#i know ts*ts would have been miles better because of it

[htylmg]

still can’t believe nico having catholic guilt is canon. like. i mean yeah but did u really have to confirm it let the boy rest

[hyukascampfire]

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

  ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”  ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, creampie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.  

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.  

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.  

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.  

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you? 

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?” 

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.” 

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat. 

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?” 

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.” 

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them. 

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?” 

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.  

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.  

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.” 

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.  

Can’t things just stay like this? 

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.  

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.” 

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.” 

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.  

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.” 

“I just... don’t know.” 

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.” 

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?” 

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says. 

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.” 

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.  

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.” 

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.” 

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”  

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.  

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you. 

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.” 

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.  

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!” 

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.” 

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands. 

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.  

⚝⭒ 

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.  

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit. 

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened. 

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.  

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home. 

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was. 

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.  

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed. 

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.  

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.” 

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones. 

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty. 

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you. 

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go. 

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands. 

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd. 

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.  

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready. 

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him. 

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.  

⚝⭒ 

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.  

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.  

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever. 

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs. 

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?” 

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.  

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.” 

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.” 

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”  

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.  

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you. 

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.  

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.  

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee. 

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.  

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin. 

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.” 

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.  

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.  

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?” 

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?” 

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up. 

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.” 

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again. 

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.” 

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?” 

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—” 

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.” 

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.  

⚝⭒ 

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.  

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...” 

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.  

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you. 

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.  

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.” 

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”  

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.  

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms. Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?” 

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.  

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...” 

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?” 

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.” 

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.” 

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”  

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.  

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway. 

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”  

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.” 

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button. 

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips. 

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?” 

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.” 

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.” 

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.  

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?” 

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.” 

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.  

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.  

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.” 

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.” 

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face, though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?” 

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.” 

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches. 

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.” 

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.” 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.  

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”  

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up. 

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.  

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.  

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though. 

⚝⭒ 

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely. 

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope. 

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered. 

“You’ll get it,��� Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.  

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on. 

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?” 

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.” 

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.” 

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest. 

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.  

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.  

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.” 

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?” 

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.” 

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.  

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.  

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.  

⚝⭒ 

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable. 

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this. 

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you. 

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it. 

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting. 

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?” 

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.  

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.  

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.” 

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands. 

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” 

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him. 

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this. 

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.  

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.  

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.  

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.  

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.  

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap. 

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap. 

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.  

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.  

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his. 

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you. 

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there. 

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.  

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs. 

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you. 

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need. 

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?” 

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that? 

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.” 

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.  

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.” 

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.  

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?” 

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.  

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?” 

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could he ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.  

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.  

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt. 

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?” 

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit. 

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.” 

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright. 

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.  

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind. 

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up. 

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure. 

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.  

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened. 

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you. 

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.  

⚝⭒ 

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out. 

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.  

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.  

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.  

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt. 

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”  

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?” 

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with. 

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him. 

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.” 

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.” 

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.” 

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest. 

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.” 

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.” 

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.” 

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.” 

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.” 

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it. 

⚝⭒ 

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it. 

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls? 

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel. 

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place. 

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here? 

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know. 

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes. 

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt. 

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring. 

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that. 

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.” 

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder. 

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.  

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.” 

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”  

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.” 

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says. 

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.  

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.  

⚝⭒ 

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.  

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.  

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore. 

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time. 

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then. 

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore. 

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest. 

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.  

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them. 

So you do. 

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow. 

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer. 

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads of rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you. 

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.  

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you. 

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again. 

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled. 

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?” 

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.” 

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.” 

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.” 

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard? 

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?” 

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.” 

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.” 

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.” 

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...” 

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths. 

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.” 

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes. 

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.” 

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.” 

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did. 

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.” 

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once. 

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too. 

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered. 

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.” 

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.  

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.” 

⚝⭒ 

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed. 

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping. 

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.  

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.” 

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?” 

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.” 

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.” 

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks. 

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.” 

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.  

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior. 

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.” 

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."  

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy. 

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.” 

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlights pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you. 

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.” 

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.” 

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?” 

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage. 

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.” 

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine. 

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.” 

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound. 

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.” 

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.” 

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought. 

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half. 

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.” 

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up. 

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it. 

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest. 

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again. 

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life. 

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.” 

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam. 

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—” 

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?” 

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.” 

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there. 

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?” 

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat. 

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”  

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth. 

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.  

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck. 

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there. 

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.” 

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai. 

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him. 

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.” 

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.” 

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten around him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?” 

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!” 

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?” 

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples. 

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt. 

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair. 

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever. 

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips. 

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.” 

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says: 

Home. You are home. 

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[realcube]

hi cutie!! your work makes me froth at the mouth <3333 also hear me out on this: ts! yaku talking with ts! lev after one of his games and lev introduces you as his foreign cousin and yaku is like omg cutie

this has been dinging around in my mind all week like a screensaver ily mwah

A/N → omg that's soo good !! ty for blessing me with this 🙏 also you literally read my mind cuz i've been having endless yaku brainrot recently

TWS/TAGS → fem!reader, reader is a statistician ??, modelling slander & cursing

yaku wipes his forehead with a towel while he is sat at the side of the court. the match is over and everyone is beginning to filter out of the stadium, including his teammates, but not without giving him a celebratory slap on the back or handshake first.

they all make their way towards the exit, where there are crowds of interviewers and tv cameramen waiting to pester them about their winning game. yaku wasn't quite ready yet to deal with the onslaught of questions and praise, so he remains on bench a bit longer, still trying to properly catch his breath.

that was until he heard the familiar voice of an old friend yell, "hey, shorty!"

he looked up to see lev walking towards him, with his arms wide open for a hug. it had been over a year since yaku had seen lev, since his modelling career had really taken off and presented unmissable oppertunities all over the world. yaku couldn't help but crack a smile, even at the terrible nickname.

as lev made his way towards him, he couldn't help but notice the girl he was with. stunning. a beauty unlike any other. so graceful and elegant in their movements, wearing a benign smile that caused yaku's heart to skip a beat.

naturally, he assumes you are lev's model girlfriend, or something like that. that was the only reasonable explanation he could think of, but even then, you were still miles out of lev's league. as you both approached, yaku tried his best to pay little mind towards you, as the reminder of lev's fortune would only piss him off and spoil what was supposed to be a joyful reunion.

"lev." he said, outstretching his arm for a handshake but he should've expected it when lev scooped him up in a big, tight hug.

"yaku! it's been forever!"

"put me down!" he demanded, and lev obliged, still beaming at him.

"congratulations on your win." lev said, and you added, "yeah, you were amazing."

yaku couldn't help but blush at your compliment, and he bowed his head in thanks towards both you and lev. which is what prompted lev to clear his throat and clarify, "oh! this is my cousin (y/n) from abroad."

you wave slightly to accompany the introduction, meanwhile yaku looks between the two of you, absolutely star-struck. "cousin?" he repeats.

"yeah." lev chuckled awkwardly, motioning towards himself and joking, "you're probably confused because i am so much better-looking but it's beca—"

you playfully elbow him in the side and he grunts slightly, then bursts out laughing while you exchange a knowing look with yaku. "so are you a model too?" he asks.

a fiery heat rises to your face and you tense, shaking your head slightly, "no, i'm just here with lev because i wanted to see the game."

he takes notice of the fact his question flustered you a little, and this brings him a new-found confidence, "have you ever thought of going into modelling?"

you blink a couple times while thinking about it, then shrug, "it's never really crossed my mind. i like the job i have."

"oh, yeah!" lev chimes in, "she's a statistician, isn't that super fancy?"

you nod in agreement with your cousin's enthusiasm, elaborating, "i know it doesn't sound cool but i get to chill in a big office and i hardly have to talk to anyone."

yaku agrees that a career devoid of other people's stupidity sounds like a dream come true, but he inquires, "so you just hide behind a computer all day?"

you nod proudly.

"sounds like a waste of such a pretty face." he chuckles to himself at how your eyes widen and your hand rushes to cover the bottom half of your face, "really, though, you should think about modelling. it's probably a lot easier and pays more. plus, i'd rather see your face on billboards than his."

he gestures to lev, who slaps his hand against his chest and lets out a dramatic gasp, "what's wrong with my face?! and modelling is not easy; it's one of the hardest jobs in the world and not for the weak."

"i'm sure styling your hair is very difficult, lev." yaku says sarcastically.

you laugh and interject, "he doesn't even style his own hair, he has someone to do that for him."

yaku raises an eyebrow, trying to suppress a shit-eating grin, "so what the fuck do you do?"

lev crosses his arms over his chest and pouts, walking towards the exit, "you two can come find me when you're done being mean."

you both snicker to yourselves at lev's behaviour, realising you only tease him out of love, really. so when your laughter dies down, you begin to follow him at a safe distance behind. "how long are you going to be in russia for?" yaku asks, recalling that lev mentioned you're from a different country.

"just today." you reply, "this trip was so last-minute for me. lev just messaged me a week ago asking if i wanted to come and i said sure. i wanted to stay for a whole week but virtually all nearby hotels were booked. it's a miracle i even managed to find a room for tonight."

yaku frowned at your story, "that sucks. but i know a motel that has availability for this week."

"really?" you perk up, "what's it called?"

"my house."

[killian-whump]

If there’s one thing I am, it’s honest. I tell you what I think.

And what I think now is... this is a train wreck nearing its conclusion.

The release went... even worse than we all expected. And that’s saying a hell of a lot, because most of us thought it would turn out very bad. But I was thinking, “couple hundred sales” bad - not single digit sales bad.

Very little money has been made here - nowhere near what was hoped for. The failure is downright epic - and I guarantee, none of the proposed/promised future prospects are going to pan out. The “roadmaps” for n/f/t projects (which this certainly is) almost always rely on the project essentially funding itself. It’s all very “if you buy into it, this is what it will become.” With no one buying into it... It’s not going to become anything.

And that failure is bringing out the worst in the guy behind the whole thing. To some extent, I don’t blame him for being upset. He had high hopes and big plans and they’re not working out for him - that’s gotta suck. And I’m sure he blames us for this failure. If only we’d just shut up and opened our wallets the way he expected us to, things wouldn’t have gone this way.

Except they would’ve. Because none of us ever said, “Don’t buy these things.” None of us ever said “Boycott this release.” We didn’t have to. This project was never going to be a success with this fandom. We’re not in the usual “target demographic” for n/f/t marketing. We’re also not young enough or impressionable enough (or plentiful enough) that we’ll spend money en masse just because our fave’s attached.

Anyone with any real world understanding of any of the components of all of this could see from a mile back that it was going to fail. It’s like trying to sell violins to a herd of water buffalo. They don’t need violins. They don’t want violins. Most of them don’t even know what a violin is, nor do they care.

This project is a failure because Rothberg didn’t understand Colin’s fans... and Colin didn’t understand the world of n/f/ts. Neither of them had enough understanding of the full situation to see how the two things would be largely incompatible.

We support Colin because we believe in him - in his big heart, his kindness, his good intentions, and his talent. And this project has literally nothing to do with any of those things. In fact, it runs contrary to most of those things. It’s predatory, damaging, and makes a mockery of one of Colin’s best roles.

I can’t imagine that Colin is happy with how this has turned out. I can’t believe he’s okay with the way even his most loyal fans see this project (after all, if even we’re cringing at this stuff, what must non-fans think?). I refuse to believe that he isn’t at least a little dismayed by Rothberg’s behavior of late.

And I don’t think Rothberg’s happy, either. Obviously, the gold mine of funding he was hoping for hasn’t come through for him. Without it, he’s got no project. He’s burned this bridge entirely - and clearly has no qualms about burning it down still further. We’re of no monetary value to him, so we’re of NO value to him.

I suspect soon enough that Colin will be considered the same way - if he isn’t already. Rothberg will probably dump him sooner or later - and Colin will hopefully be wise enough to see that as a blessing. Or maybe Colin will strike first and remove himself from the project. That would be the better outcome, image-wise, but I’m not sure what financial damages Colin would incur by doing so. And with him barely working these days, he may not be able to cover those costs.

Although I suspect if he made a GoFundMe to cover it, this fandom would probably open its wallets fast enough to make Rothberg’s greedy little head spin. But I can’t see Colin actually doing that - which is, again, part of why we’re all here in the first place - and why this project’s been a bad fit from the start.

Regardless, there’s not much to be said/done at this point.

I don’t see this going on much longer.

[rip-a-dip-dip-you-potato-chip]

Trade ya

based on this ask

TW//Slight violence and a mention of blood

-

Macaque slipped back into the theatre after his little chat with the Monkey Kid.

Boy howdy, that kid had some explaining to do, to his companions. If only he could stick around and watch that mess unfold. But he had to retrieve his lamp.

Honestly, that was easier than he thought it would be.

Wich was concerning.

As Macaque walked over to the stage he paused for a moment, where was (y/n) is all this?

The Monkey King was off doing his own thing for a while, and he'd assumed his kid would be hanging around Mk and his friends, yet the amber-furred monkey wasn't with them when they had entered the theatre.

Did Mk literally forget one of his friends? damn, he was starting to become like the Hero...

despite everything that's happened between them since the whole 'I stole the Monkey Kings powers from Mk and broke his trust leaving him emotionally distressed' thing, he actually wanted to get to know his kid(and maybe convince them to join him)the week of stalking wasn't enough for him to say the least.

Disregarding the thought (though not entirely) he make is way back to the remains of the lap.

And with a little magic it was good an new!

Fuck ya!

As he admirered his handy work for s little longer and sound of clapping caught is attention. Wiping his head around he saw the wired guy in a pin strip suit form the play, if Macaque remembered correctly this was the guy that game my the *Skeleton Key.

"My my, that was such a magnificent performance!"

"Ha, ya well it's over, t-this was the last show actually"

Oh he did not like this for a single second. His fur was standing on there ends screaming for him to just leave.

Just as Macaque was about to use the shadows to escape, in a flash of icy blue light the guy was now behind him, and the next thing he know he was being picked up by the neck and for some reason couldn't, fucking move.

What the actual hell is happening???

"Lady Bone Demon would like a word with you~"

In the blink of an eye, the scenery changed form the damaged auditorium he'd rented out to and underground cave with mechanical parts and machines everywhere.

Just one wif of the musty roten air and he knew he was in the Spider Queens lair. But it looked different then it had been that last time he was there.

Then again it's been centuries since he was last there.

He was shortly let go by the insane suite wareing guy and rubbed his neck where it had been grabbed. And just like that the guy disappeared, leaving the Lady Bone Demon in his stead.

"Why greetings Macaque, its beet long since we last spoke"

" not long enough if you ask me"

The white haired lady let out a hum of acknowledgement as she circled the monkey.

...

"Soo any particular reason why you got one of your brain dead servents to get me?" Macaque questioned, pulling back a bit not wanting to be in her immediate range.

Up purely tactical.

"Ah, well it's come to my attention that you poses something of grate use to me" her icy gaze fixed on the lamp.

"Ya not happening" Macaque said flatly, he went though a lot to get his hands on this thing and he wasn't going to part with it so easily. Besides what ever the Lady Bone Demon was planning, would spell doom for the world as they know it.

Macaque my be a bad guy in some sense, maby even be considered an antihero-that was just more of an ass on a good day- but he wasn't one for wold domination.

In the past he just wanted to wreck heaven with his dear beloved friend befor his change of heart, not enslave mankind. They just wanted to prove there worth nothing more. But this bitch, na she was jack shit crazy. It took the combined forces of Demons and celestials alike to seal her away, himself being one of said demons.

"Ohh what a shame, looks like I'll be keeping this little one then"

In a puff of smoke (y/n) collapses on the foor to her, there fur slightly matted with blood and a visible gash on the left eye.

Similar to where his was-

It wasn't deep and wouldn't cause damage, but it still needed treatment.

Holy hell is this where (y/n) was all this time?

Macaques mind was going a mile a minute but he kept his poker face.

"And I sould care about some random kid because?"

"Oh~ Don't play dumb with me, Six Eared Macaque. You know exactly who this little one is" she started using her powers for lift the amber-furred monkey off the ground there one good (color) eye glosed over and hazy.

"After all this is your child"

"Hate to brake it to ya, but I don't have a kid"

"My sources say other wise"

Several screens descended for the walls and around them, all flicked to like to reveal footage of Macaque during his little stalking mission when he first planed to steal the Monkey Kings powers and found out about his long lost kid, and then some other footage of his watching them from the shadows.

Oh, oh no.

"I had my suspension on the Luner New Years, but your reaction solidify's my assumption"

Wha- shit his poker face slipped! Shiiiit

"So I'll ask again, the lamp or your child- they won't die persay, but I think the underground market would pay a hefty sum for one of such unique lineage"

His heart was beating faster than he thought possible, wait why would it be doing that! He shouldn't care! Should he?

Glancing between the lamp and (y/n)'s beaten form Macaque made a decision he might soon come to regret.

-

(Y/n) was having a good evening, well that was until the Spider Queens minions jumped them while on there way to the theater to meet up with the others(minus Sandy, what he had cats to take care of!)

When the first woke up it was in a dingy cell. And the next thing they knew the Spider Queen tried to get information about the Monkey Kings whereabouts.

"Ya right like the peach loving old man tells me anything! So if you could kindly let me on my marry way that would be fantastic"

You realy needed to know when to such your mouth or just give total bullshit information because Queeni had gotten pissed, and tried to beat the information out of you.

The Lady Bone Demon had to pry the spider off you. Saying you still had a use befor you blacking out.

-

When they woke for a second time everything was hazy, and there was muffled talking almost like they where under water.

Water was nice, you should learn to swim! It seems like fun! Maby you could get Mk or Mai to teach you.

After all the Monkey King was a shitty swimmer- wait no he was crap as under water fights, but wouldn't that require swimming as well-

Uh oh, was you being moved? Nooo das no gooood stop!

Ughhh why won't the muffin voices stop! And why can't I feel my eye!

E-y-e

Y E S spelles yes

E Y E S spells eyes how did that one guy get that confused, and you is moving again ST 0 p

Wait this was more comfy than before, is that red? Oh my moons it is! It's so soft!

And soft it was and you drifted to a more comfortable rest this time.

-

The third and final time (y/n) woke, they weren't in a cell, or had a hazy mindset. Areas not that hazy, but this time it was more so due to medicine than pain.

In fact they lay on a plush mattress, with equally soft pillows and nice heavy blankets tossed other them.

As (y/n) sat up they winced in pain slightly.

Looking down they take notice of the bandages, and a slitting head- and there are bandages on your eye as well fucking perfect.

"Good to see your up" a voice greated. Wiping their head to the side, there stood Macaques with a slight concerned look on his face.

Wha- owowowowowowowow

Probably shouldn't be moving so fast as (y/n) winced in pain again.

As (y/n) tried to steady themselves again and think of a retort, and side of the bed diped and a hand was placed oh your forehead, whilst the other heaped your arm.

"What are you-" "checking to see if you're fever spiked " "I has a heaver?" "Fever, and yes it set is last night after a particularly nasty infection" "oh"

"Wait, why are you-"

"The Bone bitch had you, i-i couldn't just let her harm you any more than she already had"

"That's dumb, you're dumb"

Sigh

"Okay back to sleep with you"

"Where am I?" "One of my safe houses, now sleep"

Sleep but what if...

"I-its okay, it'll be okay I'll be here when you wake again"

(y/n) blinked at him.

"I promise" he said softly as he guided you back down to the pillow, he retucked you in and was about to leave when (y/n) caught his hand.

Well fuck

Uhhh, you know what he's had a long fucking day himself he needs some sleep too.

So discarding his scarf to the side, as well as some armor plating and his shoes, Macaque got into the bed himself and just used himself. As he made himself comfortable, back tuned away for his pup a single thought echoed in his head.

'Im a fucking dad now, geat'

--

*Skelton Keys are said to open any door, plus the cannon key had a skull on it so why not?

UwU Anon you have no idea what this means, you have water my crops cleared my skin and my mind is sane!

I was originally planing to have this thing where the spider queen captured the reader/oc and used the robo parasight to make them a follower, but this, this is so much better sksksksksksk

I did most of this on mobile and my auto correct is bitchy 🙃

[fenandfield]

the breath i’ve taken and the one i must (to go on)

Chapter: 1

Word count: 2120

Summary: Miles’ eyes watered as the colours around him swirled together and his chest burned with fire at its center. Coughing, he cursed at himself as he rolled onto his back with the taste of copper on his tongue.

It wasn’t Wright who had been poisoned… no, it was him.

(Story, authors notes, and link to read on ao3 will be under the line)

“So, I’ll see you in the morning then?” Phoenix yawned, stretching far enough backwards Miles momentarily feared he would fall out of his seat.

He hid his smirk of amusement behind a strand of his shaggy bangs as he uncrossed his legs and stood as his partner rose as well. “Of course. I’ve arranged for the good detective to meet us at the forensics lab at nine a.m sharp.” He raised an eyebrow at the other man as Phoenix struggled to find the sleeve hole of his overcoat, barely concealing his exhaustion behind dark rimmed eyes.

Miles could sympathize. This case was really taking its tolls on all of them.

“You will be there, won’t you?” Miles pressed, testing to see if Wright had actually been listening to him.

Phoenix patted down his coat pockets, nodding lazily as he went. “Uh, huh. Yep, ten-“

“Nine.”

“Nine sharp, I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”

Miles shook his head as he chuckled lightly. Turning slightly, he grabbed the black briefcase full of evidence off of his desk and passed it to the shorter man. “Take this. Somehow I doubt it should remain in one place for long.”

Their fingers brushed as Phoenix grasped the handle with a solemn nod. Both men knew the severity of the situation and its potential consequences of involvement.

It was no understatement to call the current case they were grappling, huge. A lot of people had gone missing when attempting to look into the very same matters enclosed in the briefcase, and many had even turned up dead.

Lies. Blackmail. Murder.

Deceit of all kinds.

They knew the risks they were taking, and yet the quest for truth prevailed. Together, they would dissolve the darkness and solve the heavy weight of the mystery that fogged in front of them.

“Now, it’s getting late, and you need rest.”

Phoenix flopped a hand in the air with a chuff. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get going, and I won’t forget to tip the doorman this time.” He turned on his heel, a smile gracing his face as he made his way out of Edgeworths luxurious living space, Miles loosely following.

“You rich people,” Wright hollered from the entryway, “I swear, there’s a glaring contradiction between our salaries!”

Miles sighed and hung his head, fighting the tugging feeling on the corners of his lips. “Go home, Phoenix.”

A very smug mock salute was thrown his way and a moment later Miles heard the main door shut.

Phoenix Wright was gone.

Good.

Miles wandered into his kitchen and decided to make himself a quick cup of tea. He had a feeling he would be awake for a while yet. In truth, it was more so ‘good’ that the briefcase was gone, rather than his childhood friend.

The evidence they had collected thus far had been rather… convincing for lack of a better word, and it had remained in his possession for a portion of time longer than he would care to admit.

Damn, he was getting reckless these days.

Miles slid open his kitchen drawer that contained his tea leaves and grabbed the tin that sat on top.

He felt guilty about having to send his friend out into the cold night, but for the sake of the case it was ultimately better that way. Normally, when work nights with Wright became late, he would simply offer his spare bedroom (if Phoenix hadn’t already passed out on the sofa). Yes, the mornings were slightly awkward, but the more often they occurred, the less formal they became.

It was… it was nice.

As he mused his water boiled and with steady hands he poured his tea.

Earl grey was slightly sweet tonight.

Miles loosened his cravat as he carried his drink over to his desk and leaned against it, sorting through his papers and sipping carefully at the hot liquid. Yes, the briefcase would be safe with Wright for the night. Hopefully the man would have enough sense to keep its contents under close supervision whilst it remained in his care.

And it shouldn’t be there long either. Not long enough to ripple the waters of dangerous territory. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Because if anything were to happen, well… Miles would never forgive himself.

His phone rang.

“Edgeworth here.” He ground out upon answering the call, unbothered by the private number.

Silence met him.

Miles frowned and tilted his head backwards to check at the clock hanging on the wall. It was nearly midnight. Clients who had his personal cell phone number didn’t usually call this late unless it was extremely urgent. If this were some sort of prank Miles would be nothing short of thoroughly ticked off.

“I dare say, if you have nothing to speak of then I will be ending this call promptly,” Miles ground as he set his tea cup down on the desk with an oddly shaking hand.

More silence followed and Miles rolled his eyes, ready to hang up.

And then.

A voice.

“I have evidence.” The voice was male, that was unmistakable. Other than that fact, Miles found it to be unrecognizable.

He had to swallow before he could speak, “I hope that you know that I am a prosecutor and not the police, if you have evidence regarding a case I suggest you offer it to them.”

“My testimony is something you’ll want to hear firsthand.”

He raised his eyebrows, “And why’s that?”

“Because, Miles Edgeworth, this will be the only chance you’ll have to hear it.” Miles narrowed his eyes at the statement. “I doubt a death threat will sway you, so, if you don’t want your friend Phoenix Wright to suffer more than he will, I suggest you hear me out.”

Despite the building burning sensation behind his forehead, Miles felt his blood run cold. Anyone but Wright.

The man laughed. “I’ll take your silence as an invitation to continue... You two bothersome lawyers have been collecting quite a lot of evidence against a certain corporation have you not?”

Miles’ heart was thumping wildly in his chest though he felt no surge of panic in his veins that could attribute to the cause. He was calm despite the thunder behind his ribs. Silently, he began recording the conversation.

“This is about KersTech, isn’t it…” He tried to growl but found his usually threatening demeanour rather lacklustre.

What was wrong with him?

“...correct.”

His phone beeped loudly in his ear, causing him to pull away and blink several times to clear his vision enough to read the information. Another call on the line.

Detective Gumshoe.

Out of instinct he made to switch lines.

“Answer that call and your friend gets hurt.”

Miles was frozen as the phone beeped again. He could fix this mess, he could solve this whole case if he answered the phone and talked to Gumshoe.

But, Phoenix…

He declined the call.

“Testimony…” He took the last of his tea in a mad swallow to quench his swiftly drying throat. “...now.”

“My, my, what a rush you’re in. Almost like you’re just dying to hear...” The man paused to laugh again. Miles ground his teeth at the sound. “It would seem… that I saw someone breaking into your apartment earlier this afternoon.”

He felt his face go slack, “What-“

“Yes, yes, I distinctly remember them replacing some things in the kitchen with something much more… deadly.”

No.

Miles was on his feet in a flash but his limbs were heavy and uncoordinated and he stumbled across the room, colliding with the wall and using its support to hold himself up as he scrambled to get to the kitchen, almost dropping his cellphone in the process.

“It would seem that in reality it was of course, <em>I</em> who did this but who will be none the wiser when I tell the court that it was a dark haired man in a blue suit who did it.”

Miles pulled open every drawer, every cabinet he came across, blindly tossing things aside after checking for signs of tampering and simultaneously wracking his brain to remember if Wright had eaten or drank anything while he’d been over.

He couldn’t… couldn’t remember- couldn’t think…

He couldn’t breathe.

“Where- what… what did he take… what did you give him?”

“Oh you fool.”

His world began to spin and his knees suddenly cracked sharply against the tile floor. His wrist bent awkwardly as he attempted to brace his fall, barely preventing his face from making violent contact.

Miles’ eyes watered as the colours around him swirled together and his chest burned with fire at its center. Coughing, he cursed at himself as he rolled onto his back with the taste of copper on his tongue.

It wasn’t Wright who had been poisoned… no, it was him.

Someone was laughing, heartless and cruel.

“Why…” he snarled weakly, “...are you.. t-telling me… th-this?”

“Well because… you’ll be dead in a matter of minutes, and I quite enjoy the sound of suffering.”

Harsh banging abruptly echoed from the hallway, panicked shouting accompanying it. Miles recognized the voice immediately.

“...Phoenix?”

“Now drink up. I’ll be along in a little while to clean up the mess.”

The pounding grew louder and Miles turned away from the cellphone laying limp in his palm to face the racket. His body was on fire as it spasmed and twitched and refused to obey his commands and he whined in misery.

“Edgeworth, please!”

His lungs heaved and stuttered.

“Miles, p-please! Open up…”

His back arched away from the floor as he coughed and choked on the pooling liquid in his throat. That voice… could it really be?

One final burst of noise ensued and the frantic sound of multiple pairs of running feet followed suit.

“Miles!”

Miles was utterly speechless as none other than Phoenix Wright came sprinting into his kitchen, Detective Gumshoe hot on his heels.

“Shit, n-no Miles…” Phoenix dropped to his side, motions so swift Miles couldn’t keep up with him. He didn’t even have time to protest as Wright pulled him into his lap, propping his heavy head in the crook of his elbow.

“Where the hell are those medics, Gumshoe?!” God, Wright sounded utterly terrified.

“Should be here any minute pal.”

Miles gasped at the abrupt change in position, trembling limbs uncoordinated as Phoenix gathered them close.

“Phoe… nick…” Miles struggled for words as something warm spilled from his lips, something that made Wrights eyes widen horrifically. If he was going to die here and now there were things they needed to know. “L-leaves…”

Phoenix placed a gentle hand on the side of his face. “What?” He croaked. “Leaves?”

“Did he say leaves?” That was Gumshoe.

“Yes, he said ‘leaves’.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Miles would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t currently dying from a dose of a mystery poison. Of course, his two closest friends were the most incompetent fools on the planet.

“Po-poison… leaves…”

Gumshoes brow furrowed. “He ate poisonous leaves?”

Phoenix went quiet as the two attorneys met each others gaze. Miles tried to beg him to understand, pleading with tears in his eyes but nothing could get past the barrier in his throat.

And then it clicked.

“Leaves…” Phoenix went stiff. “Dick, leaves, someone poisoned his tea leaves.”

Miles let his eyes slip shut as the conversation carried on without him. Phoenixs chest was cool against his smouldering face. Had they ever been this close before? Miles didn’t think he minded it so much.

But there was more he needed to say.

“Wright.” He mustered his voice but the loudest pitch it could reach was yet a mere whisper. It called his dear friends attention nonetheless. “T-take my phone… as evidence…”

Phoenix frowned as he shot the discarded object a glance. Whatever questions were forming in the brilliant mind of his, he didn’t ask.

“Please… tell ‘Ziska-“

“Oh stop, you dramatic idiot.” Phoenix objected rather rudely as usual. “Talking like you’re dying wh-when you’re going to be fine.” His face twitched with poorly concealed emotion as he laughed wetly.

“Nick..” Gumshoes voice was softer than he had ever heard it before. “I’ve seen this stuff before it’s… It’s Belladonna.”

Miles’ limbs were still. Phoenix shook them for him.

“You’re gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

The fire behind his eyes was becoming unbearable and he squirmed in Phoenix’s arms.

“Breathe Miles, please, hold on…”

Too much. It was too much.

He was drifting. Floating. Flying.

“No, no! Stay with me…”

Miles opened his eyes. Phoenix was there. With him. Holding his hand.

Wright, he was… he was crying.

Lips moving. No sound.

One thought.

One more thing to say.

I

Love

You

Authors notes: i hope you enjoyed! This was my first time writing for the ace attorney fandom, and so i hope i did these characters justice! Depending on the response i get to this, I’ll write a part two explaining how and why phoenix returned to edgeworths apartment and if our poor edgey survived or not... please let me know your thoughts!!

[cc-pdf]

What’s It Like In New York City?

Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Quirkless rock band au

Based off of the song, Hey There Delilah

Word count: 2913

Warnings: Slight alcohol use. Nothing to be worried about though.

  After a long day at university you decided you deserved a night out on the town. Although you had piles of homework to do, you decided to put that all aside and just relax and have a few drinks. You grabbed your big winter coat and stepped out of campus into the swirling cold winter outside. L Street Tavern was one of the closest bars to your campus, so you decided to settle down there. Plus, they always have live music there, even better.

  After a short walk through the blistering cold air you had finally arrived at the historic bar. You noticed a flyer on the window it read,

  "Sex Bob Omb playing tonight."

  You had never heard of them before. It was probably just some local band. You stepped through the bars creaking door and took a seat on one of the oak stools. There were only a few other people at the bar. Most of them were probably in their mid 40s or 50s. You had given them a slight wave when you sat down just to be friendly. They had waved back, but then quickly returned back to their conversations. You weren't really looking for people to talk to, you just wanted to relax after the stressful day.

  After a couple of drinks you heard the tuning of a guitar in the corner. You looked over to see a couple people in the corner. They were dressed like classic teenage band members. Black jeans, skate shoes, a random t-shirt they found in the back of their closet. You examined each member. A spiky blond seemed to be the lead. He was tuning his guitar and had a microphone stood in front of him. Behind him was a short black haired girl behind a microphone. She seemed to be the backup singer. The last person was a crazy red haired boy at the drums. It seemed like your typical band that probably practices in the garage. You loved those types of bands. Something about them just seemed so raw and authentic.

  A few moments later you jumped to the sound of the red hair banging his drum sticks together.

  "ONE TWO THREE GO!" He yelled signaling the band to start.

  You never really thought a band like this would be playing at a historic bar in the middle of a harsh Boston winter. But, bands really will play wherever they can nowadays. They have to try and get any recognition they can.

  "This is the beginning of the song." The blond muttered into the microphone with his raspy voice. "I'm hearing voices, animal voices. The creme da la creme. the feminine abyss. And I'm reaching my threshold. Staring at the truth till i'm blind." He began lazily singing with the sound of a rough, badly tuned guitar.

  The lyrics weren't too bad for just some random band. You actually thoroughly enjoyed the sound of such a band like this. You could see the the crazy red hair banging at the broken down set of drums releasing all of his anger. It made you giggle a bit.

  "My body's stupid, stereo putrid. Spilling out music into raw sewage." The girl jumped into sing. She surprisingly had a pretty good voice, although it didn't really suit the vibe of the band.

  "Reaching my threshold. Staring at the truth till I'm blind." They all sang together. They repeated the same verses a couple more times. When the song had ended you could tell they were all out of breath from the loud performance. They were panting like dogs on a hot summer day.

  "WE ARE SEX BOB OMB!!!" The girl yelled out to the bar while raising her hands in the air.

  "I hope you guys enjoyed, but we've lost all of our breath for tonight, peace." The blond said while walking into the back room. Most people started clapping and cheering, some people were booing them at the fact they only played one song, but you just returned to your bitter cold beer in front of you. The cold alcohol entering your stomach calmed you from your hard day.

  A few moments later the band members took a seat at the bar near you. It seemed they just wanted a few drinks after that harsh performance.

  "Miller Lite, please." The spiky blond said to the bar tender under his raspy tone.

  "Same here." The other two members said. The bar tender poured the three drinks and slid them across the bar to them.

  "You like the show?" The blond looked over and asked to you, as you sipped your cold drink.

  "Yeah, wasn't expecting such a lame band to go this hard." You said looking over to him.

  "Hey, we try our best to look professional here." He snapped back at you.

  "I'm just teasing." You said focusing back on your drink.

  "So, you from around here?" He said with his masculine tone.

  "I go to university near here, but I'm originally from New York City." You said fiddling with the rim of your drink.

  "The big apple, huh? Must've been rough living there." He responded.

  "Not really..." You said taking a sip of your beer.

  "We're from around here. Cambridge to be exact. We spend a lot of time over in Boston though. Trying to get a good gig." He explained while taking another sip of his Miller Lite.

  "I'm sure you'll get a gig. You're pretty good." You said trying to sound nice.

  "Thanks. Maybe you can come watch us here again sometime." He said passing you a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with their schedule printed on it.

  "Thanks, but I'm leaving the city for a few weeks to visit family back in New York. Maybe I'll see you after. My names y/n, by the way." You said looking into his bright crimson eyes while grabbing the schedule. You could see the disappointment in his eyes.

  "Oh, well that's a downer. You must be pretty busy with school too..." He said trailing off.

  "Damnit Bakugou, stop flirting with the poor girl." The red hair chipped in. The girl laughed along.

  "Shut up you prick, at least she's not a whore. I'm not even flirting." He snapped at them while getting up to go to the bathroom.

  After he had came back things were pretty quiet after the remark the red hair had made.

  About a half hour later you decided you should start heading back to campus. It was 12:30 and you needed some rest.

  "Hey, I'll try and come see your band when I come back." You said waving to them as you walked out the door.

  "See ya!" The blond said with that tired voice of his.

  "Yeah, see ya." The other two trailed along.

  You knew you probably wouldn't see them again because you're always so hung up with school. It didn't really matter to you anyways, they were just some random band at the bar.

  Little did you know, the ash blond, Katsuki Bakugou, thought you were absolutely stunning. With that perfect h/l, h/c hair of yours, your big, e/c eyes, and your little smile, you were nothing but perfect to him. You were stuck in his mind for the next few weeks. You weren't some crazy little fake fan girl looking to fuck for once. You seemed genuine.

  You had pinned the schedule he gave you onto the cork board in your dorm. Although you didn't really care too much to go and see them again, maybe it would be nice to check and see if they're still playing at L Street Tavern when you get back.

  Only a couple days later you got on the bus to New York. It was a long ride, but it was worth it all in the end. You desperately wanted to see your family after 4 long months of living alone at school.

~

  A couple weeks after your encounter with Katsuki Bakugou you still hadn't left his mind. Your beautiful name was glued to his brain. He decided to tune up his guitar and start a song about you. He liked to get his thoughts out by writing songs. It calmed him. He started with a simple,

  "Hey there y/n, what's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty." He thought it sounded cheesy, but he continued writing it anyways. He enjoyed the sound of a rough acoustic guitar against a sweet love song. He had never written a song like this before, it was all so new to him. He usually wrote songs about his anger or hate for people, usually engaging in more of a hard rock, or head bangers.

  A couple days later he decided to find an open mic to play the song at. He was pretty proud of the new tune and couldn't help but share it. He found an open mic session at a small family owned restaurant right around the corner from L Street Tavern. He was worried you might show up and hear the song, but he remembered, you were staying in New York for a pretty long time.

  The night of the open mic had come. He stepped into the tiny restaurant and sat down at a table with his guitar. There was quite a few people at the restaurant that night. He hoped they would like his newly crafted love song.

  Eventually, he stepped into the space with the cheap microphone and pulled his guitar strap over his shoulder.

  "I wrote this song for a girl that's been stuck in my mind for the past few weeks. I hope you enjoy." He said into the microphone.

  Authors note - Hey, I would suggest maybe listening to Hey There Delilah by Plain White Ts during this part :) okay back to the story.

  He started gently strumming his guitar to a rhythm.

  "Hey there y/n what's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes you do. Times square can't shine as bright as you. I swear, it's true." He began the song with his lazy guitar playing. He continued the song. He could tell most of the people in the restaurant enjoyed the honesty behind the lyrics. It made him happy someone was enjoying his work.

  "Hey there, y/n. Don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice, it's my disguise. I'm by your side." He sang under his gruff voice.

  "Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. What you do to me." He led on with the catchy bridge.

  "Hey there, y/n. I know times are gettin' hard. But just believe me, girl. Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar. We'll have it good. We'll have the life we knew we would. My word is good." Bakugou carried on.

  "Hey there, y/n. I've got so much left to say. If every simple song I wrote to you. Would take your breath away. I'd write it all. Even more in love with me you'd fall. We'd have it all." He went on, after that singing the bridge again.

  "A thousand miles seems pretty far. But they've got planes and trains and cars. I'd walk to you if I had no other way. Our friends would all make fun of us. And we'll just laugh along because we'd know. That none of them have felt this way. Y/n, I can promise you. That by the time that we get through. The world will never ever be the same. And you're to blame." He sang emotionally while strumming along.

  "Hey there, y/n. You be good, and don't you miss me. Two more years and you'll be done with school. And I'll be makin' history like I do. You know it's all because of you. We can do whatever we want to. Hey there, y/n, here's to you. This one's for you." After this he slowly ended the lovely song with the bridge,

  "Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. What you do to me, oh oh, woah, woah. Oh woah, oh. Oh." He sang softly, ending the song by strumming all of the strings on his beat up guitar.

  After he had finished the sweet tune someone came up to him.

  "Hey kid, that song you played was actually pretty good. The lyrics and rhythm were amazingly catchy. No one can ever go wrong with a classic love song. Maybe I can help you get big. I know some people in the industry. I came here to find some new musicians, actually." The mysterious figure said to him.

  Bakugou was in shock. He knew people liked his music. But not to the point where somebody like this would notice him. Especially this song. It was just some overly cheesy love song.

  "Thanks." He said not knowing what to say. He was speechless.

  "Here, give me a call." He said while slipping his business card over to the blond.

  Of course later that night he couldn't help but call the guy. He had never heard anything like this from someone.

~

  Y/n was nearing the end of her trip. She was sitting in her Mother's car on the way to the bus station back to Boston. She couldn't help but over hear the radio.

  "Hey we have a new love song from this band called Sex Bob Omb. I thought it was pretty good, how about we give it a play." You couldn't believe what you just heard, so you immediately turned up the volume on the radio. You could hear that spiky blond's classic voice over the sound of a relaxed, acoustic guitar. It seemed very unlike the band to have a song like this, or even be on the radio.

  "Hey there y/n, what's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes you do." The song started out gently. You jumped at these lyrics. You thought you were dreaming. But you weren't...

  "Mom, I think this song is about me..." You said trying not to sound insane.

  "Sweetie, it's just some song on the radio I'm sure you're over thinking it." She said calmly.

  "No, Mom, I saw this band at the tavern a few weeks ago. The lead singer was talking to me at the bar." You denied her.

  "I'm sure it's just a coincidence." She said keeping her eye on the road.

  "Times Square can't shine as bright as you. I swear, it's true." You softened at these lyrics. The way he wrote them... It made you feel like you were the only girl in the world that mattered.

  "Hey there, y/n. Don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice, it's my disguise. I'm by your side." You couldn't help but feel like he was actually by your side, like he stated. You wished he could sing this to you, with that guitar of his, while looking you in the eyes. You really were falling for some mysterious guy. You would have never thought you would fall for some rebellious band member... or someone that you barely even knew. Music had never moved you in a way like this, it was so connecting, yet unexpected.

  Finally, You had made it back to your campus. You rushed up to your dorm to see that schedule he gave you. You wanted to see him again. The lyrics of the song made you melt. It warmed your heart. Making you fall for the random blond even more. Thankfully, the band was booked pretty far ahead on the schedule.

  A few nights later you caught yourself back at L Street Tavern hoping to see them there. You were sure they wouldn't be there now that they had made it on the radio. But it didn't hurt to try and see if they would be there.

  Unexpectedly you heard the sweet voice of the girl scream,

  "WE ARE SEX BOB OMB!"

  You turned around and made eye contact with the blond. His face flourished red. You couldn't stop staring into his glistening crimson eyes.

  "Wait, it's y/n." He said walking over to you, stopping the other band members.

  "The girl you wrote the song about? I thought that was just a made up name." The red hair said furrowing his eyebrows.

  "You came..." He said looking into your love struck eyes.

I really wanted to make a story inspired by this song so I hope you liked it. :)

Please comment some more songs you would like me to write stories about.

Also yes I got the name Sex Bob Omb and the song they sang is from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World hehe. Also, L Street Tavern is a real bar in Boston!

[msclaritea]

"An insurrection of upper-middle class white people | Will Bunch Newsletter

They flew from their affluent suburbs to the U.S. Capitol, ready to die for the cause of white privilege

The stunning pro-President-Trump insurrection that occurred at the U.S. Capitol less than a week ago must have been a carnival for one’s olfactory bulb, as the stinging aroma of tear gas blended with the pungent odors of the occasional joint, or maybe the piles of dung that some of the cruder mob members left in the hallways once graced by icons like Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, and LBJ. The only thing that wasn’t in the air on Wednesday was the smell of what so many have falsely tied to Trump’s authoritarian movement — any whiff of “economic anxiety.”

When fascism finally came to America in the form of an attempted coup to halt our presidential election, it came from lush-green suburbs all across this land, flying business class on Delta or United and staying in four-star hotels with three-martini lobby bars — the better to keep warm after a long day of taking selfies with friendly cops or pummeling the unfriendly ones, chanting “Hang Mike Pence!” and generally standing athwart democracy yelling “Halt!”

Long ridiculed as deplorables rising up from the muck of Rust Belt trailer parks, the Donald Trump counter-revolution has finally revealed itself as an upper-middle-class affair.

What else can one think after seeing the photo of Jenna Ryan, real-estate broker from the upscale Dallas exurb of Frisco (also a “conservative” radio talker) posing in front of the private jet that whisked her to the Jan. 6 pro-Trump rally and subsequent storming of the Capitol, where she smiled in front of a window broken by other rioters and tweeted that “if the news doesn’t stop lying about us we’re going to come after their studios next”?

Maybe Ryan is an extreme example, but her compatriots in rushing Capitol Hill on Wednesday included a father of three from another upscale Dallas suburb named Larry Rendall Brock Jr., whose 1989 degree in international relations from the Air Force Academy apparently never taught him that it’s a bad idea to be photographed leaving House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office in a combat helmet, tactical gear, and holding zip-tie handcuffs.

One might also expect a criminal defense lawyer like McCall Calhoun of Americus, Ga., to know that it’s surely illegal to surge past a line of cops into the U.S. Capitol, even if, as you later told a newspaper, you believed your fellow rioters wer people who “don’t want to lose their democratic republic.” Or that it’s bad form to do this after tweeting about a looming civil war or the potential hanging of President-elect Joe Biden.

Political junkies like us remember 2000′s “Brooks Brothers riot” of well-heeled GOP activists and lobbyists that successfully halted Florida vote recounting in populous Dade County. Apparently what we witnessed Wednesday was the “Pottery Barn insurrection.” As key figures who invaded the Capitol have been steadily identified over the last five or six days, it’s remarkable how many alleged lawbreakers emerged from upscale zip codes.

The stay-at-home dad husband of a physician. The son of an elected judge in Brooklyn. The owners of numerous small businesses, as well as assorted state legislators. The New York Times spent four years looking for Trump voters in Ohio diners, but apparently that’s not where they would have found failed actor Jacob Chansley, a.k.a. Jake Angeli, the infamous shirtless rioter with the painted face and horns, who reportedly hasn’t eaten since his arrest because there’s no organic food in jail.

Yes, many of the 74 million citizens who voted for the guy who then incited an attempted coup do fit the stereotype of struggling or laid-off blue-collar worker in a rusted-out rural community. But those folks aren’t the ones who can take a Wednesday off and fly hundreds of miles, let alone plunk down hundreds of dollars, to get to the nation’s hub. While the Capitol mob was bulked up with other Trumpists — including an alarming number of off-duty police officers, as well as some neo-Nazi or KKK types who’ve been around forever — it was the 401(k) crowd that formed the front line of America’s first real putsch.

If that surprises you, then you weren’t really paying attention. For the last four years, political scientists have been trying to wrap their brains around Trump’s shocking 2016 victory in the Electoral College while trying to tell us that the 45th president’s true base is a lot of things — but it’s not poor. In fact, polling guru Nate Silver noted during 2016′s primaries that the average Trump voter had a median household income of $72,000, which was both higher than the national average and also higher than the numbers that year for supporters of Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.

Interestingly, Silver and other analysts have found that Trump performs particularly well with voters with high incomes yet often without college diplomas (although he also does better with degree holders than he gets credit for). A researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, the political scientist Diana Mutz, found that Trump voters generally weren’t struggling economically yet did feel great anxiety about their status — whether the threat was the rise of a foreign power like China or the idea that America, and its government, was becoming increasingly nonwhite.

That explains a lot. It explains why the Republican Party, arguably in a long downward moral spiral, lost its mind when America elected its first Black president in Barack Obama. It explains why so many people with the luxuries of a laptop and free time (things that actual poor folks have in short supply) look for conspiracies like QAnon to explain a society that no longer makes sense for them, or why so much of the hatred on the right is expended not at the CEOs who outsourced American jobs but at the cap-and-gown-wearing eggheads like journalists or scientists they find intellectually arrogant.

The main reason that so many reasonably well-off folks tried to shut down American democracy wasn’t because they feared losing their paycheck, but because they feared losing their white privilege. Donald Trump had promised that “I alone can fix it” — that he’d protect them from a society where Black and brown essential workers could expect help from their government during a pandemic or ask the police to stop killing them, a world that where just being white no longer guaranteed the status they were promised as kids. They truly believed that Biden, Kamala Harris, and the 82 million were going to end their white power, and they saw Jan. 6 as their last chance to save it. The Capitol still stands, but the rest of us are going to be spending decades cleaning up their mess.

History lesson

Philadelphia Police carry a protester away from a July 4, 1966 anti-Vietnam War protest held at Independence Hall. A new study proves police are twice as likely to break up a left-wing demonstration than a right-wing one, like Wednesday's storming of the U.S. Capitol.

In the end, as the FBI and other agencies step up their investigation of the Jan. 6 insurrection, there will likely be hundreds of arrests. But the now-under-fire Capitol Police arrested only 13 rioters while the attack was underway, and only a few dozen more were busted by cops for violating the 6 p.m. curfew. No one must have been more shocked by this than the survivors of the May 1971 anti-Vietnam War protests in Washington, one of the largest demonstrations in American history. In marked contrast to last week’s light police presence, the heavy-handed tactics from the administration of Richard Nixon included secretly canceling a national-park permit for the protests and then sending in a whopping 12,000 military troops to augment an already sizable police and National Guard presence. Over three days, an astonishing 12,614 people — many who were protesting peacefully and not violating any laws — were rounded up in the largest mass arrest in U.S. history. Authorities detained thousands at RFK Stadium because there was nowhere else to put them.

The shameful 1971 incident proved a point that seemed clear last Wednesday and has now been established with research: Police who are aggressive with leftist social-justice protesters treat right-wing disturbances with kid gloves. Last year’s Black Lives Matter protests as well as anti-lockdown rallies on the far right inspired the nonprofit Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project to dig deeper. It found police were twice as likely to break up the left-wing protests, and when they did disperse a gathering, cops used force against leftists more often (51% of the time) than against right-wingers (34%.) This unequal treatment under the law is one more way that American policing is broken."

[h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e]

Without a Doubt [B.H. x you]

Summary: Billy’s enamored with his desk neighbor. The only thing is, she’s not aware of his existence...or anything, really.

Inspiration: Ballerina Out of Control by The Ocean Blue & Lorelei by Cocteau Twins

Word Count: 1399 Warnings: profanity.

Written Date: 11/7-18/2019 Posted Date: 11/18/2019

Parts: [1] [2] [3] [4] [MASTERLIST]

Billy noticed her brutalized notebook first as it loudly plopped onto the desk beside his. Its front cover hanging on to its last two spirals while angry indecipherable scribbles nearly puncture through the material. The edges were beyond frayed from maltreatment.

He rolled his eyes then and thought to himself, ‘Great…I sat next to the weirdo of Hawkins High.’

But then a subtle scent swirled into his nostrils, smelling of roses and…those essential oils Susan had stored away under their bathroom sink. Girly. Girl. ‘Girl.’

Instead of some overweight, pimpled-faced, greasy-haired brute who spends the majority of his time masturbating to Miss November and probably hasn’t figured out how to make eye contact with the opposite sex without his palms cooking up a sweat, Billy’s ocean blue eyes found her. A rather pretty girl with tangled locks whose wardrobe lacked diverse shades of color.  

Needless to say, she hadn’t noticed him. She hadn’t seem to notice anything. Not the teacher as she introduced herself, not Billy as he was forced to introduce himself as the new kid to the entire class, and certainly not the material her grades would rely on. The steady world outside the classroom was just as dull and lacklustre as the classroom, yet it had cast a spell on her.

And, the whole time Billy hardly noticed anything other than the quiet girl who limply waved her hand just a few centimeter above her shoulder when her name was called during attendance. He hadn’t noticed Tommy H., who would soon become the unshakable monkey on his shoulder, nor Cassie Beckham, the flirt he would have a late night encounter with just a couple days later at the quarry.

In just those first forty-five minutes of class, Billy managed to make out two words in the mess that was Y/n’s notebook, and he wasn’t even sure if he had gotten it right when spelling it out on a different sheet of paper: cocteau twins. ‘What the fuck is Cocteau Twins?’

Never coming across such a strange term, not even in the diversity of California, he didn’t know where he could find the meaning. Regardless, he was determined and became rather obsessive in the hunt for the answer.

He had snuck into his father’s study just to browse through his encyclopedias, but all he found was some French writer he doubted had anything to do with the girl in his class. He had wasted two hours at the local record shop flipping through the ‘Cs’ and ‘Ts’ before putting on his best flirtatious smile and asking the employee if she’d ever heard of them, thinking it could possibly be a band. The employee hadn’t, but she’d been happy to check the inventory list for him before coming up empty.

That didn’t deter him from hopping around other music stores, even when the outcomes continued to be the same. After Tommy had become somewhat of a friend to him, he had joked that madness was doing the same thing every day and expecting a different result. And still, Tommy had not a clue that this search was for the girl in black in their English class for dumbasses. No, Billy’s hunt came to a close when he’d ran out of record stores within the 15-mile radius.

With no hint as to whether this Cocteau Twins even existed, Billy held on. Quite literally.

Just a month into the school year and fall had consumed the town, leaving layers of cracked and chlorophyll-broken leaves for the street-sweepers to clean up almost daily. But while she was staring out the same window at those dead, sinking leaves, Billy decided to forge those same words he’d been searching for onto the center of his palm in blue ink. Tommy had taken to sitting behind him, so he had to stop glancing at her so often.

For always picking on poor souls who crossed his path, Tommy was careful around Y/n, acting like her seat wasn’t preoccupied by one of the sorest thumbs in the entire school. This left Billy even more mystified about her. There was history between the two, just like there was history between Tommy and the soon-to-be dethroned king himself, Steve Harrington.

How deep the ties were in this school, he’d soon find out during a shirts vs. skins basketball scrimmage against the one-and-only Steve Harrington.

With one quick shove of the shoulder, Harrington’s lanky form toppled to the floor. That was all it took for Billy to make the winning basket before offering a hand to his fallen opponent. Leaving the pen markings in his palm vulnerable to scrutinizing eyes, it took only one prolonged glance for Harrington to ponder upon all the answers Billy had been itching to know.

Steve had dated the girl who had introduced him to the virtually underground band whose name was etched into Billy’s skin before leaving her for a new fancy—Nancy, the unpopular girl who grew into her looks quite well. They had dated for a year, and Steve had thought he had loved her all the more when she and Tommy had surprisingly developed a bond that resembled siblings.

And yet, Steve had ultimately ruined everything he had built with Y/n for the exciting chase that was Nancy. It was his fault that Y/n had fallen off the cliff of popularity and had swindled down a hole so foreign to him. He’d stolen what little shine her eyes had held, the soft peaches of her closet, and left her a hollow shell of the girl she was before.

At first, Steve hadn’t a reason to worry about her after the breakup. He didn’t cheat on her and he hadn’t lied to her when he told her he had fallen out of love. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that the friends she had met through him were superficial enough to turn on her once they weren’t an item. There was no reason for guilt to settle in the pit of his stomach when Carol had nastily snickered about hearing his ex’s sniffles behind one of the bathroom stalls because his hands were clean.

But, Steve was different now. He was still very much in love with Nancy but finding this Morse code on his enemy, the need to protect his vulnerable ex-girlfriend as some form of self-redemption shocked his core. And he wondered just what in the hell did Billy have planned for Y/n?

Billy had caught the lingering stare of his enemy, and later that day, Billy had taken Tommy H. to the only bar that didn’t card because a drunk Tommy was a very open Tommy. He spent twenty-three dollars he barely had just to get Tommy spilling his nostalgic guts onto the wooden counter.

“Harrington broke up with her over boring Nancy, and she’s not even hot ya know? No, but see, my Carol is hot. Nancy? Nah, man. Just another judgy bitch that thinks she’s better than us. And now, Y/n—she dresses like a freak. I think she’s fuckin’ depressed, hanging around that ash* chick Samantha sure messed with her head.” Tommy finished his drink and flagged the bartender for another one.

In between the slurring of his words, Billy got the gist of the drama his friend was mulling over and suddenly Hawkins didn’t seem like such an empty puddle. And, yet, Billy acted the oblivious fool when it came to her.

He never speaks to her, never speaks about her. He is a mere observer without a clue as to what Cocteau Twins is because he refuses to make the first move. So, he fucks around with girls whose names he doesn’t give a shit about, fights with other guys for dominance—anything to stir a commotion in this depressing town, hoping one day she’d be enchanted with him instead of their English class window.

A/N: *Ash was one of the many terms in the 80s used to label someone from the goth subculture before the term “goth/gothic” really took off.

[shinobisakura]

A Flowers and Shuriken.

PROMPTS CURTESY OF @shisakuweek FOR ShiSakuWeek2020 

Friday 21st August :

Soul mark AU

 Where you bare a soul mark that corresponds with your soulmate. You can only see your own soul mark, and it flashes when you’re going to meet them soon. 

Chapter 1 sets the scene. Chapter 2 is the real interaction. Might actual make a few more chapters to this, rework it and then post on AO3

 Chapter 1

Early mornings were not good for Sakura. Ever. Early mornings usually meant skipping breakfast, meeting up with Team 7, an all-out brawl with Team 7, Kakashi-sensei finally showing up several hours after he said to meet up and followed up with some incident that usually dragged her on shift at the Hospital.

Usually.

Toady was not a usual day. I was an incredibly unusual day.

“I’m sorry what?” Sakura spluttered staring at her master.

Sakura along with Yamato, Shikamaru and Hinata were all stood in the Hokage’s office for a last minute mission. None of them knew what it was about, and so far all they’d gotten out of the Hokage was that it was an urgent and immediate mission. So collect your shinobi packs and go. This was the type of mission urgency that only ANBU were sent on- with the exception of the Kazekage retrieval mission a few months ago.

“You four are going to the capital for a very important mission. Because its in the capital, I need the best I can get, and right now that’s you lot.”

“Its not Tora again is it? That mission is such a drag.”

Tora. That damned cat! If Tsunade was sending her on another Tora mission she’d just blow her top. Thirty times as a genin was enough thank you very much.

Tsunade however didn’t seem affected by the comment, and remained as stern as she had began the mission briefing.

“No it is not Tora.”

Silence. Clearly despite the urgency of the mission, Lady-Tsunade was trying to think of the best way to explain the mission without exposing anything critical. Hinata looked around for a moment and then chose to speak up.

“Ts-Tsunade-sama, you said you need the best, but, wouldn’t Na-naruto-kun or Saskue-san or Shino be more suited?”

“No this isn’t suited for them. Naruto and Saskue are likely to burn down the capital in a brawl, Shino is too quiet for this mission, and honestly from what I’ve heard, the Daimyo hates bugs. That would go down just as well as sending you with both of the team 7 idiots. I don’t want Kakashi reading porn in the palace and I really, really don’t want to hear that Genma slept with another Daimyo’s daughter or wife. I just about negotiated for his life in the last case.”

That… was sadly very true. Genma and Raidou had been sent to guard Shizune whilst her fellow medic-nin healed Madam Shijimi. Apparently Genma had caught the eye of the Madam and Daimyo’s daughter, who instantly wanted to add a shinobi shaped notch in her bedpost. That had gone so well for him that it had taken the elders, Lady Tsunade and an offer of engagement for his daughter from the Water Daimyo (curtesy of Naruto begging Kiri’s jinchuriki to help arrange it) for the Fire Daimyo to forget he ever wanted Genma’s head on a pike.

Either way, from Tsunade’s explanation she wasn’t necessarily after the best shinobi but rather the most capable of them. At least the most discreet. Shikamaru seemed to see it that way too.

“So not exactly the best, just the least likely to cause trouble. Damn what a drag.”

“I need you four to meet up with the Daimyo’s guard and pass on this scroll to the guard head. You will return accompanied by said head guard, with the exception of you Yamato, who will be taking over the head guards position until otherwise relieved.”

“Why us? This is going to be such a pain.” Shikamaru compained for the third time that morning.

“Because the four of you are the most qualified for this job. The three of you are all chunin or higher.” Tsunade rubbed the bridge of her nose. “In addition to this, Sakura you have your own mission.”

“Me?”

“Yes. It’s this particular mission that is why you will accompany this team. Once there you will be team leader, as your mission takes over.”

“What? But surely the Head-guard would take over being the more experienced jonin?”

“No. This is your personal mission scroll Sakura. It is only for your eyes and you are not to open it until you reach the guard. Once you’ve read it, you will understand why it is that the team will be under your command. Is that Understood?”

“Understood.” Sakura nodded and then hesitated, her sudden departure from the village might cause more problems than Tsunade would expect.. “Tsunade-hime, will you inform Team-7?”

“I’ll make sure Naruto and Saskue know and don’t burn down the village looking for you.” Tsunade nodded. “Go home, collect your essential and then depart from the sothern gates once you’re all there.”

The team stood to attention and then with that the team departed.

 Within only twenty minutes, the newly formed Captial-Team had geared up, departed the village and were well on their way to the heart of the Fire Country.

“Who is the Daimyo’s head guard anyway?” Shikamaru asked.

“I thought you’d already know?” Yamato blinked back in surprise.

“I know he’s Konoha shinobi, but I didn’t bother to know exactly who. The Daimyo goes through them that quickly.”

That was certainly true. When Sakura had been in the academy it was a well known fact that the Daimyo was sending back the Head-guard every few months. None meeting his personal standard, and some not wanting to deal with the Daimyo’s family any longer.

“It’s Shisui Uchiha. Shisui-san has been the Daimyo’s head-guard the last three years.”

Uchiha? Sakura thought. Saskue had mentioned he had a cousin on a long term mission with the Daimyo, but she hadn’t realised it was Itachi’s Shisui.

“Jeeze, that long? What a drag. What’d he do, beg the Hokage to give him relief or something?”

“I don’t know.” Yamato shrugged.

“It’s- it’s probably because Shisui is the most qualified genjustsu shinobi, aside from Itachi-san. There might be a new mission he’s needed for.”

Sakura snorts at that.

“That’s what Sasuke will have you think. I have it from good authority that Shisui is better than Itachi.”

“And who’s that?” Shikarmau scoffed.

“Itachi himself.” She snorted.

That was true. Itachi had once told her over dango that he and his cousin often spared, but Shisui was always one step ahead. Apparently Itachi said that even Shisui’s sharingan was stronger than his, which was a feat in itself as usually it was only main branch Uchiha who’s sharringan had that much potential.

Hinata giggled at that and Shikamaru groans.

“I do believe that is a good authority.” Hinata quipped.

The team lulled into a silence for a couple more miles before Shikamaru spoke up again.

“So Ino said your soulmark’s been flashing.”

Ah Sakura thought. Yes that was true. The last couple of days the soulmark on the inner of her elbow had began to flash bright every so often. She’d only noticed it the morning two days past, having taken of her guards to realise the mark was flashing. She couldn’t tell if she was excited, happy or terrified at the prospect of meeting her soulmate. The mark itself already telling her she’d have feeling for whoever it was.

“Yeah. So?”

“Well doesn’t that usually mean that your about to meet your soulmate?”

“I don’t know Shikamaru, did that happen when you and Temari met?”

“Ugh. You and Ino are going to kill me with your questions. But if you must know yes. What about you Hinata? Did your soulmark flash when you met Naruto?”

“N-no. I believe that the Soulmark only flashes if you and your soulmate are going to have a romantic meeting.”

“But it has flashed for you and Naruto?” Sakura raised her eyebrows.

“Y-yes. Naruto’s soulmark flashed just before he asked me to dinner in Suna.”

That was surprising, seeing as Hinata had been making moon-eyes at Naruto since pre-academy. But then again, Naruto had had a crush on her until two years ago when Sakura explained soul marks to him. Apparently no one had bothered to teach Naruto in the orphanage and since Saskue had met his own soulmate- and it was Uzumaki to everyone’s amusement, Naruto had been confused as to why Saskue was interested in talking to this brash girl since he hadn’t even bothered looking at Sakura.

It had been funny to see Naruto realise that the mark on his hand which no one else had seemed to ever notice, was in fact his own soul mark- A Lion. Then barely a week after it had began flashing and he was Hinata using her new Gentle Step style. Since then the two had began dating and Hinata had blossomed in confidence whilst Naruto developed a new self-awareness (at least where Hinata was concerned). Sakura had thought the reason Naruto’s mark only flashed then was because he hadn’t known that it was his soulmark, but apparently Hinata knew otherwise.

 “What about you Captain Yamato? Did your soulmark flash when you met your soulmate?” Sakura looked at her team captain. Said Captain turned bright red and nearly missed ducking a branch.

“What makes you think I have a soulmark?”

“The fact you just turned bright red?” Sakura pointed out. “So who is it?”

“None of your business!”

“Oh come on. Hayate and Yugao are soulmates. Naruto and Hinata, Shika and Temari. We deserve to know!”

“Asuma and Kurenai. Hanabi and that Konohamaru kid.” Shikimaru added with a nod.

“Even Kakashi has a soulmate.” Sakura shot in too, and Shikamaru glanced over to her in surprise.

“Really? Who? Not Gai right?”

Sakura snorted but before she could reply Yamato yelled back at them.

“OF COURSE KAKASHI SEMPAI’S SOULMATE ISN’T  GAI!”

“…Is it you.” Shikamaru asked a sly grin on his face before he dodged a kunai thrown at his face.

“I guess so. Wouldn’t have seen that coming.” Sakura grinned at the other two before they continued on, joking as they went.

 It didn’t take them too long, and they arrived at the capital in less than a day, and after an hour of paperwork and approval, they found themselves in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of the city.

“Tch. The Daimyo certainly knows how to treat his shinobi.” Shikamaru groaned.

“I thought you’d be pleased, you get to sleep in a bed before we go speak to the Daimyo and his guard.” Sakura quipped back.

The group unpacked their gear slowly making use of their down time before the following day.

 “So. What’s your soulmark?” Shikamaru asked raising his brows.

“Shikamaru-san! You can’t asked that.”

“Why not? Might help us narrow it down. There’s a good chance she’ll beet whoever it is in the city, seeing as it only recently started to flash.”

That was true. Soulmarks always corresponded with Soulmates in one form or the other. It just took a little longer for some people to work out.

“Good point. Only fair you tell me yours first.”

“Meh, mine is a fan. You know, cause Temari uses them or something.”

Hinata giggled at that before adding her own.

“M-mine is a kitsune-festival mask.”

Sakura laughed.

“Oh, those are definitely big hints. Although if you didn’t know Naruto it might take a little longer.” Sakura shook her head. Those were easy to recognise.

“So what is yours.” Shikimaru asked, breaking Sakura’s thoughts.

“It’s… It’s weird. It’s like some strange curved Shuriken or something.”

“A shuriken?”

“Kind of? It’s just weird. I thought maybe I’d run into a shinobi who used a custom shuriken or something? Maybe a pinwheel? But I don’t know anyone outside of wind country who are related to pinwheels.”

“Weird.” Shikamaru agreed. “Usually a Soulmark is connected to something unique about the person not their weapons.”

“You literally just said your soulmark for Temari is a fan.”

“Because her jutsu is unique and connected to fans. There have only been three shinobi in Suna history to use fans to slice air.”

“Fair enough.” Sakura slumped down. Her mark would be difficult to work out.

“Look lets sleep on it. Maybe in the morning you’ll know more.” Hinata added and they nodded in agreement. Sleep sounded wonderous. 

Chapter 2

“YOU WANT TO WHAT?!” 

Apparently the Hokage had not sent word to the Daimyo about the change in his guard. Said guard was stood, face entirely blank, beside the screaming noble. So far the scroll handed to him had only upset the Daimyo into something of a tantrum. In fact, Naruto’s own tantrums when told he couldn’t have ramen seemed like an elders council speech compared to the display before the team.

“We are here to exchange Captain Yamato here, for your current head guard Shisui Uchiha. Whilst we understand the lack of notice -something urgent has come up that only Shisui can help deal with. Yamato here is more than qualified to guard yourself and your family Lord Daimyo. In fact he is the only Shinobi aside from the First Hokage to have the Mokuton. Lady Tsunade selected him personally to ensure your safety.”

If there was one thing Sakura had learned from her master, it was the art of kissing up to nobles to get the outcome you want. Well that and how to hold ones liqueur. But only one of those skills was useful right now, and if anything Sakura would kill for a drink to help deal with this.

“Why?” 

“Because your safety is paramount to the peace of the Land of Fire, my lord.”

“No. Why do you need Uchiha?”

“I’m afraid that’s above our clearance to know. As the Hokage’s apprentice she thought that my presence might help reassure you the urgency of this mission as well as our knowledge of how important you are to the Land.”

A little lie didn’t hurt either. 

“Yes, yes. I did find it odd for Tsunade to send two clan heirs and her own apprentice.” His face seemed stunned for a moment before he masked it with a sagely imitation of wisdom.

Clearly, only now had the Daimyo realised who Sakura was, probably having thought she was simply a pretty face added to placate him. Technically that was probably also part of Tsunade’s planning, but Sakura didn’t need to let him know that.

After a little more back and forth, Shikamaru adding that technically Shisui was due to leave from the guard anyway, the Daimyo finally agreed. With that they regrettably left Yamato in place of Shisui and the group left. Not having shared a word with each other until they were long out of the capital.

The group stopped after an hour of running and opted to set up camp.

“Holy shit.” Shikmaru finally burst. 

“Y-you sounded very convincing S-sakura-chan.” 

Sakura, to her credit, simply shrugged as the other collapsed in giggles.

“I had to train with Homura and Koharu in the art of politics. The Daimyo is nothing compared to those old bats and the clan elders.” 

Shisui laughed at that. It was warm and reminded Sakura a bit of Naruto.

“Right, before anything else. My name is Shikamaru Nara, this is Hinata Hyuuga, and the political negociator over there is the Hokage’s apprentice.”

“The name’s Sakura.” She grinned. “Very sorry for the unexpected legal kidnapping.”

“I honestly didn’t expect it. So tell me, why have you retrieved me?” 

Sakura opened her mouth before closed it. She didn’t actually know, she hadn’t even read her scroll yet, so right now it could be anything. Technically the brief had been to swap Yamato for Shisui and have him accompany them in whatever the new mission was.

“Gimmie a second.” She finally said, pulling out her own mission scroll. It was written formally like any other mission scroll, but there was an obscurity about it that made Sakura scowl.

Sakura, apprentice of Hokage Tsunade. Your mission is to heal the damage done to Shisui Uchiha’s eyes through use of the Sharingan with the assistance of Hinata Hyuuga and Shikimaru Nara. Here is the knowledge compiled on the degenerative abilities of the Sharingan, and what little knowledge we have on preventing it. 

Please report back to the village once you are confident in having gathered all the necessary things.

Dispose of this once read 

Signed. 

Homura Mitokado

Koharu Utatane

Hokage Tsunade Senju. 

That- That was impossible. Tsunade herself had explained to Fugaku that the sharingan’s damage was irreversible. 

“Are they- THEY CAN’T BE SERIOUS!” Sakura yelled, ripping up the scroll.

“What? What?!” Shikamaru, for once in his life, looked worried. 

“Those- those idiots are expecting a miracle.”

“What?”

“Tell me Uchiha-san, how long have you been going blind?”

The following exchange went from Shisui initially denying it to finally Sakura giving him a lecture that he was acting like Saskue did when he was being stupid about a critical injury on a mission. Shikamaru and Hinata decided to make themselves scarce during this exchange, which Sakura thought was probably from learnt experience with her and her squad. After a bit more back and forth Shisui pouted and sat down as ordered, allowed Sakura to cast a diagnostic jutsu after explaining she was a medic-nin. 

“So you know Saskue?”

“I’m on his dumbass original genin squad. Sakura Haruano. I’m pretty sure Itachi probably mentioned me at some point.”

“You’re Sakura?” 

“What were you expecting. Some burly woodcutter type?”

“I was expecting someone a bit... Younger?”

“ARE YOU SAYING I’M OLD!”

“No! No! I just keep imagining Saskue and his team as 12 year old genin. It’s hard to picture him as anything but.”

“Well him and Naruto technically still are genin. Saskue ended up injured the past two chunin exams. Different incidents of course. And Naruto went on a round trip with the Pervert himself.” 

“Pervert... You mean Jiraiya?” Shisui seemed stunned at the name.

“Yes. Could you activate you Shaingan for me?” 

He obliged. 

“Okay. Now seeing as its just us. Can you show me your other form of sharingan.” 

“You know about the Mangekyo.

“Itachi mentioned it on one of his physicals. Said it was draining.”

Shisui nodded, and then activated it. 

Sakura froze completely and almost immediately Shisui deactivated it.

“I'm sorry! You asked me to activate it!”

“You- you - you-” Sakura couldn’t get the words out. 

How. How the hell was her soulmark in his eyes. 

Of course she knew the answer. He was her soulmate.

“I ams sorry. I know that it’s a bit intimidating, but you didn’t seem-”

“Shut up a second!” Sakura finally cut him off. “What’s your soulmark?”

“What?! What does that have to- It’s a flower. Actually, hang on!”

He pulls out a pressed flower from his jacket. It was a purple bell shaped flower, and instantly Sakura recognised it.

“That’s Aconite.” Sakura blinked at the flower.

“Yeah?”

“It’s poisonous.”

What kind of dumbass walked around with a press of a posioness flower in his jacket. Sakura herself didn’t do that. That was beyond stupid and dangerous. Sure she used it all the time, but she was a medic nin she could handle and accidental poisoning. Unless of course Shisui was a poison expert and was using it in some sort of concoction. 

“It is?”

No. Apparently he was a dumbass like Naruto.

“Yeah. It is. Why do you carry it around in your jacket? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Huh? I just carry it in case I run into my soulmate, then I could pull it out and present it to her.”

Oh, never mind kill himself, he wanted to accidentally kill his soul mate too! If she hadn’t known better, he’d have killed her.

“I use it in my antidotes and- Well its my favourite flower.”

“Your favourite flower is poisonous?”

Sakura snorted. “Ino- my best friend- compared me to an Aconite bud when we become friends. It stuck with me I guess.”

Shisui’s face seems to fill with realisation.

“So... This flower has a special connection to you?”

“Yes, and clearly the curved shuriken is connected to you, seeing as its in your eyes.”

“Wait! Are you trying to say-?”Apparently she had to spell it out for him.

 “That that weird dumbass shuriken soul mark I’ve been branded with is actually your mangekyo? Yeah.” 

“Huh.”

Sakura snorted once more. 

“I guess I’ve got a real reason to be motivated to find your cure now.”

[shouldhavebeenyou]

The Storm

Its not fair.

Its been seven years since I fell in love with you. Every single day since then, my life has been turned upside down. It was raw, rough, passionate, incredible, painful, young love. I had no clue what I was doing with a girl like you. You were so high above me, all I knew was that I wanted it to last forever. You had the dopest soul I ever encountered, and I never knew I could care for someone so much. You may never know the effect you had on me. The moments we spent together replay in my head over and over, eroding away my will to live with every painful memory. 

But are the memories really painful? No, I suppose not. Those memories are full of complex emotions; happiness, sadness, longing, regret, love, despair, hopelessness, and yes, pain. Those memories are all I have left of our time together, aside from a few obscure landscape photographs where you were just out of frame. I try not to look at them.. but when I do it brings it all back. I wish I kept more of a record of us. As time goes on, it gets harder to remember. I lay awake at night just trying to play it all out. Just trying to remember your beautiful face, the feel of your lips, the sound of your laugh, the smell of your skin, the endless puns and witty jokes. The places we discovered and adventured together. The trouble we got in. 

Its not fair.

I can’t sleep. It’s been a few years of this. Each night is filled with hours of replaying my mistakes in my head, hours of picturing your face inches from mine, hours of remembering the nights spent at your childhood home out on the trampoline talking, replaying the memories of taking so long to leave that your dad flips the porch light on and off to say “hurry up.” After hours of recalling the best and worst of it all I might finally slip into an exhausted state where I just can’t think anymore. It’s like sleeping, but altogether different too, like a restless trance. Images flash through my head, some of them memories, some of them inventions of the dreaming mind. About every hour I’ll awake from this trance for a few moments, my heart racing and feeling broken, only to slip back into this nightmarish world of what could have been. Should have been.

Its like a slow, drawn out death. With every restless night the next day gets harder. The last time I truly felt alive was with you. The last time I truly felt in love was with you. The last time I truly felt, was with you. The last thing you said to me runs through my head over and over daily. I’ve held on to that memory since then like it was my only shot at freedom, at redemption, at life. Its naïve, I know, but I still think maybe, just maybe, we’ll run into each other on that crowded city street and pick up where we left off, just like you said that day you last left me. 

Its not fair. 

I did everything I thought I was supposed to. I’m such an idiot. You said to go to finish my degree, move away, and maybe when I’m finished with it we would run into each other on that crowded street. Well I’m done, I got that expensive piece of qualifying paper. In my fight for it, I lost sight of you. I became romanticized, deluded. In my degraded state of emptiness without you I became ravenous for something, anything, that would make me feel again. I tried more things to fill that void than I would like to admit, but the one that stuck was skydiving. The rush of air beneath me, the sky around and above me, the horizon seemingly stretching endlessly in every direction, the deafening roar of wind, and the feeling of soaring miles through empty space are the closest I have felt to you since you left. And yet, it falls so short that even hundreds of skydives couldn’t make me forget you, couldn’t measure up to the way you made me feel. If only I told myself to ditch the parachute and fly to you before it was too late. You are truly irreplaceable, and I can only hope he knows that as well as I do.

You have become the Daisy to my Gastby, the green light at the end of the dock across the bay, the unobtainable end to my story. I don’t know who I would be without that force driving me, but sometimes I can’t help but think I would be better, happier. Like Gatsby gone to war, I have probably romanticized your memory too much in those years since you left and I moved, distorting the dope soul I once knew and loved unconditionally into an impossibly perfect idea of you. Before I knew it, I was done with school, left skydiving by the wayside, and trapped myself with someone who reminded me of you. Someone who sparked something in me for just a moment, and gave me hope again. I chased her hoping it would come back, but it didn’t. I don’t know why I settled. Maybe after the exhaustion of sleepless years I just wanted to take the easy way out, and be done with the chase. Maybe I didn’t feel like I deserved you, and I gave up before really even trying. I hate myself for that. I feel like a masochist torturing himself because he just doesn’t know better, or perhaps because he thinks the pain and despair will make him stronger. Well, it hasn’t. I’m weak. Broken. A shell of the man I used to be. I was once able to smile, genuinely. Now, it’s like I’ve lost the muscle memory to smile or laugh. I look back at pictures of myself before I moved to this fiery hell, and that man is unrecognizable. You can see the hope that was once in my eyes, the youth in my face, the ambition and energy. Its all gone now. 

Its not fair. 

I tried to move on. I spent hours reading, occupying my mind with something else. I’ve read hundreds of books just trying to think about you less. But some days, I just can’t help myself but to look you up and see how you’re doing. I always regret it. It pushes me back into that deep depressive state where I just can’t do anything anymore. It breaks me nearly every time. Your engagement broke me. Your wedding broke me. You look so happy with him, and that alone is maybe the only thing that keeps me alive, albeit hanging on by a thread. 

I tried to focus on the future, and not dwell on the past. I tried to fully engross myself in my relationship, my work, my hobbies, to find some source of happiness outside of you and your memory. Finally, one such source came. I was going to have a daughter. A new love of my life. Someone who maybe could finally make me happy again, give me a sense of purpose, of hope, ambition, the energy to get out of bed in the morning. 

Its not fair. 

She died. The only thread of hope I had, the first taste of feeling anything real since you left. Gone. I thought I had known pain and depression before, but this cut through me like an icy blade. And it just kept cutting. I saw her, I held her lifeless body in my hands, her precious form only the size of my palm. It killed me. I remembered you. You had once told me you always had a feeling you could never physically have children. They say that God has an ironic sense of humor, but I don’t find this humorous at all. With some sick twist of fate, it was not you, but I, who could not beget. Months of pain and anguish went by, as I slipped deeper into my state of peril.

I’m 25 now. This was a hard birthday this past weekend. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how over and above you always went with gifts and birthdays. I also couldn't stop thinking about how the only thing I wanted was my daughter back. I had some sick day dream that maybe you both would come back to me, the best birthday gift possible. I fought it. I pushed hard against the thoughts that crept into the dark corners of my mind, the thoughts of us. I wanted the pain to just end. I fought against it for a few nights, until last night. Yet another sleepless night filled with memories, flashes, flooding into my closed eyes and keeping me restless. Irrationally I thought “Maybe if I could just see her face, it would hurt a little less.” I was wrong. 

Its not fair.

You have a daughter of your own on the way. Due nearly the same time as mine was, in the Fall. We always loved Autumn. The leaves, the air, the color, the fading daylight and cool breeze. It always reminds me of you, and our naïve “Something Day.” I’ll never forget we chose our favorite month, October, and our favorite number, 4, that we just happened to have in common. Its a painful day every year. Its not fair. Why does my daughter get taken from me the same time you’re given one? Why does everything I love get taken from me? Why am I not deserving of the life I wanted? What did I do to deserve this life of consistent pain and inadequacy? I hate it. I want out. I don’t know how much longer I can live with this pain. A scene from one of our darker days plays on repeat in my mind. You wanted to meet near the library to talk. It was late in the summer, the middle of monsoon season. In typical monsoon fashion, there were clouds all around us, thundering and flashing with lightning, though immediately above us a hole penetrated the clouds, allowing the sun to shine through on us. It seems like a scene from a novel, the weather meant to foreshadow what was about to happen in my heart. You looked more broken than I had ever seen you, with your eyes downcast and wrists bloody. That sight alone shattered my heart. You told me all your friends, the people that made you happy, hated that we were together. It was your last year of high school, I would’ve hated myself if you were miserable at school your entire senior year, all because of me. You said you couldn’t do it anymore, and that we needed to break up. It might not have been our last break up, but it was the most painful. Perhaps it was all amplified by the scenery and my young, dramatic, broken heart. We parted and I sat in my car there at the library for hours, sobbing uncontrollably and praying to God asking why. The storm that was raging around us quickly descended upon me, and upon my heart, ripping a hole through the middle of it like the hole of sun that was above us. Before I knew it my tears were one with the downpour that was all around me. 

That scene is all I can think about now. The storm is so vivid, I could paint it with the minutest detail. A new hole has been rent through my scarred heart and left there by my departed daughter, reminding me of the hole that was first left there 7 years ago by you, and which has been repeatedly reopened and scarred over since. I’ve tried to heal, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel true happiness again. I don’t know if I’ll ever find true passion again, like I had with you. I don’t know if I’ll ever know true hope again, like when my daughter was alive. Its not fair. You’ve moved on. You’re happy with him. You’re creating a beautiful family with a new daughter. Here I am, stuck in the past, unable to let go of the storm you left in my heart. 

Its just not fair. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #310

“i get pretty just to fuck my face up.”

Do you have a clock in your room? No. What book, movie, TV show, or video game have you been wanting to start up? I *want* to read The Testaments by Margaret Atwood, but I care more about reading Wings of Fire, so I probably realistically won't for a long time. I don't read enough for that; Sutherland will surely keep pumping out books in the series so I'll never catch up, haha. As for a movie, I've been interested in seeing Jacob's Ladder for a very long time; it served as a very large influence on the Silent Hill series, and boy, anyone who brings up video games in front of me knows SH is my SHIT. I also just know I'm bound to like it with how essentially legendary it is in the psychological horror genre, which is my favorite. Onto TV show, I'm not certain. Shows don't really interest me. I would like to keep watching A:TLA w/ Sara, but "start up" implies beginning something new, so. Lastly, video games. There are a LOT of games I want to play, but yeah, I have no operational gaming console above a PS2. I'm dyinnnngggggg to play a ton of PS4 remasters (namely the original Spyro the Dragon trilogy and SoTC), but as for a fresh game I've never experienced, Ico, which is from the same producers of Shadow of the Colossus. It's an old game, and Mom's bought it off of Ebay for me twice, but neither disc worked - they froze only minutes into the game. It's hella expensive in new condition though because of its age... so who knows when I'll actually get to play it. Do you put anything else on your grilled cheese sandwiches? Just butter. Have you ever read a book in a different language? I've read some simple fairy tales as well as the play Faust in German courses. Do you want to go to the Harry Potter theme park at Universal? I have no connection with the franchise, but I mean, I'd go if you're paying, haha. If you had a secret room in your house, how would you decorate it? I'm trying to think what kind of room I'd keep a secret... Ha, actually, IF my love of tarantulas expands so largely to having dozens (which I doubt, but I acknowledge the possibility once I get my own place), a room kept on the down low to others just for them would be pretty cool. Imagine someone not knowing they're sharing a house with like, a hundred Ts, haha. As for actual decor, I'm unsure. I'd definitely keep it generally dark for them as nocturnal creatures, maybe with some Halloween decorations, like lots of fake webbing and neon green or orange lights. Man... that sounds dope. What did you get your dad for his last birthday? I couldn't buy him anything, nor did I actually make anything since I didn't know what to create. I just told him happy birthday, of course. Do any of your relatives live in another country? No. Are you claustrophobic? In some spaces, yes. Ever seen Blair Witch? Without spoilers, you know "that part" near the end? Yeah, if you've seen it, you know. That would be a fucking NIGHTMARE for me. Even watching it made me squirm. When grocery shopping, do you usually buy brand names or store brand? With most items anyway, we just get the store brand bc we cheap. Around what time do you usually eat dinner? Generally between 5:30-6:30 nowadays. Do you have any clothing that you get dry cleaned? No. Do you like foods with coconut in it? Eugh, not a coconut fan. I don't hate it as much as I used to, but I still don't like it. Have you ever researched your family history? No, but some past relative researched our family tree. Have you ever had surgery that kept you in the hospital for over a day? No. Do you like carrots more if they’re raw, or cooked? I hate carrots. Did you play with Legos as a kid? Nah, I was more into Lincoln Logs. Which bothers you more… spelling mistakes or bad grammar? It really depends on the severity and simplicity of the spelling or grammar rule. Grammatical misuse of "there/their/they're" stand out very strongly to me, though. Have you ever bought anything off of eBay? Yeah, a good number of things. Is anybody in your family schizophrenic? If so, what is their life like? I have a scizophrenic half-sister that I've never met, so I couldn't tell you. How organized is your mind? How do you know it's organized/disorganized? My mind is running Windows '98 with multiple windows and even more tabs open, all of them not responding. :^) Why do you follow the religion that you do? I don't follow one. My personal religious journey was a train wreck liberating to jump off of. Do you feel superior to others because you're that religion? I don't care if you're atheist, Christian, Buddhist, Islamic, whatever - you are by no means superior to another person in any way just because you believe different things happen once you die. If you do, it's time for some introspection. Are you a blind believer, or do you frequently challenge your own beliefs? Seeing as I went from Catholic to Christian to briefly Neo-Pagan-ish to what I am now, just believing there's some higher power/knowledge and some form of sentience after death, I obviously challenge them. What's the greatest thing about science? Life itself. This universe, this planet, your state of just knowing is a product of science, and that's pretty damn beautiful. Are you emotional or very stolid? I know I'm too emotional. I'm trying to get better about it. Do your siblings look like you? To a degree, but not NEARLY as much as they look like each other. Ashley and Nicole have been mistaken multiple times in their lives and even asked if they're twins. How many states have you lived in? Just this shitty one. How many states have you traveled through/vacationed in? Traveled through, a whole lot. Up and down the east coast. I've stayed in New York, Florida, Ohio, Illinois, South Carolina briefly, and I think possibly Michigan as a baby. Which state was/is your favorite? I don't know. Not NC, haha. You have two weeks alone in any place in the world; where would you go? Alone? Um... I dunno. I'd get lonely through two weeks in absolute isolation. How old were you when you first moved out of your parents' home? I want to say I was 18 when I briefly "moved in" with Jason and our roommates. Did you ever have to move back in? Yeah; the apartment didn't last very long. None of us were ready. How old were you when you thought you were "in love" for the first time? I was in love at 16. I'd fight God literally for eternity to prove that fact. How many exterior doors are in your home? Two, or maybe three, depending on your outlook. We have like this deck in the back with a roof and mesh separating you from the outside, and then you properly go into the yard from the door beyond that. How many cars have you owned? I myself, none. How many email accounts do you have? Ummmm my very first one I misspelled, so I didn't use it long before making a new one with the correct spelling, then later I had no choice but to make a Gmail to use YouTube, and I know I've had at least one email specifically for school. I'm probably forgetting some other oldies I used for small things. What was the last movie you watched alone? The Shining. What (if any) one television program do you watch religiously every day/week? None. What (if any) is your favorite sport? Dance. Scoff at that shit and then try one dance session and tell me it's not one. What is your favorite musical? None. Have you ever seen a live opera production? No. Dressing up for an evening out: Pants or skirt? Pants. I don't show my legs. What do you currently hear right now? I'm listening to Dance With the Dead's "The Man Who Made a Monster." I LOVE the aesthetic of synthwave and rock mixed together, but the only problem I have with this song is that it's very repetitive. Still stuck in my head though, haha. What type of survey do you refuse to take? I'm not into bolding surveys, specifically. Do you like to run? bitch fuck no Do you think you could run the mile in 10 minutes? Zero chance. What was the longest movie you watched? Hm, I don't remember... It's faintly there in my head, I just can't identify it... Have you ever been to a job interview? Well yeah. Who was the last person to call you? My psychiatrist. Now that I'm doing the partial hospitalization program again, he calls once a week. When was the last time you talked to your last ex boyfriend? Uhhh I think around the start of this month? Missed him and felt like chatting for a bit. Is your dog mixed or full? I don't have a dog, buuuut... we're getting one soon! I'm quite sure she's a mutt. What was the last thing you and your mother did together? Rode to the pharmacy to pick up my meds. Do you take good pictures? I like to think so. What is your display picture on myspace/facebook right now? The most recent selfie I took and liked. I'm finally comfortable using makeupless photos as a display picture. :') Not that I like my body by any means, I just don't care enough to feel like I HAVE to wear makeup to be even remotely pretty in the face. As for everywhere else... ahahaha. What is going on outside right now? It's raining. Like it has been for what feels like literally weeks - and it might actually have been. There's been one or two sunny days in a huge streak of just nothing but rain. It's so gross outside by now; we've been under a flood warning for days on end. Who was the last person you kissed? My best friend, but we were dating then. What color looks the best on you? Black. Have you ever bought the wrong size because you were too lazy to check it? Oh, absolutely. I LOATHE trying on clothes. You have to essentially drag me to go do it. I don't have a good reason other than I don't want to, lol. What was the last thing you bought over 5 dollars? I put down the deposit on my tattoo. c: Do you have any mag subscriptions? No. What is something you're not scared of but a lot of people are? Snakes are probably the highest on the list. I adore snakes, all snakes. Would you ever have a threesome? No; I'm strictly monogamous and to me would be cheating even if your partner was in on it. Are you an U.S. citizen? Yep. Do you have any step siblings? I have a stepbrother, yeah, but I don't see him as my brother, honestly. He's a very quiet and reclusive guy I've had almost no conversations with, and they've only ever been short. Do they annoy you? Nah, he's fine. How many times a day do you talk to your mom on the phone? Well, we live together... What did you wear yesterday? The same pjs I'm in now. I'm changing when I take a shower later. The tank top is a Day of the Dead-esque skull pattern, while the pants are mostly navy with skulls and candy can crossbones that say "nice until proven naughty" arching over and beneath them. They were a Christmas gift from my sis and are really soft and comfortable. Really don't care that it's now out of season, I wear them anyway. I do not match colors AT ALL, but again, I don't care. What color straightener do you have? We don't have one; neither Mom or I use one. Do you listen to music really loud or really low? Turn that shit up LOUD. I'll be nearly deaf one day, but... worth it? lol Do you live with anybody other than your siblings and your parents? No. Both my sisters have moved out. I'm still here because I'm just not emotionally or financially equipped to live on my own yet. Who was your last crush? I still like my best friend, but agree with her that right now isn't the time for anything. How many tattoos do you have? Currently only six. :( What is your favorite thing to do? Car rides with Mom while I ride passenger, controlling the music nice and loud with my iPod. It's odd, considering I'm very afraid of being on the road, but it's just such a freeing, wild feeling to blare music and just go, letting your mind wander. How many pets do you own? I only have a cat and a snake right now, but we're getting a dog hopefully very soon, preferably today actually when Mom has to go to the appropriate city for her normal check-up to keep her cancer at bay. Her name is Vanna and sounds so perfect for us. Mom can barely wait. Are you close with your parents? Yes, very, Mom especially. Where do you shop the most for your clothes? Hot Topic or Wal-Mart. I'd really like more stuff from Rebel's Market; they have such a wide range of stuff that just scream my aesthetic. I got my purse from there, and it's fantastic quality and so cool-looking. Have you ever read a whole series of books? Well, one trilogy that I remember: Shiloh. I adored those books and the movies. I got very, very deep into Warriors by Erin Hunter, but then my interest in reading waned, and I'm immensely behind. I don't think I'll pick it up again, but I've thought briefly about it. When you tell someone you love them do you mean it? Yes. Are you going to walk at your graduation or just pick your diploma up? I walked. Do you ever eat anything everybody else thinks is gross? Hm, perhaps. I'd have to think for a while. What did you do for your last birthday? I just ate pizza at home with my one sister that was free that day, Mom, and a family friend, as well as opened presents. What do you plan on doing for your 18th birthday? I don't recall, but I think that may have been when I was in the psych hospital. Or was that my 21st? I don't remember. Do you have to type with good grammer? Yes. I type pretty much exactly how I talk. What is your favorite quote? It's hard to pick one singular favorite. Are you allowed to cuss in front of your parents? Dad could care less, but I try to limit myself with Mom, especially with "fuck." She's not a fan, nor does she like if I just swear too much in front of her. Like she won't yell at me or anything, she just makes it clear she wants me to stop. How long was your last phone conversation? Just a couple minutes. I didn't get the Zoom link to group therapy one day and let the place know. Turns out their email was fucking up. Which one of your friends annoy you? The family friend I mentioned a few questions above has the ability to be incredibly aggravating. I love her, but she has zero issue with inserting herself into everything (and sometimes we just don't want to see her), and she voices incredibly rude opinions literally no one asks for a whoooole lot. She's got a strong tendency to try to take control over every situation. Her being our landlord now makes it harder to speak up, and besides, no one wants to hurt her feelings. Don't be mistaken though, she truly is an incredible person with a heart more caring than probably any person I know. Have you ever lost a close friend to death? No, thank fuck. I mean, I think. I do believe one of my childhood online friends committed suicide because of sexual abuse from her own fucking brother, but I guess I'll never know. She was talking to me one night horribly depressed and scared and then just vanished. Bless her, I loved her. Do you know someone who suffers from addiction? Yes. Do you have a lot of pictures in your room? Tons of posters and artwork, anyway. I currently don't have any photographs, but I got this shadowbox thing for my bday to decorate with pictures of Teddy so I can use it in my "tribute shrine" or whatever for him, and I'd also like to frame the picture of Sara's and my first hug and maybe put it on my bedside table. Do you have Facebook? Yeah, I do. Have you ever found a dog/cat on the side of the road? I myself, no, but a friend's mom did find two poor kittens thrown aside in a fucking plastic bag... Some people are abominable. Knowing how much my family loved cats, she reached out to us, and we took them in and named them Aphrodite and... I can't remember the other's name. She disappeared kinda early. Aphrodite wound up being one of my most beloved cats and was even the mother of a kitten that same family adopted. Delilah is still alive, doing wonderfully, and incredibly loved. <3 Aphrodite, meanwhile, as well as all our other cats at the time, were taken by animal control because our neighbors were tired of them wandering, even though they were too fucking cowardly to confront us first. I've said in many surveys that I am very much against outdoor cats, but I wasn't then because I was uninformed and really didn't understand. I wailed and sobbed and just pure shrieked like a banshee outside when we came home to learn they were taken. I have no clue how any are now, and that's the worst part. Do you go bowling in your town? We are in the middle of a pandemic, lol. Even beforehand though, I rarely went. Last time I did was on a date with Girt. We had fun. Do you have a drive-in theater? No sir. What brand is your favorite shoe? Converse. Is your best friend's mom like your own? They're quite similar, yes. Both are very sweet and caring for others. Do you have anxiety or depression? Try both. What is your favorite fast food restaurant? Sonic. Do you own a pair of brass knuckles? Nah. Have you and your friends ever made up a word? Likely as kids. Do you have any embarrassing baby pictures of yourself? Not that I know of. What is the worst smell in the world? Anyone remember that survey I took mentioning my dog's old tumor? Yeah, that after he spent overnight in a diaper and inevitably peed himself in his old age. And he had a UTI. You probably can't even imagine how fucking vomit-inducing that smell was. Do you dye your hair a lot? No. :/ I really wish. I have so many colors I wanna try. Do you have anybody in your family who rides dirtbikes/fourwheelers? Not really? No one in my family owns one. My younger sister would totally go if you asked her and had one for her to use, though. She's done it plenty before. Have you ever rode a dirtbike/fourwheeler? Yeah, a fourwheeler, and it's really fun! Tell me how you got one of your scars? Hmmm, let's think of a unique one. Ah, my shins, left one especially. When I shave my legs, they get unbelievably itchy, even if I use lotion, and I would scratch my skin absolutely raw so often that I have permanent scars. It's partially why I barely shave my legs anymore. Have you ever had a friend who cut themselves? I know many, sadly. I don't know of any that still do, thankfully. I promise, it never helps. If you ever have the urge, I can't suggest enough running where you want to self-harm under cold water or slap the location (like your wrist) with a rubber band. The latter is especially helpful. It's a similar burning sensation and doesn't leave marks. It would help me refrain sometimes. What is your favorite thing to do in the summer? Swim in a nice, warm pool. Otherwise, become a hermit and wait for the outdoors to not be prepared to melt the flesh off my bones. x_x Do you go tanning or do you lay out? Neither, ugh. As you can guess from above, I hate the sensation of heat on me. What is your favorite skin lotion? I just really like cocoa butter. Smells really good and is perfectly moisturizing. Do you use a lot of hair products? The only hair product I use is shampoo, haha. Do you have a cousin you dislike? No. Well, one is incredibly brainwashed and misled by her psychopath of a father, but I love her nonetheless. We talk now and again because family is important to her. Have you ever heard Theory of a Deadman? Yeah, they're good. What is your comfort food? Absolutely ice cream. Who is your celebrity crush? Mark Fischbach/Markiplier is a perfect human being with the looks of a god and heart of a saint and you cannot convince me otherwise. What’s the song you most wish you had written? "Imagine" by John Lennon is a high contendant, for sure. Definitely something I'd write. Have you ever been stuck by someone very annoying on a plane/bus/etc? I think so at one point or another. Did you get lost at all on your first day of high school? Ha, for sure. Have you ever been interrupted during sex? A bitch knows how to act asleep if she hears a door so much as barely squeak, I'll tell you that much lmaooo. Have you ever been recorded doing stupid things while drunk? No. Has a significant other ever called you by the wrong name? No. Have you ever cooked anything and it turned out horrible? I've barely actually cooked anything in order TO fuck up. Have you ever made a bad first impression on someone’s parents? I can't say with certainty, but I think Jason's mom had her doubts about me at first because she commented on the ripped jeans I wore when I went to his house for the first time. She came to love me like her own though, and I love(d) her. I was actually just thinking about her and how she's doing the other day. What is a food that you always are in the mood to eat? Always? Perhaps sour candy, like Sour Punch Straws in specific. Ever held a newborn animal? Many kittens, yes. Do you make a wish when you blow out your birthday candles? I do, but just for the annual appeal of it. I don't actually believe it will have any effect on what I wished, it's just... normal, ig. What is the last thing you searched for online? Medical coding classes. Having trouble finding any free ones that are actually legit... Is it wicked hard for you to sleep when it's hot in your room? It's borderline impossible. Do you dunk your cookies in milk? Sometimes, and almost always with Oreos. Do medical terms make you uncomfortable? Ha, speaking of medical coding... No, not really. It's unnerving to hear "you have _____," but I understand it can be something so, so minor. Of course, it could be the exact opposite, but. I also actually find it quite interesting to learn the Latin roots of the terms. Are you afraid of failure? Beyond measure. Have you been called a bad influence? Yes, to my former friend's son. Not that that witch of a woman was a great person. I'd love to know how an infant can be negatively affected by receiving nothing but love from his "aunt," also having no concept of understanding about me being unemployed and not very "adult-ish" in general, which I'm sure is what she meant. Normally judgment hits me deep, but that shit I just rolled my eyes at.

[militant-holy-knight]

Clarifying the Crusades as “Defensive War”

Or How NOT to Do Crusader Apology

I felt the need to write this blogpost because there is a massive (but understandable) misconception that comes with defending the Crusades among people that know they have been smeared by liberals and revisionists, but are prone to commit serious blunders themselves because they lack historical knowledge about them. Some view it as a proper belated response after centuries of Islamic aggression which may be the case, but that is a gross oversimplification of what actually happened. But there are a lot of subtle details that get lost which result in constructing a very idealized view of the Crusades as an pan-Christian cooperation effort to destroy Islam. As an historian specialized in this time period and someone who goes at great lengths to defend them from political activists, I must advise fellow apologists to not fall into certain traps when talking about it.

The Context of Islamic Aggression

The Crusades officially began in 1095, but their origins can be traced back as further as the rise of Islam almost five centuries prior. Previously Christian lands such as Egypt, Syria, Palestine, the entirety of Northern Africa and Spain fell at Muslim rule and even then this didn’t stop further attacks all over the Mediterranean and Southern Europe from Arab pirates.

It’s important to note that the vast majority of this aggression directed at Europe was committed by the Umayyad Caliphate, which was established after the death of Ali, Muhammad’s cousin, the fourth caliph of Islam (and first Imam of Shia Islam). This caliphate practically continued the policies of expansion laid out by it’s predecessors but following the Battle of Portiers and the Second Arab Siege of Constantinople (both Christian victories that halted any expansion into Europe), the Umayyads entered a period of decay and a lot of infighting took place where they were replaced by the Abbasid Caliphate. This one was a lot less violent and more interested in consolidating it’s power by fighting rival Islamic empires than waging war on the infidels. One such rivals were the Seljuk Turks, a recently converted people that became displaced from the Turkic regions into the Middle-East.

The immediate cause of the Crusades was the Seljuk’s advance into Eastern Anatolia gobbling up huge parts of the Byzantine Empire and eventually culminated in the Battle of Mazinkert where they dealt a crushing defeat and the Emperor was captured, throwing the Empire in disarray. Alexios Komnenos was the emperor that sent letters of help to the Pope asking for relief - which was no easy task since the Catholic and Orthodox churches have parted ways over a series of theological, ecclesiastical and political disputes. Pope Urban assembled the Council of Clermont where he pledged Catholics to take up arms to 

This is No “War on Terror”

A often cringy apologist statement I see thrown out is that “The Crusades were waged to stop Islamic aggression” because I know any debater is gonna pick that one apart and embarrass the one who said it. The reason why its said is because 1) apologist observes there was historical preceding violence against Christians 2) therefore the Christians are fighting back. However, it’s important to note that by the time the Crusades were declared, there was no realistic chance of Islam ever taking Europe by military power because of the dispute between the countless Islamic states like the Abbasids, the Umayyads, the Seljuks, the Fatimids and etc. 

The contemporary rhetoric of the Crusades at the time was “retake the Holy Land”, not “stop the invasion”. While it’s perfectly plausible that Urban II did fear a potential invasion in the future should the Byzantine Empire collapse, the average crusader at the time did not sell his possessions and donated his lands to fund the expedition to possibly die in a far away land to preserve their Earthly way of life. He did it for the salvation and expiation of his soul - that is what he believed in. I think this isn’t acknowledged by apologists - whether they be actual Christians or secularists themselves (yes they exist) - because it’s embarrassing to admit at one point this is what Christians believed, but that is what history taught us whether we like it or not.

The one context where you could conceivably call this particular campaign a “defensive war” was to lend assistance to the Byzantine Empire, given they were in a time of crisis and needed all help they could get. Might as well call the ones to preserve the established Crusader states that were under threat. The problem is that it leads to another misconception made by Crusade defenders...

Christian Unity Was Lacking

While it’s true that Pope Urban was successful in inflaming the crowds of Europeans at Clermont about the atrocities reaped on the Christians of the East, another common misconception made by modern apologists is that they were acting like how Catholics and Orthodox do today, they were going to liberate their brethren and then leave them be. Due to the East-West Schism that took place just a few decades ago, the reality was far more cynical: The Catholic Church had no intention of restoring of restoring the reconquered lands to the Byzantine Empire and all Crusader states were to be under Latin jurisdiction, ruled by Latin Catholic monarchs with Catholic clergymen. As far as the Catholic Church was concerned, the Eastern Orthodox Church was schismatic and was to be brought into heel rather than left to coexist.

It’s well documented that Western knights disdained Byzantines for their seemingly effeminate and hedonistic manners, finding them unmanly fuccbois, while Byzantines wrote how Catholics were rough, uncivilized brutes, unworthy of being considered “Romans” and more akin to the Germanic tribes that overwhelmed the Western half centuries ago (though to be fair they weren’t entirely lying about that last part). And that is not even getting into the countless conflicts between Crusaders and Byzantines because I’d be here all day.

It’s inconvenient to point that the Crusader states were often in a very fragile state and requesting aid from Europe, since after the First Crusade was successful, many Europeans returned home and very few capable people were left to manage it. Yeah, yeah, we have better things to do so hold tight, m8s. This reality shIts all over the commitment that Christians had in solidarity for their co-religionalists. So Crusade apologists need to be careful in framing these campaigns as motivated by that motive.

There Were Actual Defensive Crusades

The real irony is that they existed after the period even if we don’t traditionally associate with them. the Fall of Constantinople heralded a new chapter in the war between the Cross and the Crescent with the Ottoman Empire beginning an expansion campaign rivaling that of the ancient Umayyads. Even before the city fell, the Ottomans had already consumed chunks of the Balkans including the entirety of Bulgaria, Serbia, Macedonia and Wallachia. Even though the Crusades to retake the Holy Land fell out of fashion by the time of their rise, the situation now changed - the enemies were right at the door instead of thousands of miles in faraway lands and the Byzantine bulwark that withstood for 1000 years is no more.

This time there would be no bullshitting - Catholics and Orthodox would have to cooperate again to deal with the Ottoman dragon and there was no time for squabbling. Cooperation was increased with Albanian Catholics and Orthodox setting aside religious differences and form the League of Lezhe, Pope Pius II interacting with Wallachian Orthodox ruler Vlad III Dracula and Catholic king Matthias Corvinus lending his Black Army to Moldavian prince Stephen III to triumph against the Ottomans at Vaslui. There were officially sanctioned Crusades like the Crusade of Varna and the Crusade of Nicopolis, but they were major Islamic victories over the Christians. 

There can be no denying that the Christian campaigns (whether they were Catholic and Orthodox) against the Ottomans were defensive and fit the conventional understanding of a crusade, whether it’s a military campaign sanctioned by the Pope or simply any war waged by Christians. The reason why the Balkans are ignored is because the Holy Land Crusades are the more lasting ones in the modern public consciousness and still believed to be the cause of many political problems today between the West and the Islamic world (which is rich, since the latter never gave a flying shit about the Crusades until they were on the receiving end of colonialism for a change). Other factors can be accounted like the Protestant Reformation taking everyone’s else attention and being more comparatively significant and that these particular wars were not for people’s souls, but for their lives, their lands and loved ones.

So to my fellow apologists: be careful when you say “the Crusades were defensive wars” because if the other side is more knowledgeable than you, they are going to take up to task and debate you if they can. You need to be prepared to acknowledge the little subtleties of history and remember that the current “bro” relationship between Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy was not the same as it was for medieval times, let alone was a motive for the Crusades because one side viewed the other as f*gg*ts and the latter viewed the former as brainlet cavemen. And more importantly, educate yourself about the wars in the Balkans and Eastern Europe which is surely a fun subject to study since many historical legends emerged from this period like Saint Stephen, Vlad the Impaler, Skanderbeg and John Hunyadi. 

They were all crusaders but you didn’t knew about it.

[magicalwardrobe-mw]

The kids are alright

I can update my WIPs like a normal person or start a new time traveling GOT fic. Mmmmm... which one will it be? Okay you got me.

Summary: Lyanna Baratheon hadn't expected to be sent back in time with her siblings and cousins to when her uncles and grandparents were still alive but there they were. Just the most normal turn of events, really.Oh, she was gonna strangle her sister one of those days.

Also on AO3.

1. Winterfell.

Lyanna was thankful to finally see Winterfell looming ahead. She loved her siblings to death, but after spending thirteen days copped up in a ship with them and then ten more of riding she didn’t want to see them again for a while.

Robb spurred his horse to ride next to hers. He had a huge, excited grin on his face. But Robb always had a big smile on his face so there was nothing off with the picture.

“’ts been ages since we’ve seen them,” he said. Robb had the habit of starting conversations in the middle, as if they had just been talking for a while. Most days Lyanna found it cute.

“I can’t believe it’s been over a year since we’ve been here,” Dawn quickly joined the conversation. Dawn was always up for talking. “That doesn’t mean I’m not glad wheneverAunt Sansa and the rest come to Storms End as they did those months ago. Most times it’s nicer to play host than it is to play guest. But it’s always great to see Winterfell again. It’s such a lovely place, don’t you think? And it’s full of so many interesting stories! Nothing boring ever happened at Winterfell.”

Lyanna grimaced. Her sister had heard too many songs about The Battle of Winterfell. Even though their mother had strictly forbidden those kinds of songs to be played in Storms End. As if that could stop the bards from playing it or Lyanna and her sibling from hearing it.

Her mother didn’t like to talk about it. The Battle of Winterfell was a bloody affair and thousands of people died that night. People she should have known, but she didn’t. Like Theon Greyjoy, who should have been like another uncle to her but wasn’t.

Her life was full of ghosts she never met but haunted her all the same.

Her mother didn’t talk about the Battle of Winterfell but Lyanna knew of it anyway. The maids talked as did the soldiers and the guards and the smiths and cooks and carpenters and farmers.

“It is known,” as the Dothraki would say.

The bards played their songs and the jesters and minstrels told their tales. And in all of them her family made an appearance.

It wasn’t easy sometimes. Being the daughter of Princess Arya Baratheon-Stark. More known as Arya Stark. The Arya Stark. The Bringer of Dawn.

The one who killed the Night King and eradicated all of his army when she was still almost a child. The one who put an end to the War for the Dawn and the Long Night and single-handedly defeated a creature worse than any nightmares.

The one who saved the whole of humanity.

Nothing to live up to, then, just preventing the utter destruction of the human race.

Her father loved to tell her that Lyanna had just been starting to form in her mother’s womb when she had killed the Night King.

“So you could say you defeated him, too,” he would tell her.

Some would find it poetic, the fact that Arya Stark had defeated death while carrying new life inside. Lyanna just found it gross because she didn’t want to think of her parents having pre-battle sex.

Or sex of any kind, to be honest, but that was quite difficult to manage when one’s parents were Arya and Gendry Baratheon.

They had made a bet at some point in their lives to see if they could traumatize all of their kids.

They had managed four out of seven at the moment.

“Look, Lya, look!”

The sound of her nickname broke her out of her thoughts. Neddy was on her right while Robb, who had been the one to call her, kept riding on her left. Neddy hadn’t been the only brother to join her, for Davey rode with Dawn and the both of them were talking a mile a minute.

The only one who could match Dawn’s chattering was Davey.

“I wasn’t listening to them either,” Neddy told her with a smile.

Neddy was twelve, the closest in age to her, just turned five and ten. They had a special understanding, a bond, she didn’t have with the rest of her siblings.

“Look, look!” Robb tugged at her sleeve. He was pointing at the Keep, where a head of red hair peeked from the ramparts. “It’s Cathy!”

Cathy Stark’s head disappeared just as the horn sounded. Lyanna knew her little cousin had gone running to stand by the doors and be there when they opened.

At least until her mother grabbed a hold of her and put her back in the greeting formation that was surely forming in the courtyard.

“I think they’ve spotted us,” Arya Baratheon-Stark said dryly.

Lyanna turned around to grin at her mother. She was riding with Alesander, the youngest of her siblings and only three years old, and Lyanna knew she was taking advantage to cuddle with him as much as she could.

“Were they supposed to be surprised?”

“They could act like it,” her mother said with false grumpiness. “I didn’t warn them this time.”

“Uncle Bran always tells them,” Lyanna told her. “He always knows everything.”

Something dark passed over her mother’s face and Lyanna saw her glance at Dawn for a second. Her expression turned blank, something Lyanna had seen her do in very few occasions and always scared the hell out of her.

Lyanna’s father came from the rear as if his wife had mentally called him. Five-year-old Alyssa rode quite happily on the horse with him. He quickly took notice of the situation and he and Arya had one of those silent conversations they were so fond of.

“Lya,” said Gendry in the end. “Why don’t you take Aly and get your siblings to Winterfell?”

Lyanna knew better than to demand answers. It never worked. That still didn’t stop her from trying from time to time.

“Come on, Aly,” she helped her father put her little sister in front of her. “Let’s see if we can get Dawn and Davey to stop talking long enough to get through the doors.”

Alyssa giggled. “Not possible,” she said.

Lyanna laughed and rushed to meet the rest of her siblings. She knew her parents would figure out whatever it was troubling them together.

They always did.

 There was a small welcoming party waiting for them in the courtyard as Lyanna had expected. Her aunt, Sansa Stark, stood regally in the middle with her husband and her children at her sides.

Lyanna’s mother got off the horse and walked gracefully to stand in front of the Queen in the North.

“Your Grace,” Arya bowed respectfully. They were the image of propriety and perfection. Both of them solemn as the situation required.

“Princess Arya,” Queen Sansa nodded in respect.

Lyanna saw her mother pressing her lips very tight together but that didn’t stop them from trembling. Queen Sansa’s cheek twitched.

“I hope,” the Queen had to clear her throat because her voice had come out somewhat strangled and high-pitched. “I hope you had a pleasant journey here.”

“The sea was a bit,” her voice shook. “It was a bit rough.”

“Oh,” Queen Sansa put on a carefully studied expression of mild concern. “I hope it didn’t inconvenience you much.”

That was too much for Arya, who burst out laughing and it set Sansa off too. They hugged tightly and everybody in the courtyard smiled at the scene.

“I’ve missed you,” said Sansa.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Arya stepped away from the embrace, smiling. “How did you know we were coming?”

Sansa Stark rolled her eyes. “Bran sent a raven,” she said and then a puzzled look took over her face. “He also said he was coming, too.”

“But Bran hasn’t left the capital since he was crowned.” Arya furrowed her brows.

“I know, but he’s determined. He should be getting here in a fortnight.”

Arya frowned and Lyanna did so, too. If she’d heard she would be seeing her brother shortly, one she hadn’t seen in more than two years, she would have been happier. She couldn’t even imagine going more than ten days without seeing her siblings.

The last time Lyanna had seen King Bran the Broken she hadn’t been yet three and ten. Her mother had taken Lyanna, Neddy, Dawn and Davey to the capital while her father looked after Storm’s End and the rest of her siblings. They were supposed to spend a month in the capital but left in a hurry after three weeks.

Her mother didn’t talk about it no matter how much Lyanna asked her.

“Aunt Arya, look! Another one fell out!” Cathy bared her teeth, a couple of them missing.

Arya laughed. “Uh, let me see.” Arya crouched so close to her niece their noses were almost touching. Cathy giggled and Arya trapped her in a hug, tickling her at the same time.

“Mother, help me!” Cathy squealed.

“Your mother can’t help you, my toothless niece. You’re mine now. Are you sure they are going to grow back?”

“Motheeer!”

Lyanna felt a hand tugging on her breeches. Little Theon Stark was beaming up at her and she melted at the sight of his dimples.

“Well, hello there,” she scooped him up.

“Lya, Lya, I’m four now,” Theon told her seriously, showing her his hand with four fingers up.

“Oh, you’re very big now, aren’t you?”

“I’m a big, big boy.” Theon nodded. “Where’s Sandy?”

Sandy, more formally known as Alesander, was busy at the moment talking with Davey and Theon’s father. Well, actually Davey was talking and the other two were listening.

“Stop boring Uncle Pod with your ship talk, Dave,” she told her brother.

Davey scowled. “He asked me!”

“And I bet he’s regretting it now,” she said.

“Oh, no,” Podrick Stark was quick to jump in. “It’s actually very interesting.”

Davey glared at his sister. “See?”

Theon squirmed in Lyanna’s arms and she let him down. With a squeal Theon and Alesander disappeared running into the keep.

“The new forge wasn’t done when you were last here, was it?” Podrick asked them, changing the subject in an effort to maintain the peace. “Why don’t you go get your father and I’ll show you.”

Lyanna laughed. “You know if you show him he won’t leave that place during our entire visit.”

Podrick smiled. “I’ll get him out,” he assured. “Besides, he still owes me a couple games of dice,” he said.

“My father is awful at dice,” Lyanna wrinkled her nose.

Her uncle beamed. “I know.”

 In Winterfell Lyanna had a room all to herself. Being the oldest of her siblings and cousins, her Aunt Sansa had deemed it necessary.

“You’re almost a woman,” she had said. “You should have your own room here.”

So she slept in what had once been her Uncle Jon’s room. It was small and a bit separated from the rest of her family, but that only made it better. It had a big window and on the bed frame were scrawled the initials J.S.

Jon Snow. Or maybe Jon Stark in a desire to belong.

Neither of those were the true initials of her Uncle but it brought her closer to the man she had never met.

Her Uncle Jon had gone live North of the Wall after the Massacre of King’s Landing. Nobody had ever seen him again, after all he had been banished from Westeros, but he sent her mother a raven from time to time.

Arya always told Lyanna he was happier North of the Wall than he would have ever been South of it. But she always looked so, so sad when she spoke of her half-brother that it broke Lyanna’s heart.

Even if talking about Jon made Arya sad it still made her feel closer to him so she shared all the stories she could with her children. They should know about their Uncle, was what she said.

Lyanna owed her name in part to Jon. Lyanna Stark had been Jon’s mother and Eddard Stark’s sister. He’d kept the secret during all his life. So when Lyanna was born her mother had decided that with that name she could honor her father, her brother and Lyanna Giantslayer Mormont and even Lyanna Stark herself in one stroke.

Arya’s Stark’s life was still full of ghosts many years later.

“Lyyyyaaaaaa!” that whining voice could only belong to Robb. “Are you coming to break your fast?”

Lyanna held back a sigh. “I’m coming!” she called as she finished tying up her bootlaces.

“Hurry uuuup!”

When she slammed the door open she saw his pout. He was far too cute for his own good.

“You could have gone on your own, you know? Or with Neddy and Davey.”

Robb grabbed her hand. “That’s not fun,” he stated. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

They weren’t late but they certainly weren’t the first ones there. Alyssa, Alessander and Theon were missing, probably still in bed, as were their fathers. Lyanna would bet their absence was caused by a session of heavy drinking and exaltation of friendship the night before. Her father had probably lost a lot of games of dice.

If Queen Sansa and Lyanna’s mother had also partaken in their own private celebrations they hid it better. Maybe they didn’t look as fresh as they should but Lyanna had learnt early enough that her mother’s best moments would never be in the morning.

Davey handed her a plate with some eggs and Dawn gave her a bowl of porridge. She thanked them with a smile.

“What are your plans for today?” her aunt asked her.

Lyanna hadn’t been awake long enough to ready herself for such a question. “I don’t know,” she said politely. “Maybe I’ll spar for a bit. The gods know Neddy certainly needs it,” she gave her brother a teasing look.

“Hey!” he waved a spoonful of porridge at her.

“Can we go to the Godswood?” Cathy’s eyes lit up. “You have to see it. Mother has let me help tend it and you have to see it.”

It sounded interesting enough. “Sure,” Lyanna said. “We can go after we’re done.”

 The Godswood had suffered so many losses during the many sackings and battles in Winterfell that, years later, Queen Sansa was still trying to fix. The Keep had been almost completely fixed in those past few years, but a forest takes longer to heal and longer to grow.

There were young saplings growing mostly on the outskirts and some more on the rest of the woods. The canopy of their branches made a ceiling and it was like stepping into another realm. The Godswood her mother had been bringing to life in Storms End would never be able to compare.

Every time she stepped into Winterfell’s Godswood Lyanna always found it a little bit easier to believe that the Old Gods were real.

The Heart Tree was as unsettling as it had always been, with the face carved out and tears of sap running down its bark.

Robb gave a gleeful joy and jumped into the pool in front of the tree. Clothes and all.

Davey, of course, followed. Lyanna only sighed.

“Don’t worry, Lya,” Cathy told her. “The water is warm and the pool is not too deep.” She toed off her boots and sat on a wide, flat stone at the edge of the pool. It was low enough that it let her dip her toes in the water.

“They know how to swim,” Neddy assured his cousin. “In Storm’s End we go swimming in the sea all the time and the waters are far rougher there.”

He had been copying his cousin’s early actions while he spoke and he sat down at her side as he ended. He splashed some water to his brothers with his feet and grinned at Lyanna.

“I seem to be overruled.”

“Come join us.”

If you can’t beat them... She sat with them on the stone, the water lapping at her calves. It was warm but that wasn’t a surprise. She’d bathed in the Winterfell pools before.

“If you two drown Mother will kill me,” she told her younger brothers. “So don’t drown.”

Robb padded towards her. “We won’t!”

“Dawn!” Davey called. “What are you doing there? Come on, jump!”

Lyanna searched for her sister. The girl stood in front of the Heart Tree, glancing at its eyes with a strange expression. She seemed to be far away, as if she wasn’t really conscious in that moment.

Lyanna felt a shiver of worry coursing through her spine.

“Dawn.” Her sister didn’t turn. “Dawn, come here.”

Dawn didn’t listen. There was something in her expression that led Lyanna to believe she couldn’t hear her. Cold fear settled on her chest.

“Dawn,” she tried to keep her voice even. “Get away from there.”

Dawn raised her hand, palm towards the tree. Her eyes glistened and two fat tears ran through her cheeks.

Lyanna jumped to her feet.

Dawn’s hand hovered over the bark of the tree, right under the face.

Lyanna outreached her arm as she ran.

Dawn’s palm made contact with the tree.

The wave crashed against all of them. It threw Lyanna to the ground and sent Neddy and Cathy to the water. It wasn’t a wave of anything she could see but she felt it all the same against her body. Powerful, ancient, unspeakable.

Dawn remained standing, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her arm fell, hand leaving the tree, and she collapsed.

She gathered her sister in her arms. Dawn was shaking as if the aftermath of the wave still ran through her veins. Lyanna brushed her hair away from her face. The shaking faded.

“Dawn?” Lyanna wasn’t proud of how much her voice shook.

Dawn’s blue eyes opened slowly. If Lyanna had been standing she would have fallen down again from the pure relief that hit her.

“Lya?” Dawn’s voice was tiny.

“Are you alright?”

Dawn blinked. “What happened?”

That was what Lyanna herself would like to know. “You fainted,” she said simply.

“Oh,” said Dawn. “You’re bleeding.”

Lyanna brought a hand to her head. She hadn’t even felt it hurting until Dawn mentioned it. Her fingers came back stained with red and she grimaced. She must have hit her head with something when the wave threw her to the ground.

“I fell.” It wasn’t really a lie.

Dawn let out a giggle. “You’re so clumsy,” she announced as she rolled her eyes.

Lyanna could have smacked her.

This started a bit from a fic I wrote years ago (before Season 8) called Everything will be alright. But I wanted all of the Starks to see how they fared instead of just Ned so this little baby was born.

Arya never got on a boat to find what's West of Westeros because COME ON! and instead had a shitload of kids with Gendry (because if you mix Baratheon and Stark/Tully fertilities you know there's gonna be a lot of kids) and bossed around all the lords of the Stormlands and traumatized her kids. And Sansa married Pod years down the line because I wanted her to have at least one happy relationship with a man and the marriage and kids she's always dreamed of (I considered letting her be happy with being Queen but she was very lonely and I felt bad). And it's with Pod because he's nice and harmless and everybody else is dead.

A quick guide to the kids: STARK: - Cathy Stark: 8 years old. - Theon Stark: 4 years old. BARATHEON-STARK: - Lyanna Baratheon: 15 years old. - Eddard Baratheon: 12 years old. - Dawn Baratheon: 10 years old. - Davey Baratheon: 9 years old. - Robb Baratheon: 7 years old. - Alyssa Baratheon: 5 years old. - Alesander Baratheon: 3 years old.

[merlins-hurt-comfort]

I’ll be here until you’re okay

Fandom: TS Sanders Sides Warnings: parental emotional abuse, talking about violence (only talking, though), food mention, Roman swears once, Remy’s mother is kind of transphobic and sugarcoats anxiety. Pairing: Remy/Emile Characters: Remy Sanders, Emile Picani, Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders and Roman Sanders Wordcount: 3511

A/N: so first of all, this is for @shut-up-emrys​, i love you lots. the thing with this fanfiction is that it’s kinda personal, i basically put my mother in this story and made Remy go through some of the things i had/have to go through and have them comforted in the end. because that is what hurt and comfort fanfictions are for, isn’t it. whatever. i do feel better after writing this, though.

The early morning sun shone through a little window in Remy's room, lightly waking them on this mild Tuesday morning.

After a few times of turning around, trying to get ahold of the sweet warm sleep, Remy stretched their body and slowly sat up, leaning against their bed's headboard.

They rubbed their eyes and blinked a few times to get their eyes used to the bright rays of sun, lighting up their room- or more accurate- their mess of it.

Remy breathed in deeply but the heavy weight on their shoulders didn't ease. They felt their throat hurting, warm anger rising as they remembered last night's events.

No surprise their mother was involved. Remy remembered trying to open up to her, telling her about yesterday's therapy session. Not to get them wrong, they loved their mother. And their mother loved Remy. At least that's what they were sure of. But sometimes Remy couldn't think of her anything other than hurtful, then again they immediately felt guilty about thinking that way. Their mother was a good mother. She was. Even though Remy felt like her hatred towards certain groups of people outweighed her love for her child.

Remy didn't want to get up. Not this day. A long work day was ahead of them and their motivation non-existing. But since not coming to work due to emotional issues was "just being lazy" and "not going to happen", according to their mother, they slowly got out of the warm bed to get changed while thoughts about other events, similar to last night came crushing down. Like that one time, years ago, when they took all the courage they got. They wrote their mother a letter, explaining being non-binary in all it's details.

Remy started shaking, just as they had been shaking back then, as if they were reliving the whole scenario instead of simply replaying it in their thoughts. They didn't get support. They didn't get thrown out either but that could not be where the bar for acceptance was. Instead, after getting interrupted, their mother tried to talk Remy out of it, brushed it off as a phase and neither of them brought up the whole conversation ever again. That day Remy swore to never come out to her ever again.

But their mother was a good mother, she let them visit a therapist to manage their anxiety issues. After six months of all of their professors talking to her, she finally agreed. She didn't like her child going to therapy. It would not look good on college or work applications, she said. They would never get an "actual full-time job", she said. It would ruin her good reputation, she said. Almost as if that was more important than Remy learning to deal with their anxiety. Almost. She loved them, Remy knew it. They just didn't feel it. But she was a good mother, right? She was. She had to be.

Remy shook their head, trying to get rid of all the memories as they dropped the clothes they slept in on the floor. After last night's argument, Remy didn't manage to do anything else other than walk into their room, slam the door shut and lie down on the bed hoping to fall sleep before the growing heartache would tear them apart.

They picked a blue jeans and a white shirt from The Chair™, put them on and turned around to look in a mirror hanging on the wall to fix their sleep hair. One look in the mirror made them stumble back in shock. All those thoughts, racing and stumbling through their mind, made them forget that this day was their eighteenth birthday.

Usually, they didn't care about their birthdays. What's so great about them? Remy was glad their friends respected their feelings and didn't bring it up. And every other birthday would have been just another ordinary day. But not the eighteenth. On one's eighteenth birthday they would get a black mark somewhere on their body where their soulmate would touch them first. Or next- if they already knew each other.

After a few seconds, Remy stepped closer to the mirror, carefully touching their left cheek with their fingertips. There was a black handprint on their face covering half their chin and lips and the cheek they were so delicately touching right that second. In awe and confusion Remy traced the print of the thumb to below the left eye and the other four fingers just below their left ear. All those thoughts about their mother disappeared, that stain was the only important thing in this moment, until-

Remy was outraged. So their soulmate would slap them? Was that what was going to happen? They scoffed, of course other people got friendly touches and they were left with this.

"Seems like, it's just what I deserve," they mumbled to themselves. For a short moment they considered covering the mark with make up but they decided not to do such thing. If people knew, people knew. And they would know- one way or another.

They put on their black leather jacket and grabbed their phone to leave the house, not bothering to say good morning or goodbye to their mother. She didn't bother either.

On their way to work Remy put in their headphones and let the music take over, trying to ignore the strangers looking at their face, now decorated with a black handprint.

A few miles away Emile stared at his right hand. Today was his eighteenth birthday as well and he couldn't help but overthink it. When he woke up this morning, his right palm was all black.

Emile's thoughts have been creating dozens of possible scenarios already. It could be a handshake, or a high-five. It could be a mark from holding someone's hand. Nonetheless, he worried a little bit. What if he would slap his soulmate? Could happen, right? Less likely than all those other possibilities but with his luck, that's what it was going to be.

He just took a shower and got dressed, a black jeans, a light blue sweater and his brown coat. He then grabbed his phone and backpack and left for uni, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Halfway there, Emile stopped at the local Starbucks and entered the café. It was a busy morning but to see his best friend Remy behind the counter brightened his mood. Somehow, Remy, as the most sarcastic and pessimistic, also unquestionably short-tempered person, always managed to cheer him up. As a psychology major, college took a lot of Emile's time and Remy covered many of their coworkers shifts, but they still managed to spend time together. Remy was working on one of the coffee machines with their back to Emile but their coworkers already noticed him.

From the other end of the long queue Emile watched Patton say a few words to Logan, then take a paper cup from the counter and make his way through the café to the psychology major.

Patton was older than Remy and Emile and already got his mark months ago. Two fine black lines on his forehead, looking like someone would touch him while brushing some hair out of his face. Logan didn't have his mark yet.

"Good morning, Emile. Remy already prepared your daily order!" Patton pulled them in for half a hug and light pats on his back before handing Emile the cup.

"Patton, hey! Thank you for bringing me my hot cocoa." Patton smiled so brightly, it was literally contagious, then pushed up the glasses on his freckled nose.

"Always my pleasure. We wish you a very happy birthday! Let's see your mark!" Emile took his right hand out of the pocket of his jacket and opened it, showing Patton the black palm.

The café employee was fascinated. "That is so cool!!" His eyes widened. "I bet it's a high-five! Or you shake their hand." Emile chuckled lightly, stepping out of the way for some customers exiting the Starbucks. "I hope you're right about that."

"You should see Remy's mark. But I feel like it's not my place to tell you about it." Patton's voice got softer. "They wish you a very happy birthday, they said they will text you after work." Emile raised an eyebrow in confusion. Where could Remy's mark possibly be? He was tempted to just walk over to the counter but even the fact that they're his best friend didn't change that right there and then would not be a good place or time to talk about soulmate marks.

Patton interrupted him spacing out. "Now off you go or you'll be late for your first class." He stopped while making his way back to the counter, turned around and made finger guns, pointing to the hot beverage in Emile's hands. "The cocoa is on us, by the way. As a birthday present."

Emile left the café, thinking about soulmates.

Remy's shift took forever. Even though they had a lot of work, time still refused to pass. They knew every customer at some point stared at the fresh black soulmate mark. And no one said it out loud but Remy knew they all shared the same thought. Their soulmate would hit them in the face. They tried their best to get on with work as if it was any other given day and forget about the handprint adorning their face but with every single new customer looking at them, they got reminded of what would inevitably happen.

After a long day of serving people all different kinds of drinks and cleaning more tables than they could count, they finally registered the cash and Patton locked the store. Logan's shift had already ended earlier that day.

The freckled boy put the keys in one of his pockets, then encouragingly looked Remy in their eyes. "Don't worry about the mark too much, Remy. It does not look like a slapping hand to me." Patton gave them a soft smile. "It's your soulmate, it will be alright."

Remy sighed and buried their hands deep in the pockets of their leather jacket. "I hope you're right. I don't think so, but I hope."

"Kiddo, you need to tell me as soon as you meet them!" Their customers couldn't exactly tell but Patton, Logan and Remy weren't only coworkers, they also were good friends, knowing each other almost as long as Remy and Emile knew each other.

"Of course I will. But only if you'll tell me about yours, and don't kiddo me, you're only a few months older!"

Remy put in their headphones after the two Starbucks workers said goodbye and went their separate ways.

At home Remy carefully walked into the kitchen, stopping close to the door. They watched their mother cutting some carrots for dinner before quietly speaking.

"Mom? I wanted to talk-" Their voice failed them.

Their mother put the knife down and sighed. "Speak, Remy. I don't have all evening." After eighteen years with their mother, she still managed to take away all of their courage the moment they tried to talk about something that was important to them.

"I-" Remy started, but it felt like all the sentences they formed on their way here were gone as if they didn't know any words, as if their head was empty, making room for anxiety to slowly fill their body limb after limb. Remy's heart raced, their body was so cold they felt it in their bones. They already regretted trying to get their mother to make up for last night.

She turned around, impatient of their child's silence, but of course noticed the mark before anything else. She raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like someone's gonna get slapped."

Remy started fidgeting with their fingers, took all the energy their racing heart provided them with to say it as quickly as possible. "I wanted to talk to you about last night." This was supposed to be about last night, not about the mark.

Their mother sighed again, crossing her arms. "Remy, there is nothing to talk about. I get it, your therapist diagnosed you with an anxiety disorder." She took a deep breath, like what she just said had cost her all of her energy. "Listen, we all get nervous sometimes and I could help you just as well, I don't see why you have to see a therapist for that."

Remy tried their hardest to not show their hurt as it climbed up their throat.

"But, mom-"

Their mother cut them off. "Well, thank you for the conversation, I was not done talking. I taught you better than speaking out of turn." She massaged her temple and closed her eyes, letting out an exasperated sight. "You don't understand my situation. What will people think? I need to get used to this."

She turned around, picked up the knife and continued cutting the carrots. A few seconds passed. By now Remy's chest felt like a rattling nest full of angry wasps, their breathing short and uncontrolled. "Don't tell me you're crying."

Remy was close to crying. But they knew their mother- crying was for weak people and they were not weak. They couldn't be weak. They tried to swallow the hurt, pushing it all down to wrap the angry wasp nest.

"I am-", they cleared their throat, taking a deep, long breath. In a voice, as steady as possible, they continued. "I am not crying."

"Good. Adults don't cry." Their mother put the cut carrots in the pot on the oven. "Do you want to help me cook dinner?" she asked, in a tone implying that this whole conversation didn't happen. Remy knew she simply couldn't stand the atmosphere she created. They wanted to cry.

"Actually, I am going to meet Emile."

Remy's mother aggressively grabbed the tomatoes. "I am doing everything for you, Remy." She almost threw them in the sink. "And I ask for help one time, just once, but no." She washed them quickly and started cutting. "I have to do everything myself. You're making me break down, do you hear me? I'm going to break down. You don't ever help me."

"Gee," Remy wondered while closing the kitchen door on their way out and leaving the house. They wiped their teary eyes, then pulled out the phone to text their best friend. "I wonder why."

This didn't go the way they planned. But then again, with their mother, things would never go according to plan.

Emile sat on his favourite table in the local library when he got a text notification. He tapped twice on his dark display to wake it up and read the message.

"Hey, can we meet?" Remy. Emile got excited. So their shift was finally over and they got to spend some time with each other.

He leaned back in his chair and typed. "I am in the library. Do you want to come here?"

It only took seconds for Remy to answer. "On my way."

Emile often came to the city's local library, sometimes to read but most of the time to study for an exam. Just like this day. He shifted in his chair to get comfortable and continued reading and making some notes.

After another ten minutes, he heard the big front door opening and quietly closing. A distant. "Hello, Remy!!"

Emile looked up from his book. Remy was here and that made him so incredibly happy, even though it was kind of late already and he was exhausted from hours of studying after a complete day at uni. He heard a weak "Hey." in response to Roman's greeting.

Emile's heart dropped. That did not sound good. The bad feeling in Emile's gut got confirmed when Remy appeared in his vision.

Head down, hands in the pockets of their jacket, walking with slow, tired steps. As if something had drained them for everything they had- or someone. Emile knew about their mother, she was something Remy had been dealing with their whole life, much longer than Emile knew them.

He stood up and walked around the table to Remy, softly pulling them in for a hug. Remy slowly put their arms around Emile as well and buried their face in the taller boy's neck, holding him close. Emile carefully put one hand on the back of Remy's head as he slowly rubbed their back with his other hand. Neither of them moved.

Remy was safe now. They could cry now. Feeling Emile's beating heart so close to theirs, his warm-sunshine presence all around them, feeling his hands holding them, his steady and calm breathing, Remy finally felt like they could give in to the hurt stinging in their chest, poking the angry wasp nest everytime they breathed in.

The words just spilled over. "Emile, you need to know that I love her. I do." They paused, getting quieter with each word they said. "She just makes it so hard for me. And- and I think she loves me. I mean, she has to, she just has to-" Their voice cracked as tears filled their closed eyes. Remy was glad their face was hidden, that no one could see them this vunerable, even though Emile kept telling them, crying was healthy and human. "I just can't- I just can't feel it."

Emile closed his eyes, fighting back his tears. This was Remy's moment and he knew they didn't get many of those.

"Remy, it's alright. You're here with me now, only with me." Emile's reassurance was nothing more than a quiet, soft whisper, and that was all Remy needed.

"I'll be here until you're okay." As Emile felt their shoulders trembling, he pulled them even closer, holding his sobbing friend in silence. Minutes after minutes passed, neither of them knew how long they stood there, until Remy had cried all that there was for them to cry.

"Thank you, Emile." Remy mumbled, definitely sounding like they were feeling better. Emile slightly loosened up, not enough to break the comforting atmosphere, but enough to have their foreheads almost touch. He cupped their face, carefully wiping away the tears. "Always, Remy."

"Heeeyyy, guys. I just wanted to tell you it's almost closing time."

Emile waved Roman hello as Remy turned around, startled by the librarian who popped up out of nowhere as he continued talking.

"But if you want to stay a few- uh more minutes that's- that's not a-." Roman's words failed him, leaving him speechless for a few seconds.

"Woah. Those are fucking magnificent marks." Helpless faces stared at him, as if he just spoke in a different language. Roman cleared his throat and gestured at the stains. "Yea, your soulmate marks, don't tell me I am the first to see them!"

Emile looked at his hand, the palm no longer black but instead looking like white marble. At the same time Remy carefully touched his face, right where Emile's hand was just a moment ago while they turned around to their best friend again.

They looked at each other. Emile's heart grew warm as he saw the young adult standing in front of him. His best friend with not only a clueless look on their face but also a handprint in the most beautiful blue Emile had ever seen.

Roman was sure, at this point Emile made actual heart eyes at Remy. He smoothly stepped forward and handed them a tiny mirror. He believed it to be of great importance to always carry one with you. Roman then left them alone to put a few more books back in the shelves. It appeared this day he could not close on time, but it didn't bother him at all.

Remy couldn't trust their eyes as they saw their reflection. The hand print that shocked them so much this morning, that made them so angry, that they slowly knew they would grow to hate was now as blue and deep as the sky.

They looked back at Emile, delicately waving his right hand, the palm like white marble. He had a smile that bright, it could easily compete and win against the bubbly-sunshine Patton.

Emile raised his hand and carefully put it on his friend's face. That touch alone was enough to make Remy burst into tears of happiness as they fell into a tight hug. They could have spent hours standing there, holding the other as close as physically possible, if it weren't for Roman.

"Guys, I am having a Déjà vu here." They let go of each other, just then being able to stop laughing.

Emile looked like he would pass out from excitement any second as he very proudly declared: "Well, looks like I have the best freaking soulmate on this planet, huh?"

Remy took Emile's hand in theirs, tracing the grey lines. "Emile." They cleared their throat as they met their soulmate's rich chocolate brown eyes. "I don't need fate to know we're meant to spend our lives together."

[wegotcrowns]

Soon You’ll Get Better

I can already tell this blog post is not going to be an easy one to write or read so if you’re one to stay away from sad emotions, then this is not the place for you, lol. 

This morning, I found myself listening to “The Best Day” and “Soon You’ll Get Better”, the two songs TS created about her mother. 

I naturally gravitated towards these songs today because today is the day of my mom’s surgery; she’s getting a full knee replacement in one of her legs. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared but I’m trying to put on the bravest face for my mom because she is the strongest person that I know. And unfortunately due to hospital covid restrictions, I am not able to be with her today. 

Even just thinking about the kind of person she is right now brings tears to my eyes. Let me give you an example - my birthday is this upcoming Sunday. Knowing that my mom is having her surgery, I honestly wasn’t even thinking about my birthday and was going to feel totally fine if it’s just skipped this year. But yesterday, the day before my mom’s surgery, I found out that she was planning to do something special for me this weekend, even though she was going to be on bed rest. I know how shocking this sounds for some people but for me, it doesn’t come off as shocking because I know that that is the type of person she is. She’s that mom who will make sure all your friends are fed when they come over just to say hi or hang out for a minute. She’s that mom who will pretend she’s not hungry anymore just so that you can have that last slice of pizza. She’s that mom who can sense that you’re upset about something from miles and miles away, and will make it her life mission just to put a smile on your face. 

It’s really been killing me these last few months that I haven’t been able to do the things I usually do with my mom, like taking her to the movies, walking around the mall aimlessly, getting lunch together, getting our nails done, just to name a few. These are the things that she lives for; she lives to spend time with her kids. I still see her, but it’s not the same. I can tell she wants more, and I want more for her. 

Just listening to TS’s songs about her mom and reading the way she talks about her in interviews, documentaries, etc., I can tell that TS’s mom and mine are very similar. The way TS speaks about her mom makes it seem like she gives the most unconditional love to her kids, which is what my mom does. 

I’m going to end this blog post with a verse from “The Best Day” because I feel like this perfectly encapsulates the type of person my mom is. 

I’m thirteen now 

And don’t know how my friends could be so mean 

I come home crying and you hold me tight and grab the keys

And we drive and drive until we found a town far enough away

And we talk and window shop ‘til I’ve forgotten all their names. 

I don’t know who I’m gonna talk to now at school

But I know I’m laughing on the car ride home with you

Don’t know how long it’s gonna take to feel okay 

But I know I had the best day with you today. 

The picture above was taken on my very first day of school. If you can’t tell from my face, I was absolutely terrified. I could not stop shaking and crying, and all I wanted to do was go back home and crawl right back into bed, where I knew it was safe. I honestly remember this moment so vividly. My mom held me so close to her and didn’t let go of me until she knew I was ready to go in. She told my dad to start taking pictures so that it would help calm my nerves, since I loved taking pictures as a kid. I associated the camera with good times and memories, like when we would go to the beach or other special occasions. And just like they predicted, it worked. I started to form a smile on my face and that’s when my mom knew it was time for me to go in. She walked me inside and made sure I knew where I was going before she left. I had never felt more safe in my entire life being wrapped within her arms that day. 

I love you eternally, mama.