying is, I've only ever seen her act like that around you. A lot of other guys seem kind of scared by her."

"She's our teammate, Ryuji.” Ren insisted. “A great strategist and friend. There's nothing more to it than that."

Ryuji shrugged.

"If you say so, man."

The apparent doubt in Ryuji's voice was not missed by Ren, as if noticing his lack of conviction. The words troubled him, picking at an uncertainty inside of him.

.

Ann's eyes lifted over the cup of coffee she held to her lips, carefully watching Makoto through the wisps of steam rising from the liquid.

She had asked her older friends to come out with her to the shopping district, part of the plan she had formed with Ryuji and the rest of the Thieves: to get Ren and Makoto alone and ask them about their feelings for one another.  

With everything in its right place, the boys should have been at the bathhouse just across the alleyway right now. Futaba would be monitoring the situation from her room, convenient, as it meant she wouldn't have to also face the crowds of ().

This was an operation Ann had to approach this like any other battle; consider the enemy's strengths and weaknesses and exploit them to her advantage.

She knew she wouldn't be able to beat Makoto when it came to strategy and wasn't dumb enough to even try and overpower her physically - although, having Haru with her may have helped.

If she probed, Makoto might feel like she was being interrogated and get suspicious. Asking directly, flustering her and catching her off guard when she was relaxed, would work best in Ann's favour. It would be the fastest way to expose her true feelings.

They were on familiar turf, enjoying coffee in the booths of Leblanc. A place Makoto had grown more than comfortable. It would be the last place she would expect an ambush.  

Much like in Hawaii with the guys, she would ask, point black, framing the question as casual conversation.

As Makoto didn't chat with her peers often, it's possible she wouldn't pick up on the obvious motive behind her question.

Though, normally, it would be either Makoto or Futaba who would remind her of enemy strengths and weaknesses, which posed an issue. Futaba wasn't with them and she couldn't clue Makoto in on what they had planned.  

"So, Makoto. What kind of guy do you like?"

Makoto's voice squeaked, her own cup almost slipping from her grip.  

"W- where is this coming from, all of a sudden?"

"Relax Makoto, it's just girl talk." Ann reassured warmly. "I didn't get to ask you on the school trip like I did with Ren and Ryuji, and what can I say? I'm curious."

"W- what do you expect? You should know I'm not familiar with such things."

"Maybe so, but a lots changed in the past year. You've done things you now that I bet you never would have dreamed of before."

Makoto caught her bottom lip between her. She certainly couldn't argue that point.

"Maybe you just haven't figured out what your type is yet? That's okay! We can help you out!"

With a smirk, Ann's finger stroked her chin; a gesture usually akin to Makoto; scrutinising her friend closely. Makoto's eyes lowered, suddenly unnerved by her friend's proximity, her fingers tracing the pattern of her skirt. She decided not to acknowledge her, not wanting to risk incriminating herself. Instead, she left Ann to speculate out loud.

"What about the guys in our group, huh?" Ann began. "You and Ryuji might be at odds, but he seems into you. He's always talking about how awesome your Persona is."

Despite her best efforts to ignore Ann, Makoto coughed, a mouthful of coffee catching in her windpipe. Haru shuffled beside her, patting her on the back and sliding over a glass of water.

Of all the names Ann could have come out with, Makoto had definitely not expected Ryuji to rank highly.  

Certainly, Makoto had grown of Ryuji. The perception she once held of him as a problem delinquent had been quickly shattered in the time they’d spent together. Though at times, he still behaved in a frustrating fashion, she had come to find that he was passionate, well-meaning and incredibly loyal.

Still, she wasn’t sure where Ann had gotten that idea at all. If anything, Ryuji seemed much closer to her.  

"Hmm.” Ann continued, her tangent seemingly uninterrupted by Makoto’s coughs. “Well, I suppose I could also see it being someone like Akechi. He's popular, but smart like you, and a detective."

Makoto shuddered, finding the notion of Akechi viewing her in a romantic light unsettling.

If anything, she saw him as a rival. His presence waking pangs of jealously, for all the time he spent with sis and the respect she appeared to hold for him. Still, she didn’t answer, opting instead to savour her coffee; careful to take smaller sips.

"Not interested, huh? Well, I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that your tastes wouldn't match most girls our age..."

As Ann broke off, seemingly lost in thought once again, Makoto hoped for this conversation to not continue.

"Though, I have to say, Ren gave quite an interesting answer when I asked him about this."

"I- is that so?" Makoto answered, reflexively; realisation seeping through her with a grimace.

That this was the first time Makoto actually spoke up wasn't missed by Ann. Though, she couldn’t afford to let it show.

She would have to revel silently in that small victory.

"Mm." Ann said, feigning nonchalance. Though inside, she was growing giddy with excitement. "He said he valued intelligence most in a girl. Now, I wonder who that could be referring to?"

"We hadn't met you yet, Haru, so he couldn't have been talking about you, and... Well, Ren's seen my test results, so I doubt he meant me. That would leave either Futaba, or..."

"Why are you restricting this to our group?" Makoto protested, perhaps too fiercely. "Ren knows plenty of intelligent women. There's that Doctor who supplies us with medicine, or the Shogi player, Hifumi-san."

"Yeah, you're right, Makoto. What about Sae-san? She fits that description perfectly."

Ann could sense the urge to grin pulling at her lips; proud of how she'd managed to turn the conversation back against Makoto.

Bringing up her older sister; who she often compared herself to; was perhaps an under-handed move. But they were thieves after all, and Ann was determined to uncover the truth.  

If Makoto felt anything for Ren, the idea of him liking Sae-san would certainly spark a response from Makoto.

Makoto swallowed. She was glad the conversation was no longer centered around her, but... The idea of Ren being attracted to sis, didn't sit well with her, those feelings of inadequacy churning inside her chest.

Perhaps, worse still, was that the scenario didn't seem that farfetched to Makoto. She could actually imagine Ren being able to live up to her sister's lofty expectations.

While sis was meticulous, there was an inexplicable charm to Ren, one that many; herself included; were drawn to. Being related to Sae, Makoto suspected it would work similarly on her. After all, he had managed to break through her cold exterior before.

There shouldn't have been any reason for it bother her. They had no business speculating about their private lives.

"If you don't mind, could we perhaps change the subject? I- I'm not sure Ren would appreciate us having this discussion."

Ann relented, already having got what she needed from their conversation.

A tactical retreat, for the time being.

.

After assessing the targets, the Thieves reported their findings back to one another at the Accessway in Shibuya.

Of all their hideouts, it seemed the safest place.

Had they met up at Leblanc, or the Shujin rooftop, there was always the chance that Ren or Makoto would stumble upon them.

Instead, they kept their plans for the weekend open, knowing that Ren would be busy working at Leblanc and Makoto, as always, would be preparing for University entrance exams.

Their normal hangouts were nearby anyway. Ann usually spending time in the Underground Mall, Ryuji the Arcade on Central Street, Haru tending to her crops at Shujin, and Yusuke people-watching in the middle of the station.

It would be easy for them to meet up at a moment's notice.

Morgana would have the hardest time sneaking off, as he usually stuck with Ren. The Thieves agreed it would be best for him to leave with Futaba, the two claiming they were going to Akihabara, so has as not to raise any suspicion.

After a few rounds of Gun About, Ryuji shuffled over, his hands buried in his pockets. He greeted Ann with a lazy dip of his head.

"Any luck?"

Ann shook her head with a sigh.

"Makoto tried her best to deny it, but it was pretty much written on her face. "

"Yeah, same with Ren."

"Hm. It would seem it won’t be easy to get a confession out of either of them."

"That sure suits them both. Stubborn 'til the end."

"Urgh. Why is this so hard? We’ve made criminals confess; it shouldn’t be so difficult to get our own friends to admit their feelings."

"Yeah. Kinda sucks all that stuff with Eiko blew over. All that fake dating shit really seemed it was getting them somewhere."

"Wait, that's it!"

"Wha-"

"Why don't we convince them to go on another pretend date? We could get Eiko to go along with it. We send those two somewhere romantic together, have Eiko split at the last minute and things are sure to play out between them!”

"I guess? But like, how are we gonna ask? Do you even know her?"

"I don't. But she's a third-year like you, right Haru?"

"That's right. I've seen Eiko-san around before, but we've never really spoken before."

"You're both friends with Makoto, though. That's a start! If you let Eiko know we need her to help out Makoto, I'm sure she'll be willing to listen."

"Well, I suppose. How do we approach her about it, though? I don't have her number."

"Leave that to me! Just gotta crack in Makoto's cloud and we should have no problem finding the right number."

"Please don't tell me you've done that to any of us before."

"Aw, come on, guys. You can trust me. This is just a one-time thing, I promise! For the mission, and their own good. The ends will justify the means."

"Well, if you say so."

.

Ren's fingers rapped against Leblanc's counter-top, his long, drawn-out sigh accompanying the sporadic beat.

The shop was unusually quiet.

Sundays had always been slow for business, Sojiro had told him so. People wanted to make the most out of their day off and tended to rely more on caffeine to fuel them during busy work weeks.

Still, that trend had seemingly shifted ever since Ren had moved upstairs, making friends of his own in Tokyo. They would hang around, keeping him company during long, uneventful shifts; often without need for invitation.

It was a shame they had all had other plans today and left him feeling a little sad.

For as much time they had spent and grown together, Ren almost couldn't remember what it was like; or how he had managed to get by; without them. It felt empty, alien.

Perhaps it was born of a connection between their Persona; the other self that had laid dormant inside them all.  

At the lively sounds stirring through Yongen-jaya, Ren was overcome by envy.

Children laughing, dogs barking, patrons chattering with enthusiasm as they stepped out of the recently reopened movie theatre.

He wished he could be outside with them.

With no customers around, and all the dishes cleaned and stacked beside the sink, there weren't even any of the store's usual, mundane tasks that Ren could focus on to past the time.

Ren's hand lowered, digging through his pocket for his phone. Craving the distraction and hoping maybe, someone, might be finished with their commitments for the day. Willing to see him.

Before he could punch in his passcode, the bell above the door chimed.

Not wanting to incur another lecture from Sojiro about slacking off while on the clock; this from the guy who was usually reading the paper behind the counter; Ren's phone found a makeshift hiding place under the sleeve of his shirt.

However, a swell of happiness flooded through Ren, as he instead saw Makoto stepping through the door, her lips pulling into a smile.

His initial surprise dissipating, Ren exhaled, the familiar face flashing before him a beacon of relief.

He hadn't bothered messaging Makoto earlier, knowing that she was busy studying and not wanting to interrupt here. Her presence was unexpected.

Still, he wasn't complaining. Her company could keep him from going insane until Boss got back.

"Hey Makoto. How's studying going? Here for the usual?" Ren asked, hoping she would take the invitation.

"Please." She answered, setting down in the stool nearest him. "Although, I'm afraid I didn't come here just for coffee."

"Is that so?" Ren asked, sifting through the large display of beans behind him. "Well, what's up?"

"I need to ask a favour of you. One big enough to bring me here in person."

"Fire away."

"Eiko's asked us on a double date again."

Ren froze in the middle of adjusting the siphon, wondering for a moment if he had heard correctly.

"Oh." The word slipped out reflexively. "I thought she ended things with Tsukasa?"

"She did." Makoto nodded. "She has a new boyfriend now, apparently."

Ren hummed in reply, as he worked on her coffee, expecting her to continue. Though, from the way Makoto's hands kneaded together and her gaze zeroed in on the countertop; it mustn't have been easy to piece together whatever was on her mind.

Ren glanced up, taken by a momentary flash of concern. Such apprehension was unlike her; it had been for months.

"The problem is... Well- You see, after everything. I never told her that you and I dating was... just an act. It never occurred to me that this would come up again."

"So, she still thinks that we're...?"

"Exactly."

The sound of water churning at least distracted from the palpable silence that rung out between them.

As if not wanting to be swallowed up, by the heavy, oppressive atmosphere, Makoto urged herself to carry on, words now trailing from her lips in a flurry.

"While I could just turn her down, I am worried." She admitted. "I hope this won't be a repeat of what happened with Tsukasa. While I'm sure that the whole experience helped her become a better judge of character, I want to make sure her new boyfriend doesn't have any ulterior motives.

“I'm sure that we'll only need this one date to find out. After that, I can explain everything to her and clear up any confusion about us... Or lie and say that we've broken up, whichever comes easier."

"You've really thought this through." Ren laughed as he added the finishing touches to Makoto’s coffee and set it down. She accepted the cup, smiling.

“She asked me earlier today. It was bothering me so much that I couldn’t focus on studying anymore. I had to come and ask you."

“Alright. Well, let me know the time and place, and I’ll be here.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ren. I promise this will be the last time.”

It was strange, becoming abruptly conscious of something that had long been missing.

It had never really struck Ren until now, that he and Makoto had stopped 'dating' weeks ago.

Now, starting again seemed... bittersweet, as he knew, going in, that it wouldn't last. That he would, in a way, be saying goodbye to times he had fond memories. Times that had brought he and Makoto closer.

Though, it was foolish, pointless, to despair. This being their last 'date' didn't mean that wouldn't spend time together anymore, Ren knew this.  

Yet, somehow, the prospect of it ending left him feeling hollow, sad.

.

When the two arrived at Odaiba Seaside Park in their agreed meeting place, Makoto couldn’t find Eiko anywhere.

She wondered initially, if in her nervous haste, she had had them leave too early, arriving well before the other couple.

That must be it, she reassured herself. There was no need to worry. Dates and hangouts between friends were casual affairs, with schedules that weren't enforced that strictly. They would show up at any moment.  

Though, as the minutes melted away, and the sun began fading into dusk, she grew anxious. Why hadn't Eiko turned up yet? Had something happened?

Unsurprisingly, Makoto wasn't alone in sensing something was off.

"We didn’t mix up any of the details, did we?" Ren asked, glancing over Makoto's shoulder as she double-checked the message on her phone.

"No." Makoto frowned. "Eiko said to meet right here at around 6 o’clock. Surely, they couldn't have forgotten?"

Makoto sighed. Despite how carefully she had planned, the evening was already falling apart. All because of circumstances beyond her control.  

Not to mention, Ren was doing her a favour. She would feel like she was exploiting his good-will if she dragged him out for a date that didn't even end up happening.

Makoto's concern was alleviated momentarily by the chime of her phone.

"Oh, Eiko just messaged me. Perhaps they’re running late?"

Her fingers tapped against the screen, nose wrinkling at the string of words that flashed before her eyes.

Good luck! You can thank me l8r! Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

"That's strange." She said, turning the screen towards Ren. "Perhaps she meant to send this to someone else?"

Ren's eyes narrowed as they glossed over the cryptic text before looking to her with a shrug.

Hoping for a more concise answer, Makoto frantically strung together a reply.

Eiko? What are you talking about? Where are you?

Though, as she pressed send, clutching her phone in eager anticipation, her patience and optimism began to wear thin.

Makoto doubted the message had not been seen. Eiko was rarely without her phone and normally quite punctual when responding. If anything, her concern had shifted into suspicion.

Eiko laid out an incredibly vague hint, before lapsing into apparent radio silence. 

Good luck? What could that possibly mean? What is she up to?

“Should we head back?” Ren asked, his voice pulling Makoto from her reverie.

Her lips pursed.  

The offer was tempting. Though, after coming all the way; even having paid the train fare; it would seem like a waste to leave.  

They didn't get out of the city often. They could at least enjoy themselves for tonight.

Tourists and other couples wandered by, basking in the picturesque view of the setting sun as it draped over the water.

For every glance she exchanged with passing strangers, Makoto grew more self-conscious, wondering if perhaps they thought she and Ren were together.

If Ren noticed, he didn’t say. Instead, seeming similarly taken by the scenery as she caught him from the corner of her eye. Though it couldn’t stop the pang guilt building her chest. Being alone with him, in a clearly romantic setting, and the longing it stirred inside of her.

"I'm sorry, Ren.” Her apology broke abruptly. “I can tell Eiko. That way, we can be done with... With all of this."

"Hey, if I didn’t know any better Makoto, I’d think you didn’t enjoy my company." Ren smirked, sensing the shift in her mood.

"T-that’s not the case! I just didn’t want to trouble you anymore."

"Makoto, come on. It’s no trouble. I was happy to help you look out for Eiko, getting to spend time with you is a bonus."

"You’re a great friend, Makoto." He tacked on, lamely.

Ren panicked, internally, as the words brought a flicker of disappointment across her face.

"A friend to Eiko, I mean." He reiterated, stumbling over his words. "That’s not to say we aren’t friends. It’s just you mean, so much to me- All of you guys do. ‘Friend’ doesn’t really describe it, you’re like… confidants."

Makoto couldn’t contain the peal of laughter that broke from her lips.

"It’s alright Ren, I understand."

Ren was quiet, at times, but concise and deliberate when he did speak. For him to stammer was unusual.

For everything he had endured and accomplished as their leader, it was a reminder that he wasn’t infallible. Even though Ren seemed more socially attuned than her, he was still an ordinary teenager who could become awkward and flustered. It was something Makoto found reassuring.  

Her eyes fell on Rainbow Bridge, stretching back into Tokyo. Reminded of longing daydreams that plagued her, of having someone to walk across it with. She exhaled, wistfully, knowing her luck in that department.

"I guess Eiko was right when she said I would flunk a test on love.” Makoto said. “The only way I could make her think otherwise was by lying. I can’t learn about romance by myself."

"What about me?"

"I appreciate the offer, Ren,” Makoto sighed, “but I think we should stop pretend dating-"

No sooner had she formed the words than they were stifled by the pressure of Ren’s own lips gently capturing hers. Makoto’s eyes widened, the space dissipating between them, as she was pulled into his arms.

Only when the kiss had lingered long enough for her to find her own rhythm, to confirm that it was real, did he pull away, the sincerity and intenseness of his gaze pinning her down.

"You’re right. We should.”

[teethhunter]

Y’all I’m back into Rwby and wrote a thing for the first time in a long ass time. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624754

Summary:  Ruby and Yang are Huntresses now. Qrow pays a visit to Patch to have a much needed conversation with Tai.

TW: Past alchohol abuse, withdrawl symtoms, generally not great coping mechanisms. 

Basically it’s just Tai and Qrow talking about TraumaTM and what it means to be a parent. Mild spoilers for volume 7. 

Tai set a warm cup of tea down in front of Qrow, watching him carefully. It didn’t go over Qrow’s head that this was a test of sorts.

In a different time- not too long ago, he would have pulled out his flask and poured a generous helping of cheap liquor into the cup.

Qrow looked from the cup, to Tai, tilting his head to the side with just the hint of a smirk, a silent acknowledgement of the challenge he’d been given. When he picked up his cup, the trembling of his hands was impossible to hide. It came and went, and right now it made it difficult but not impossible to drink without spilling the hot liquid everywhere.

That smirk of his disappeared, morphing into something of shame and annoyance when he noticed the pitying look Tai was giving him now. He cleared his throat, setting the cup back down with a graceless clang that left a small pool of steaming tea on the table. Neither of them had said more than a handful of words to each other, someone had to break the silence.

“So, the girls are huntresses now…” Qrow commented, best to acknowledge the Goliath in the room.

The silence lingered after, broken again only by a sigh, Tai’s eyes closed as he forced a tense smile. “I heard. Yang wrote to me. They’re all so young still but, well, guess they’ve been through enough. They deserve it.”

“Yang wrote to you?” Qrow had expected that Tai would have heard the news already, but normally it was Ruby that wrote letters. Yang had always had the tendency to forget to update people, where Ruby loved recounting all that happened.

“Mhm, got a few letters from her. Keeps me in the loop. Sounds like she’s doing so well, I always knew she could bounce back.” Tai’s pride in his daughter’s accomplishments apparent in every word, but laced with worry hidden underneath.

“Both those kids are made of tough stuff. Ha, guess you’ll be happy to know Ruby’s learned how to throw a punch, no weapons needed.” It was a tentative step into dangerous waters between the two of them. Tai wanted to know how Ruby was doing, but Qrow was probably the last person he wanted to hear it from.

Once upon a time, Tai and Qrow were close, trusted each other in and out of battle. Many things strained that bond, Raven leaving, Qrow’s devotion to Ozpin’s mission, Summer’s disappearance. They were never given respite from all that happened, many things were left unsaid, or simmered until they boiled over into harsh arguments. In the end what all but broke the fragile companionship between them was the fate of a little rose.

The heavy blanket of silence once again settled over them, broken only by the scratching of Zwei pawing at Tai’s leg. That dog had a keen sense for when Tai was distressed. Zwei was the last peace offering Qrow had offered Tai, soon after Tai finally gave in and let Ruby take the entrance exam for Signal. Tai lifted the dog into his lap, visibly relaxing slightly as he absently ran his fingers through Zwei’s fur. Moments like this made sure that Qrow didn’t regret bringing that puppy to Patch.

“Look..” Qrow mumbled, floundering with what to say. Having serious discussions with not a drop of alcohol in his system was near foreign to him now. His arms itched, whether it was to reach for a drink or fly away from this, he wasn’t sure. “I know there’s things you want to say to me. So just go on and say it, yell at me, fight me, I don’t give a damn, just say something.” He’d become accustomed to speaking in half truths, for once he craved something straightforward.

Tai blinked, and for a moment it was silent again before he set Zwei gently on the floor. “You told her to go to Haven. You knew she would go. You followed.” He tersely laid out those facts.

Qrow bit down the want to deflect, to say that he didn’t exactly tell Ruby to go to Haven. That wouldn’t be the truth, he knew what he’d been doing that whole time. “Yes, I did.”

“I just can’t seem to figure it out. Why you seem to want my daughter dead.” Tai said, tone startlingly flat. And there it was, the argument they’d had over and over since Ruby was old enough to take interest in stories of Huntsmen and Grimm.

“Tai. That is- that’s the last thing I want, and you know it.”

“But it is! What is any of this? Train her up, send her to her death? She’s got a target on her back and you point her right towards the danger, again and again. If you hadn’t encouraged her to be a huntress, if you hadn’t trained her, if she didn’t go to Beacon so early- she’s so young, she could be safe at home.” Tai was trembling with the effort to not yell, to not cry.

“I nearly punched Ozpin when I caught wind Ruby was going to Beacon early. If Gynda hadn’t been there, I would’ve. Of course I care. She’d have a target on her either way, I’d rather she have a weapon and know how to use it then,” Qrow said.

Tai’s hand darted out, grabbing one of Qrow’s wrists, nearly crushing it, a demand that Qrow listen to him. “You’re still sending her off to her death.”

Those words lingered in the air for a moment. It was hard to look at Tai, much harder than ignoring the bruising grip Tai had on him. He gave Tai a curious look. “Do you think she would have been happy?” He asked simply.

“What?”

“When you started teaching Yang to spar, Ruby came to me begging to be trained too, said you wouldn’t let her. Kid glued herself to me, stubborn little brat,” There was no way to feign annoyance at that with the fondness tinging his tone. “There was no denying that spark she had though. You saw it too. I know, it scared me too,” Those last words nearly whispered, a confession he’d never put to words before. “I’m pretty sure you remember that day, you completely lost it on me when you found out.”

Tai only nodded mutely, his grip on Qrow’s wrist loosening.

“Y’know, she snuck out of her room that night, after you put her to bed,” Qrow said. “I was half drunk on the couch, and this kid shows up sniffling, saying how sorry she was that she made us fight. Tried to get her to go back to bed but she wouldn’t stop sobbing, so I let her stay there. When she finally calms down and is about to go to sleep she says something else. Says she just wants to fight off all the bad guys like me, and her mama and daddy. Says she wanted her daddy to teach her, but he barely even looks at her.”

The story was pointedly aimed at Tai, but it was the truth. That wasn’t long after Tai had really started pulling himself out of his depression, starting to manage being a single parent with much less help as Qrow went on longer missions. Still, looking at the little girl who was a near mirror image of her mother wasn’t easy.

All at once, Tai deflated. His hand that held Qrow’s wrist now fell heavily onto the table, his head drooping. “I was so damn jealous of you. I still am.” He said, the tremble in his voice matched the tremble of his shoulders.

“Hm?” Qrow didn’t quite get what that had to do with any of this.

“You can connect with her in a way I never could. She’s always looked up to you, always listened to you- she’d never drink milk before you told her it’d make her grow strong. Before she could even write, if we had an address for you while you were on a mission she’d draw pictures to send to you.” Tai explained.

Qrow nodded, though Tai couldn’t see him. He didn’t say anything, having a feeling there was more the other wanted to say.

“She’s… she looks just like Sum- like her mother, and she fights and sometimes acts just like you.” It was the closest Tai could get to saying what he was trying to get at.

Tai wasn’t wrong in those observations either. Ruby had always gravitated towards her Uncle Qrow to confide in, and picked up on many of his habits, thankfully few of the bad ones. They had no blood relation yet people mistook him to be her father on more than one occasion. Qrow never had any intentions of being a father, not now, not ever, he hadn’t even expected to live this long. Yet the pride he felt at every one of Ruby’s successes, and the chilling fear of losing her, was all undeniably parental.

“C’mon Tai-Tai.” Qrow said lightly, an old nickname rolled off his tongue easily, making Tai raise his head to look at him. “There’s a whole lot of you in her, you just aren’t looking. The sheer amount of energy that kid has? Or the way she can make a friend without realizing it just by smiling at them. That’s all you.” He assured.

Despite the tears still trickling down Tai’s cheeks, he looked just slightly soothed by that. Still he gave Qrow a doubtful look.

Qrow sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not lying about that stuff. But you want it from me straight? Okay. You did a shit job at bonding with her. You want her safe so bad-and that’s not wrong, but you wanted to… well, this is a shit metaphor but you wanted to clip her wings, keep her in a cage.” All at once Tai wanted Qrow to shut up, and to continue, this all needed to be said eventually.

“Her being trained by me made sense, she’s never going to be a fisticuffs fighter like you, she’s fast, needed to learn how to fight in the air, and picked up on using a scythe faster than I did.” Qrow pointed this all out just to delay what he knew he needed to say next.

“And I’m not gonna claim I was always good at this… I mean fuck, there was a time where I thought I’d never be able to look at her while sober. But when you look her in the eyes, you see a ghost, Tai. Things got easier the more I could see that kid as her own person. She’s not Summer.”

The air in the room stood uncomfortably still, like the house itself was holding its breath. Then their eyes met, two men who had lost too much. They both were crying. Tai moved around the table, and reached out. Qrow tensed, expecting a fight, it’d been a long time since contact didn’t mean a fight. Yet there wasn’t a hint of aggression as Tai pulled him into a hug. So slowly he returned the embrace.

Things weren’t okay. There was still so much left unsaid. But for just a moment after acknowledging women they both mourned in their own unhealthy way, and the girls left behind that they both desperately wanted to protect, they could find a hint of comfort.

[daydreamindollie]

Feast Your Eyes | k.nj x f.r

Pairing: k.nj x f.r

Genre: n a u g h t y....

Length: 3k

Quick Summary: The sensation it brought you to stare at his delightfully tensing, lean physique through the crack of his door - carelessly left ajar - was more than addictive. 

A/N: First of all, I really have to apologise because this is my first time writing something naughty and so close to smut. I had more planned but I was really unsure about how it would turn out so you could say that this is a little tester. If you guys like it or have any idea of how you want the fic to continue then don’t be afraid to tell me and I’ll get to work on, maybe, a part 2???? 

Constructive critisim is always helpful too as I am still working on my writing style. Thank you! 

Anyway, this was requested by a doll of an Anon. Thank you for the request Dollface, I hope this is to your liking. I apologise for the extended wait. Much love x 

W A R N I N G S: voyeurism, masturbation...nakednessssss...

There it was again...the groans and moans of your roommate - Kim Namjoon. 

This wasn’t the first time you had entered the modest space of your modern apartment, only to be greeted by the sinfully delicious sounds that your sexy, sharp roommate emitted when doing the deed, ‘alone’. You could deem this to be, perhaps, the sixth time already. It wasn’t a general, reoccurring event as those occurrences were spaced out over several months; lengthy weeks stretching the intervals between each one. Personally, you had wished for it to be a more frequent event. Having it be a rare circumstance gave you immoral desires but they can’t be helped. 

The sensation it brought you to stare at his delightfully tensing, lean physique through the crack of his door - carelessly left ajar - was more than addictive. 

‘He’s so beautiful’ was always the first thought that verbalised itself in your clouded mind. Everything else disappears and it’s just you and himhimhim. Biting your lip, you smothered a moan as the male, through the crack of the door, whimpered helplessly under the searing touch of red-hot pleasure. ‘How sexy can he get?’ was your second thought, drinking in the erotic expression he was shamelessly displaying in his demeaning condition. The next thought would be: ‘he’s so big...’ as your eyes made their usual route down, from his bliss-compressed countenance, down his (unfortunately) dressed torso, before greedily devouring the image of his solid member. The tip was a painful, swollen pink colour, supported by an impressive length that strained and pulsed with prominent veins. 

You licked your lips. ‘I wonder what it would feel like to trace those veins with my tongue...’. Sometimes, you couldn’t believe how vulgar your thoughts suddenly became at the sight of him in such a state. Every male would’ve gone through the same thing Namjoon was doing, but you know for a fact that he’s affecting you more than any other man could. It’s no surprise either, you’ve always been acutely aware that you’ve had this adoration towards him ever since the day you met. 

It all started based on his appearance. His hair always looked so much more well kept than yours, like fine, silk strands with the volume of fluffy clouds. Naturally, you would often find yourself wanting to comb your fingers through his mass of dyed locks. The skin he had, stretched over lean (but not over the top) muscles, was blemish free and smooth looking, igniting deep jealousy inside you. It was a serious offence as you are someone that’s constantly battling a moody epidermis; sprouting pimples here, there and everywhere, whenever possible. His eyes were gentle but fierce, his lips plump and kissable, a perfect combination to have for each minor but significant feature. Above all, however, was his voice, the pièce de résistance, so creamy-smooth, and possessing the texture of burnished satin. Subsequently, the two of you spent many times together, and you’ve slowly grown a fondness of his variable personality also: silly yet responsible, witty but also earnest, humorous and ethereal. A whole package that you had all to yourself, but only as a roommate. A fact you scoffed at. 

Were you ever going to get out of such a basic ranking? 

Dismissing that thought, you continued to indulge in the rare, but commonplace act Namjoon (Joonie) was participating in as a pool of stickiness accumulated at the flimsy fabric you had covering your weeping nether-regions. You hoped and wished that the sight would persist without ever ending. Nevertheless, such a fancy for an impossible deed was not permitted and you found yourself sighing in disappointment almost as heavily as your breathing became when ogling the episode that had played out before you. Joonie had met his end soon enough, sighing between laboured breaths upon shooting his load onto the sheets of his single bed. It was over far too soon. 

Suppressing the urge to complain openly, you quietly rushed to the front door in order to make it look as if you had just gotten back.

“I’m home!” you announced after opening and slamming the door from inside. 

“W-Welcome home!” there was a faint kerfuffle from the end of the hallway, tugging a smirk of mischief at your rosy lips as you imagined your sticky roommate scrambling around in order to look presentable. 

“What are you up to?” you hummed with innocent curiosity, already knowing the answer. 

“I’m about to take a shower!” 

“Oh alright! I’m starving so I’m going to cook!” making your way into the kitchen, you rummaged around, finding just about enough ingredients to make two servings of a decent meal, “Want me to make you something too?” 

“That’d be great! Thanks (Y/N)!” 

“No problem Joonie!” 

Saturdays were your respite. You would sleep in, share a large brunch with your coquettish roommate before utilising the rest of day’s hours, whether it be through binge eat whilst indulging in K-dramas, reading a book, getting lost in music and dance or going out with your girls. They were the days where the world was appointed to be your oyster. The former of those activities was a very favoured matter of business between you and Joonie so the two of you would, at least, watch a couple together, even if there was something urgent that either of you would have to do - watching K-dramas in each other’s company was always the most important on Saturdays. 

You’ve wanted to become more productive with your time, however, and had expressed this to Namjoon, who suggested limiting the time spent watching the dramas. 

“What are you going to be doing today?” Namjoon hummed curiously from across the table, he already knew the answer but wondered if you really were planning on doing something else. 

“Hmm...” you stopped for a moment of thought, “I have no idea!” you giggled, already adapting to the careless ambience of the day but leaving you open to your choices, earning a deep chuckle. The smoothness of the sound forced your crossed thighs to clench under the shocks of electricity that dared to strike and heat up your already melting core. It was a horrible habit for your brain to turn his chuckles into laboured moans that instantly generated heat deep within you. 

“You haven't decided whether or not you wanted to follow through with your pledge of productiveness then, huh?.” it was a playful jeer, you knew that but his eyes seemed somewhat predatory as he took a tantalising swig of his black coffee, allowing you to meekly watch; his jugular rocked back and forth upon the vertical length of his thick neck as a seductive gulp penetrated your sensitive hearing. More electrifying pleasure shot through you, sending your body jolting forward and almost hitting the underside of the table with your knee. “Is something wrong?” he quipped a curious brow as a teasing tongue peeked past two soft, rosy rims, lapping at the bitter residue upon the pinkness of his lips. 

“Oh, nothing. I actually just realised what I’ve wanted to do with my time.” you lied with a quivering tongue. 

“And what’s that?” he smiled thinly. 

“Binge eat through K-dramas!” you announce as he laughed heartily, “Care to join me in my new pledge of unproductiveness?” your eyes fluttered playfully in a nonverbal invitation. 

“I’ll have to take care of some things first but I’ll be sure to join you as soon as I can.” 

Suppressing a squeal, you allowed only your eyes to reflect the light of your excitement, “Great! I’ll make sure to get your favourite snacks too when I head out for a quick trip to the corner store, then.”

“Thanks.” 

After finishing up your brunch and helping to wash and dry the dishes, you quickly got ready for a step outside before making your way to the door with your keys and purse, where you announced your leaving. There was a brief, nonchalant response from Namjoon’s room, hinting at his current occupation. A trait you really admire about him - his dedication and smartness.

There were plenty of snacks to choose from when you arrived at your destination but you made sure to get an equal amount of yours and Namjoon’s favourites, landing you with a decent variety of sweet and savoury treats. Grinning to yourself, you rushed to pay for the refreshments piled up high in your arms and raced to your shared apartment, where you began setting everything up, understanding that Namjoon might extend his absence in your day-long session of K-drama watching.

He’s a very dedicated soul and you don’t want to get in between him and his studies, which were - basically - his passions. You still hope for his company as soon as possible though. It’s so much more enjoyable with him at your side; you can have someone to cuddle with for the times when you’d get sad or would genuinely crave the heat of another person. 

Like most of your previous sessions, you were reduced to a sobbing mess at times, brought up to hysterics at others, made fuming angry at particular characters that you hold a passionate hatred towards, whilst also being silently content at cute moments. Despite your enjoyment, however, your gaze would, more often than not, wander past the screen of the TV in order to face the clock hung up high. It’s late, really late, and yet, Namjoon still hadn’t shown up to fulfil his word. Granted, he had stepped out several times, seeking food or any cooling beverages, where you’d offer him a sample of your displayed snacks but that was it. There was a dwindling hope that grew weak inside you, optimising that the light meal you were able to offer the male would lure him out of the confines of his monopolising room. 

As the clock ticked past the latest hour and your final episode for the night came to an end, you began tidying up, throwing away empty packets of plastic and sweeping up stray crumbs. Banishing your dilating dismay at Namjoon’s broken promise, you realised that you needed a bath as you frowned at the settled sweat and dried tears caking your complexion. There was no urgency to wake up early for tomorrow, so you’d be able to wallow in a warm vanilla-scented bubble bath before going to bed and sleeping dreamlessly. 

Humming softly to yourself, you purged your mind of everything that had to do with your roommate, succumbing to a state of passive aggressiveness, and set about preparing your bath. 

As the harsh rapping of lukewarm water pounded against the tub, slowly climbing up the bath’s volume, Namjoon was snapped awake, blinking his eyes with exponential fullness. Coming to his senses and adjusting to his surroundings, curses spitefully clicked his tongue against rows of pearly-white teeth when staring up at the tired clock - ticking away precious seconds, minutes and hours. 

He must’ve fallen asleep when going over his material for the final time. There was a genuine intention in his promise because the K-drama session was made into a ritual between the two of you. It was a practice that you both would participate in (every Saturday) and after months of a constant streak, that you had encouraged and made into a habitual occurrence, he had been the first to break it alongside a promise that he made empty. 

Cautiously stepping into the small living room, Namjoon expected to see you, asleep on the sofa as it was your habit to end up sleeping as a way of concluding the session. Instead, he found the space to be vacant of anything: of you, of store-bought snacks and piled-high CDs. You’re definitely going to be having a grudge against him and he hated that. You were, in some ways, closer to him than any of his other 6 friends and the two of you also live together, it’s only going to be tense and awkward if he doesn’t apologise with absolute validity - which he’s sure he’ll be able to express because he was an authentic man.

With the sound of running water, he had been minorly aware of, the male soon came to the conclusion that you’re probably taking a bath and decided to apologise when you were finished; he didn’t want this to extend into the next day so he’ll wait up for you to finish. 

Slowly dipping into the comforting water, you breathed a sigh and began playing around with the bubbles. Humming filled the air again as you lathered your body - anything to keep your mind from straying out of it’s fixed path of resentment, but you were always thinking of the male, no matter what you did. He had taken over your mind with his cute-ass dimple smile, goddamn velvet voice and his scandalous yet sophisticated demeanour. 

You moaned as wandering hands trailed down your curves to roughly caress your sensitivity. Biting your lip, you imagined his proficient hands replacing your incompetent ones and shamelessly wonder about what magic he’ll be able to cast. Surely, one that matched his unique appeal. Whimpering from your dainty fingers teasingly poking at your entrance, you imagined his dominance and tongue, he’d undoubtedly have you begging from a simple touch and the thought set the deepest pits of your dripping cavern on fire. 

How disgraceful...

Before a hand could curve over and fondle the eminence of your breasts, the angel on your right shoulder took control and went to unplug the tub for several moments, stopping halfway just to refill the bath with cold water. That'll teach you a lesson and keep you from your arousals. The bath wasn’t as enjoyable but, at the very least, you were able to calm down. 

It wasn’t until past midnight that you decided to step out in only a small towel and with your hair up in a turban that was already getting to work on absorbing the unwanted moisture in your hair. 

In a twist of fate, you walked straight into the person you had sworn to distance yourself from. With a shriek of surprise, you jumped back, almost crashing into an antique vase that housed an array of flowers atop an elegant, polished table. Fuelled by adrenaline, Namjoon snatched a hold of your forearm and pulled you into his chest, saving you but resulting in the two of you toppling over and into an immodest position - you hovering above him as your towel-turban came undone.

With baited breath, you stared down at the man you’ve mentally claimed to be the world’s sexiest creature; someone you’ve admired greatly for his success in life; a guy with surprisingly, rather similar interests to your own; someone that you’ve grown disreputable fantasies over and a man that you’re unravelled towel has forced you to show your naked body to. 

“Damn...” he cursed, biting his lip with eyes sinfully wandering soft curves. 

Never has it ever been this awkward between the two of you, even when you found out that you’d have to be roommates in a quaint apartment just at the edge of campus. It was fathomable, the petty inconvenience, but that was a time where you weren’t only shoulder-to-shoulder with vex towards the male’s broken promise but were now attempting to repress the redness of embarrassment that kept trying to dominate the hue of your cheeks. 

“I-I’m sorry about yesterday (Y/N).” he mused with timid sincerity over your plate of breakfast. As much as you’d love to discuss his atypical display of personal defect the previous day, you’d much rather avoid the topic. 

“Y-yeah...” you forced through clenched teeth before getting up and making your way to the door with your body fully dressed for your part-time job. Upon slipping your shoes on, you made your usual announcement: “I’m off.” 

Namjoon stared at the unfinished, barely touched plate of breakfast he had worked so hard in making, your plate and his were practically the same in the unwanted condition of their contents. He wasn’t in the mood to eat unless you were consuming a meal your stomach was usually more than greedy to digest. Who was he to think that you would forgive him over a simple plate of breakfast? He wasn’t even a good cook - the two of you knew that - and upon sampling a bite of what he had made, there was an instant wince at the blandness and odd texture.

“Fuck..me...” he cursed breathlessly, only cursing himself further when he helplessly allowed his mind to have devilish thoughts over last night’ s occurrences. 

Today, you were getting off work early, it was an offer your boss had given you a week ago when praising your high-level of service, at the time, it was an offer you didn’t dare decline but, now, under your current circumstances, you’d much rather not go home. There was nothing for you to do though; your friends were either working or hitting the books. 

...Perhaps Namjoon isn’t at home and maybe he’s at the library studying. 

Remaining sanguine, you slowly made your way home, walking slower than your average walking speed and possibly irritating some people in the process. Fuck them whispering about your slowness. You weren’t in the mood today so they can go suck it. 

When you finally reached your door, you silently stepped inside and crept through the halls whilst whispering out to a person that you’re hoping isn’t there. 

“Namjoon?” you called softly.

“Ahh~” 

This was odd. 

He already had a private session only a few days ago and he was already at it again, usually, he would be sated enough to last several weeks but apparently not this time - you wonder why that is. 

Your mind completely disregarding the events of last night, you made your way through the narrow hall once more ending at Namjoon’s door and your eyes immediately widened at the fact that he had been cautious enough to have the door shut completely. This was very very odd. 

What’s gotten into him?

“(Y-Y/N)~” he panted as your mouth parted in disbelief. “Fuck- baby~AH!”

Never before had the touch of magma slicked your nether lips so- 

Many times you’ve imagined him moaning your name and now that he has, all you want is moremoremore...

Again, if you guys want a part 2 or something, please say something. Or if you have any ideas of what I should happen next, message me! I just might include your fantasies *winkwonk* 

BUT, if you don’t like it then tell me as well - as long as it’s constructive please - just go easy on me; it’s my first smutty-ish fic. 

Thank you Dolls! 

masterlist

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

A Father’s Duty - Chapter 46

Read here or on AO3

Chapter 46: Blunt Awakening

Word Count: 2629

Summary: You and the baby manage to make it out the woods with both Paz and Din. Together you forge on only for your father to learn something quite startling.

Oneshot reqs open! Please send some in!

Your arms had become weary and nearly numb in their stagnant position as you still had a tight grip on the Mandalorian's ankle, muscles taut and begging for rest. The late Jedi masters, the baby and yourself had been carefully making your way through the Lost Woods for some time now, what felt like days had only been over a handful of hours, but hauling the limp body of a fully grown, possibly human man with not only your own strength but some lent to you by the ghosts of the Jedi masters, keeping their promise. Even going so far as to somehow pull Paz Vizsla along as well.

However, either their power was waning of you were weaker than you initially thought because exhaustion wracked your whole body. You had done your best to avoid all of the poisonous mushrooms, lest you meet the same fate and end up unconscious right next to your father and his friend. Both Masters insisted you keep pushing forward without even a little respite, the elder telling you he senses if you were to stop, you would either fall asleep or lose the will to push forward until the next day.

“Master Jedi,” you cried, “my arms hurt really bad!”

The green aura stopped ahead where it had previously been leading you, his fellow spirit following suit.

“Little one, I am afraid there is little else I can do for you at this point in time. It is already quite a feat for any Jedi to become a spirit within the Living Force. Some even receive help from others after death.”

Blowing a few stray hairs from your line of vision, you let out a low growl.  The strain of heaving such weight was becoming too much for you. Surely if you were to pull for just a moment longer something would pop. With sweat pouring down from your temple, trickling heavily down obscuring your view, you gave one last heavy tug.

CLICK

“KARK!”

A sudden wave of pain shot through your arm, radiating throughout the entirety of your body. At once you let go of the Mandalorian's leg, falling forward and properly hitting your head against his forged Beskar armor. Groaning you sat up, giving yourself a moment to find your bearings. Tiny fingers poked and prodded at your leg until you once again snapped back to attention.

“You alright there kid?” The younger Master circled around you a few times before calming down. His energy was certainly powerful so much so to a point of being overwhelming. “Can...Can you move your arms?”

Wincing, you tested the limits, bending your arms just slightly until  I think I can keep going...”

Scrambling to your feet you went to grab the Mandalorian once again, but found that his limp form shifted forward before you could get a hold on his ankle. Disgruntled you tried again, only to once again, miss. Before you could let out a long string of swears, The body of the Mandalorian was lifted a few feet off of the ground, his limbs hanging loose. Glancing behind, you could see the baby, his little hands raised, eyes focused squarely on lifting his father.  

“Little brother!” You begging was weak but still insistent. “You're going to strain yourself! And...And I don't know if I can heal you or not!”

The little child broke his focus to look at you with perhaps pity and then redirected his attention to the task at hand.

“Master Jedi!” You protested, hoping they would side with you. “He- He can't! He shouldn't! Tell him not to!”

The elder seemed to consider your plea but you could feel his interest pique in the child and his abilities.

You could feel a warm sensation on your shoulder offering a calming wave wash over you.

“We'll make sure he's alright the best we can. Just follow behind, alright?”

Nodding, you obeyed the strong voice of the younger Jedi spirit, concerned but glad you no longer had to try and carry a whole grown being on your own. The rest of the hike seemed dreamlike, the pitch of the forest illuminated by the poisonous mushrooms and the tame light of the spiritual auras, making reentry into sunlight quite startling. Rubbing your eyes, you picked up the baby who released his hold on your father, setting him gently on the grass.

Just as you were about to ask something of the two master Jedi, you could hear the Mandalorian groan and shift around, and glancing around, you could find the ghosts had once again left. As disappointed as you were, all attention was now on the two Mandalorians coming to.

“Papa! Wake up!” The little green one joined you in shaking Mando awake, gently pushing on his shoulder.

“Urgh...Kid?” The man sat up, swaying a bit before stabilizing. “What...What the hell happened?”

The poison had ran its course, he was clearly groggy but overall, he would be okay. Very much glad he was awake and recovered, you tackled the Mandalorian in a hug, almost sending him falling back once again.

“OOF! Kriffing hell, kid. Did ya' miss me much?” He chuckled, wrapping one arm around you, the other around the baby.

Once he let you go, you checked on Paz Vizsla, hugging his arm. “Kark! I'm so glad you guys are okay!”

“Watch your language, young one.” He mumbled. “But it is good to see you. It feels...It feels like its been days.”

Sitting back, you scratched your head. “Yeah. Silent mushrooms kinda do that. When you step on em' they release spores that put you to sleep. It may feel like days or weeks, but I think it's only been around half a day.”

Your little brother waddled over, climbing into the safety of your arms, eyes fluttering open and closed.

“I should have warned you...”

You could see your father glance back at Paz Vizsla, almost expectantly. But when he said nothingm, your father spoke.

“A'dika, this is not your fault. You are not responsible for my well being.”

Letting his words hang in the air for a while, you could hear ringing in your ears.

“Then who is gonna protect you?”

The Mandalorian did not know how to answer.

***___***___***

“Are we close?” Din asked his oldest child, trying to keep his pace even as to keep a solid grip on them. Young Beviin had given both he and Paz the un-detailed story of how they found the both of them unconscious in the Lost Woods, and somehow hauled them out. At first, Din had been extremely skeptical, but hesitantly, Beviin showed how they had managed but not without over straining themselves. For now, he carried her on his back, the baby carried by Paz Vizsla.

“I believe they are asleep, Din. Not that I blame them, the poor thing was almost shaking.”

Djarin sighed. As thankful as he was the kid was getting some rest, but they had been leading the way to the nearest trading station, and without a guide, they were as good as lost. Not wanting to have a innocent he decided it would be best for his clan plus one to settle for the night. After setting the children down to sleep, covering them in his cape, he had Paz gather some wood and made a small fire. Not that it was particularly cold, in fact the Stewjoni weather was quite amicable, the evening almost warm except for a slightly chilling breeze. So not willing to compromise the health of his clan, he made sure both the children were plenty warm.

“You...You're a good father, Din Djarin.” Paz said rather flatly. “They are luck to have you.”

Underneath his helmet, he quietly cursed himself for the warmth building in his cheeks. “What's with it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why the hell are you complimenting me? Get to the point.” He growled.

Paz Vizsla sighed, laying back, hands laced behind his helmet. “I thought I would try my hand at some earnesty with you. My apologies.”

Taken aback, Din could only watch as the other Mandalorian turned on his side to find some sort of rest. The crackle of the fire grew weaker and weaker, his only company at the present moment. The small flames curled and  flickered, eventually dying out completely. And when the sun rose once more, the Mandalorian found himself still staring at ashes.  

***___***___***

“W......up...co....n...w...”

Letting out an annoyed gurgle, you pulled the soft fabric that had been laid across you closer almost over your face until it was pulled from your grasp completely. Only half awake, you pushed yourself up, despite the throbbing pain in your arms.

“Give...It back.!” You protested before letting out a yawn.

“It's my cloak.” Came a soft, but stern voice.

“Buir, give it back.” You were awake now and there was no reason to have it as a blanket anymore, but it was now a matter stubbornness and sheer will. “It was over me so now its mine.”

A strange sound came from his helmet, whether it was a scoff or chuckle was unknown to you an difficult to discern.  Almost lazily, he snapped the cloak back into place, letting fall about his shoulders and back naturally. The baby who was now also awake, looked at you with a smirk of sorts. He agreed. Quickly snaking around Mando, you  leapt up, wrapping one arm loosely around his neck, the other holding fast onto the cloak trying to free it from where the Mandalorian had tightly tucked it.

“ACK-Beviin! Kark! What the hell are you doing?!” Your father said, trying to get you off his back as gently as he could while turning rapidly in circles.

“Give it back!” You demanded, pulling on the fabric to no avail.

Coming from behind you, Paz easily peeled you off the Mandalorian's back, holding you up in the air with your arms flailing. After a few moments, you accepted the failure, and stopped struggling.

“There are better outlets for your rambunctious energy than trying to tackle your father, little one.” Paz said, placing you on the ground. With a scowl, you dusted, yourself off, and resigned yourself to defeat.

If your memory truly served you right, there was only one place where you could get all manner of supplies from foodstuffs to serpent teeth and that was Meren's. The walk was short only a handful of hours until you were long past the Lost Woods and came right upon the large, riverside hut. It was rather old, having been standing for over a few centuries, only to be renovated slightly every once in a while. Though now it seemed in the years you had been exiled from Stewjon, old Meren hadn't bothered to touch a thing.

“Here it is!” You exhaled, looking back at both the Mandalorians. Both looked at each other for a second before Mando turned to you.

“A'dika, are you sure this is the place?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you cracked your knuckles. “Given I used to live on this planet and been here before, I'm thinkin' so.”

When neither of the adults moved, you rolled your eyes, scooping the baby up from the ground and proceeded to go inside. Pushing open the wooden door with one hand, the smell of warm food filled your nostrils, mixing with a glorious medley of herbs and spices, instantly making your mouth water. Now that the Empire was a dynasty of the past, there were hundreds of new items lining the many shelves, barrels, buckets and boxes filled to the brim with merchandise, barely leaving you enough room to move around. Up on the ceiling hung perfectly strung wind chimes, swaying gently their soft symphony only adding to the cluttered quirkiness of the shop.

“Oh my!” Came a weathered voice. “Is that really you child?”

A wide grin spreading across your face, you pushed past all the inventory, only knocking a few items over.

“Yup! I's me!”

Rushing to the back of the shop, you saw old woman Meren, sitting amazed at her desk, hands in the middle of weaving a thick fishing net. Her dexterous hands stopped, a finger beckoning you to come closer. You took a few steps forward, until Meren could reach over and lightly ghost a hand over the features of your face.

“Some new scars...But you are the same child...I thought you left and died, little child!” She gasped, a look of shock taking over.

Smiling weakly, you placed the baby on the table, letting him wander on the surface, Immediately he picked up the unfinished net and pursued to chew on the fibers absentmindedly.

Meren sighed, pulling at one of her silver braids. “Child, you do know your mother-.”

“I k-know.” You stuttered quickly.

She seemed suspicious, but dropped the topic at hand, more interested in the sound of heavy boots and the ring of armor entering her shop.

“No Imperials!” She bellowed, slamming a fist down hard, startling both you and the baby.

“It's okay!” You insisted, “They're with me! And trust me, they are not trooper scum.”

The old woman settled, permitting both men inside. “My apologies...When I hear the heavy footsteps reminiscent of soldiers...I assume the worst.”

“That is understandable.” Paz said, looking around the curious shop. “You know this little one?”

You moved back to stand by the other two, pulling the baby with you who squeaked in protest.

Meren smiled warmly. “Anyone in this prefecture knows them.”

Giving the woman a questioning look, you wondered what that might mean. To your knowledge only your few friends and a handful of your mother's acquaintances were aware of your very existence. Meren realized the weight of her words and you could feel her emotions become exceptionally anxious.

“Little one, why don't you go out back to the river! With the Empire gone, the waters are once again full of life.”

Reluctantly you did as you were told, though not to placate the adults, but to escape the newly strange atmosphere.

***___***___***

Din could read the concern on his child's face as they scampered outside. As soon as they were gone with the baby, the old woman let out groan.

“As I get older...the more mistakes I end up making.” She lamented.

“Would you like to explain why you sent my kid out?” Din asked curtly, hands resting on his hips.

“This is my shop, young man! I won't have you speaking that way to me, do you hear? Now, either I am more far gone than I though or did you say that child is your kid?”

“I wouldn't lie about such a thing. Of course they're my kid.” He huffed.

“...There's only one people that I know would take in such a child without pause. Given the new scars of that child, I doubt your journey together has been without a host of problems.”

From beside himself, Din could hear Paz chuckle.

“My the galaxy works in strange ways. To know that the child of  Jedi knight would end up the child of a Mandalorian...”

Both men's heads snapped up in attention, nearly in unison.

Din's mouth went dry. “E-Excuse me?” He choked out.

The woman's jaw set. “Oh. You didn't know.” She paused. “Though it's not like they knew either...”

Her ramblings continued more to herself than anyone else, but Din was certainly not listening. Instead there was a loud ringing in his ears, making his head swarm, unable to focus on anything in the moment.

[3wishes-rpg]

A Moment in the Pits

Meg sometimes wondered why she continued signing up for pit crew duties. She had started thanks to the extra pay it provided, and her parents’ reputation gave her the “in” she needed to endear herself to some of the teams. Now, however, it wasn’t quite as necessary as it once had been. The Gearworks had gained a lot of business in the past year, and could pay its bills on time most of the time now without the extra income. The shop kept her plenty busy as is, and it wasn’t like she had abundant amounts of free time either.

 Then she got down into the pit, and she remembered why she kept doing it.

 The whoosh of air as a pack of polo mecha rumbled down the field ruffled her hair, followed by the enthusiastic roar of the crowd and the tinny voice of the announcer as he called the plays. At her side, Naveen winced a little at the sudden rush of wind, stepping back as the mecha rushed by a little closer than he’d like.

 “You’re gonna have to get used to that, kid,” Meg said affectionately, “This ain’t like being up in the stands.”

 “I know,” Naveen replied, “It’s just not quite w-what I was expecting. We’re so close!”

 “You’re not gonna get seats much better than this,” Meg agreed, “But you’ll earn them between chukkas. It’s important to watch the mecha during the game, and anticipate what your player is gonna need when they come in.” She pointed out towards the field. “Look at the other team’s Number Three. What do you see?”

 Naveen squinted for a moment, trying to follow the player’s movements. “O-one of the back legs isn’t moving right. It’s not timed correctly?”

 “Very good,” Meg said, and the boy beamed, “He should tell his crew to check the leg beyond the cursory checks, but I know that player. He’s stubborn and won’t let them do more to his mount than they have to, even if the whole mech is shaking apart. I hope his crew gives him the talking to he deserves for pushing the mech that hard. That’s why this is a good team to sign up with. The players know better than to overtax their mecha.” A loud gong signaled the end of the chukka, and the players began to return to their pits.  “Okay, here we go. Agni’s coming in. We’ve got four minutes. Stay with me, Navi. It’s your first time out, so you’ll be my tool boy for this. You know what to do, right?”

 “Yes, cap’n!”

 “Good man,” She stood back, tightening her headband against the inevitable stream of sweat that would occur when the heated mecha arrived. “INCOMING!” she shouted to the team, “GET YOUR ASSES AWAY FROM THE LANDING BAY!”

 A moment later, the mecha came to a stop on the landing pad, letting off a cloud of steam as it settled into a resting position. A second moment later, the mecha was swarming with mechanics as they began rapidly checking over the machinery for signs of trouble. Two ladders landed on either side of the cockpit. Up one, one of Agni’s attendants came with water, while Meg scrambled up the other. She reached the cockpit just as Agni was taking off his helmet, using the moment of respite to shake out his hair and cool off.

 He smiled at her. “Hey Meg,”

 She got to work right away. “What’ve you got?”

 Agni angled his head back towards his left as he accepted the water offered to him. “I think there’s something funny going on with the left shoulder. It’s not responding as well as it should. Do you mind taking a look at it?”

 “Sure thing,” Meg replied. She climbed over the top of the mecha and straddled it, the padded layer in her pants protecting her from the scorching metal. An instant later, she saw the problem. “Good thing you said something,” she said, “A couple of the primary bolts are coming loose. A good enough whack and you would have knocked the whole damn thing off.” Quietly, she marveled at how Agni never had one of the spectacular crashes that came from a mecha polo player pushing their mount beyond the breaking point. He always knew just what to say and when to say it, and just how far he could push his mount without endangering himself. She wondered if maybe he had some mechanical background she didn’t know about.

 Now, however, wasn’t the time to be pondering such things. The clock was ticking. “Navi!” she shouted down, “Send up a five wrench!”

 “Five wrench coming up!” A large wrench popped into the air, and Meg caught it with practiced ease. Passing the wrench between both arms in wide arcs, she cranked the bolts downwards, tightening them up. “How’s it going out there?” she asked Agni.

 “Wild!” he replied, draining the last of his water, “It’s gonna be tough to earn back those goals, but I think we can do it!”

 “Keep an eye on their Number Three,” Meg said as she finished the bolts and dropped the wrench back down to Naveen, “his left side is looking weak. You might be able to get an edge on that side.”

 “Thanks for the tip!” Agni replied, putting his helmet back on, “Hey, win or lose, we’re all gonna go out tonight after the game to celebrate, my treat! You guys are welcome to come along as well!”

 Meg started slightly at the offer. That was definitely something you didn’t hear every day. “Are you sure about that? We don’t want to impose.”

 “Sure I’m sure! I want to thank you guys for all the hard work you do to keep us running. I’d love it if you guys could make it.”

 Meg smiled slightly. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll see what we can do.” A warning gong echoed over the arena, alerting the players that the next chukka was about to start. “You’re all set. Go get ‘em,” she gave Agni an affectionate slap on the helmet before grasping the ladder and sliding down in one smooth motion, removing the ladder as she got out of the way of the mecha. It started up and began charging back onto the field as the next gong signaled the resumption of play.

 “Wow,” Naveen said, resting his palms on his knees as he rejoined Meg, “What a rush!”

 “You noticed, huh?” Meg replied, suddenly realizing she was grinning harder than she thought, “Pit work is like no other mecha work you’re gonna do. You gotta be on point and thinking on your feet and trust your team to do what it’s supposed to do. It’s exhilarating.” She watched as Agni’s mount took up a position on the opposing team’s Number Three. “And full of surprises.”

[republicstandard]

9 Things Alt-Right Men Need to Know

1. Aesthetics matter more than optics

It Doesn't matter what you do, it matters what you look like while you do it. They hate you, no matter what. You can save an entire school bus of children from drowning in a river in a flash flood, but the second your politics are revealed they will hate you and try to discredit and destroy you. Are we clear? Yes? Good. It doesn't actually matter what you say, hardly anyone will remember it unless it's exceptionally profound and you are a person of note. It matters what you look like, a well kept man is immediately notable versus a disheveled bum. How you are dressed -clean, well-fitted, matched- and what your hair looks like -effort vs no effort- your footwear -appropriate shoe for the occasion- and, if in person, how you smell. These are the things that impact people and it happens in 1/10th of a second. If you can make someone like or trust you in 1/10th of a second they will second guess everything that comes after that, you can only do that visually. First impressions are forever. If in doubt, start with the footwear and move upwards.

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2. Not everyone is an erudite gentleman. Nor should they be.

To the untrained eye this may seem in opposition to my previous point. It is not. Authenticity is as much a part of aesthetics as anything else. Cosmopolitan dwelling fellas, you ain't getting a country boy in a suit and tie if he isn't getting married or burying a relative, and that is okay. Some of the issues you have with “optics" is expecting a regionally distinct nation to follow the rules of only one region; which is exactly what the liberal coastal elites have been doing for decades! Speaking of regional conflicts...

3. The South is for Southerners

There is no rational reason to concede ground to an enemy preceding a war, unless you have an advanced strategy to counter the push. You don't volunteer your losses ahead of the game, and you certainly don't reveal your hand of what you find most valuable. Alienating swaths of people by volunteering their homes as tribute to the very people who swarm their neighborhoods making them unsafe and barely habitable may seem like a funny meme or a rational concession; but it isn't and by the by, I don't hear an alternative where you give up your homes and flee to the South. The idea of an ethnic homeland for our people is a good one, but we need to think smarter than Balkanizing the United States of America.

4. Shitposting isn't going to save the world

These ideas have to make it into the real world where people live. Even the people you have contempt for have life experiences they can relate to our ideology. Why? Because the things that you've noticed aren't unique to you just because you noticed them already for what they are. Online we live in a polarized meta-reality of extremes. Fascist or Marxist. Right or left. Genocide or victory. Those extremes simply don't exist on the typical person's radar. There is a season for all things and now is the season to forge real life connections with real life people. The way forward is not tiki-torches and marching, it is a quiet, responsible conversation about real affairs that matter to the man or woman in the street.

5. Stop trying to purge people!

What kind of whacked out brain-fry drug den did you just crawl out of to think that any white person to the right of center is disposable? Identify them for what they are, and then utilize whatever it is they do or can do to benefit our immediate concerns. We have other concerns than just Zionism. We have to get legislation passed or stopped. We have to spread the word of first and second amendment breaches and violations. We have to talk about immigration. We have to talk about MS-13 and other gang activity. We have to have discussions existing on the internet that we don't have a million hours in the day to have. I personally am very critical of basic CivNat conservatives. They are weak and ineffective at conservatism, but i never advocate for purging their huge, beautiful, rarely banned platforms. Stop being ridiculous. Immediately.

6. There's no such thing as "Punching Right"

Nobody is above criticism. Nobody is above harsh criticism. Nobody. This doesn't mean that person needs to be “purged” from the movement. We refine ourselves through defending our positions, we refine our arguments by having them more than once, and losing more often than we win. We refine our ideology through discussion; and you aren't the gatekeeper of how that discussion is meant to be hosted. Anyone who has put their name or pseudonym forward accepts the inevitability that they will be challenged intellectually, morally and spiritually. There is surely no reason to schism between fans of this guy or that guy. That guy is not the be-all end-all, and this guy is only the guy until we find a better guy. Avoid cults of personality.

7. Get a thesaurus

Stop using words you know will get you banned on leftist social media platforms. The English language is the best language on the planet; and there are about 40 legitimate words that aren't bannable for every bannable word you type. For example whore is bannable, strumpet is not. Retarded is bannable, simple is not. Understand that in one moment we talk about white excellence and in the other we show that we can't learn, collectively, how to stop saying bad words and getting shut down. Adapt.

8. Quit pretending you don't want women talking about politics

Yes you do. You need women to talk about politics. You may not want them in politics or to hold office, after all,who does; women are inherently terrible at it. Please though, stop with the ridiculous assertion that you want women to stop talking about current affairs or identity issues. It's an aphrodisiac when a woman agrees with you about topics that you care deeply about. For her to understand what concerns you and why, is a comfort to you. To be able to vent your frustrations to someone who can hear you and can fathom your concern is a boon. Do you really want to come home to dinner, start moaning about Mueller, communists or the latest political compromise in direct opposition to your immediate needs and be met by a blank stare? No. We are a partnership, always. If you happen to be the very small amount of men who actually hate women, shut up and get out of the way of the men who would like to make lots of babies with the women that you despise.

9. Jews aren't that powerful.

I am not suggesting you should give them a single moment of respite from pointing out each and every instance they exercise what influence they've been permitted to have.

I said permitted.

They are not innovative or cutthroat or fun. They merely exhibit an enviable in-group bias. This is the fundamental crux of the relationship between the West and those Jews who take advantage of systems we create for their group benefit. It is not every Jew you meet in day to day life; and therefore our attention to relations between our peoples as a whole should be fair, polite, but firm. The cry of antisemitism arises when the grand arch of Zionist influence is threatened- because it can be taken away from them in an instant, as has been done in many other civilizations throughout history. They cannot outperform us, purely based on the relative sizes of our populations; it is a logical strategy to shape a society to better suit your own interests, given this understanding. It is our role to politely refuse such machinations.

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Ultimately, though the Jewish lobby has poisoned our society in many respects they will ultimately only destroy themselves with success; just as a parasite cannot live without a host, they cannot live without the protection of Western Civilization, either in our lands or in Jerusalem. We can recognize this reality in the declining Jewish population in the West, through intermarriage and emigration to Israel. This force is in a process of decline in the West- for as much as we can say demography is destiny, this is true for all peoples. It is thus far more important in this context that you rediscover your power and learn to start saying, "No, thank you. This is not in our interest. Good day."

Absent of criticism we cannot take the steps necessary to accomplish our collective goals. It is what happens within our small but growing community that sets the stage for the future battles we will face; be they culturally, politically, or in some cases physically. We need to learn to turn into ourselves and each other, first to strengthen from within and only after that push forward into the mire that awaits us. If we do, then bleak prospects will become victorious battles rather than nihilistic concessions and defeat.

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.

Sun Tzu, The Art of War

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