#they could have gone sheet anyone who want themselves technically but that's what the dream decided was good so

[thecherrygod]

I think i dreamt something that was happening in a place that we partially a mall, farm, and motel, and with three killers (one guy two girls) that all worked at the same place bit that both just thought of each others as friends and also wanted to kill each other, do every time one went on a rampage the others had to join forces to survive, but usually all three of them ended up alive. The fights were very anime and very bloody, with knives and anything that had a sharp edge, and every time their fights ended they needed to send some sort of cleaning crew but also they were a bit dismissive like "yeah yeah this is a med de it'll be clean later" and would either sit down and eat or go have some smokes. By the end one of the girls actually killed the guy (after fighting in the hotel and mall parts of the building), the other one was sorta sad bit not really bc she also wanted to kill him even if they were all so tied together and actually cared for the others, so they also took a break later on and then i woke up

#my posts #my dreams #also all interior places were light colored #the mail was sometimes funny enough as per requirement of my dreams i guess. just the guys fighting #they could have gone sheet anyone who want themselves technically but that's what the dream decided was good so #gone after* #also they were dressed in store i think all three of them #sometimes the mall was functional and with people and i know that but i don't remember what went on at those times #the farm was just there. safe space no fighting there just animals #since I'm at it in gonna make it into one single post i had another dream the other day #a group of girls was trapped in a place that was a bit like a house and a bit like a warehouse #they didn't know how to leave #at some point they hear noises and decide the best thing to do is run to the next room and pretend to be passed out? #the boxes was a very of boys in a similar situation #they don't trust the guys tho but pretend they do bc they have food and haven't done anything yet #in dream it sorta looks like a guy and a girl are always together #street they live like that for a few days apparently they could leave #and i woke up from that one #that one is from two days ago #i don't remember yesterday's dream but i know i did when i some up. it just left my brain completely by now #anyways

[dr3amofagame]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

#tw trauma #tw disordered eating #tw torture #tw abuse #tw blood #tw injuries #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #tw emotional distress #tw murder #tw animal death #tw dark content #tw unhealthy eating habits #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks

[vegalocity]

Kiss 9- first kiss for Amnesia Spicynoodles? (Whether as Red Boy and Xiaotian or Red Son and MK, your choice).

Affection meme

9. first kiss

Goddamn i gotta get back on that AU

That's actually a very clever shorthand for the difference between 'the Son of the Monkey King' and 'The Monkie Kid' Anon hope you don't mind me using it!

Also since this is technically the first real THING i'm writing for this Au it got a lil crazy

--

It was.... weird... falling into this rhythm with Red Son.

Even he'd seemed surprised at how quickly he'd agreed to join their team while they were hunting down the weapon that could finally end the Lady Bone Demon. Sure he'd reasoned that he was doing it for the sake of his father, that their family had been taken advantage of by that demon, and this was little more than 'enemy of my enemy' but barely time at all had passed before he may as well have joined simply because he wanted to.

There weren't a lot of bunks on Sandy's Hovership, and at the start of all of this, everyone was so on edge (and in Monkey King's case injured) that it just made more sense to sleep whenever it struck rather than sort out bedroom options and who bunked with whom.

Which had lead to some interesting things so far, such as Monkey King tending to curl up against Tang as he was reading or something and taking a nap right there and how Tang seemed like... wayyy too comfortable with it despite how he'd first reacted to seeing him on New Years.

Pigsy was ALWAYS crabby in the mornings, but he was getting exponentially more frustrated after waking up for something or another he never seemed to be able to relay when he woke (probably some frustrating reoccurring dream that keeps blotting out when he wakes up, MK didn't remember his dreams much either so he could relate)

And about thee days in of Red Son working with them, he'd knocked out during some down time, and while he was sitting near him. The ship rumbled, Red Son hadn't woken, but he slid to the side until he was leaned against MK's shoulder. and... It was comfy. Red Son was warm, and soft.

And before he'd known it he was being startled awake by Xiaojiao making delighted cooing noises and the flash of her camera. And when he jostled Red Son woke up as well. He'd met his gaze for a second and his artist brain noted that his eyes were a rather lovely shade of amber, not even fiery orange or honey brown, but pure, precious stone amber.

and for a moment it had felt... nostalgic... in a way he couldn't place. and the puzzled look on Red Son's face mirrored his confusion at the sudden thought, before the demon slammed up the walls again and pushed MK away, face burning bright red.

But from there it had spiraled.

It was just so... easy? he supposed would be the word. It was almost startling how easy it was to fall into this rhythm with Red Son. Not a few months ago he was a nominal enemy, yet here they were finding themselves sitting next to eachother more often than not, sometimes close enough for shoulders to brush, their unconscious bodies rolling over at once to tangle together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At one point they were facing a demon that had cast one of those 'greatest fear' spells over the lot of them, and before it had hit he'd felt Red Son slip his hand into his own with a small startled gasp. And before the world went black and he was covered by spiders and the looming specter of his own failures he'd squeezed back.

That had actually happened just hours ago, and MK's hand was still tingly. Everyone was a little shaken up from that one. (Monkey King had holed himself away in one of the few bedrooms there were and he sounded physically pained when MK had tried to check in on him and he'd answered that he'd rather be alone. he was pretty sure Tang was allowed in, and he tried not to take that personally. It was probably a whole 'Mentor doesn't want his student to see him freaked out' thing. If he didn't stop taking everything so damn personally he'd be a sucker for the next fear spell or whatever.) And unlike the others, Red Son didn't have any loved ones on this ship to help reassure him.

So... if their... something or another... that had been developing was gonna mean anything, that probably meant it should fall on him.

Red Son was where he'd expected him to be, half buried in engine guts in Sandy's work area, his hands were shaking and there was a far off look in his eye.

MK had to physically lift him and drag him away, and it was a lot harder without the Mystic Monkie Strength, but he managed.

in fact he'd gotten all the way to the kitchen area and Red Son had stopped struggling in his arms screeching to be let go (yet never trying to flare his fire and forcing MK to drop him) before his stamina gave out and he had to deposit Red Son in one of the chairs.

"Noodle boy i swear this truce will end in an INSTANT if you do not explain yourself-"

"You're freaking out."

"YES I AM! You would be too if your current ally just lifted you up from what you were doing and carried you to the deserted part of the ship because even the Pig is too on edge to be in here!"

"I mean from this afternoon. Red son, you've been pale as a sheet since we got out of there and your hands are STILL shaking." He watched as he hurriedly hid them in his pockets. "You need to talk to someone. And it may as well be me."

"I- I don't need to talk about ANYTHING! Presumptuous Noodle Boy... Bold of you to assume I'd just pour my heart out at some perceived internal detriment which you have no proof even exists!" The bluster and casual insults were considerably less convincing than they were when they were enemies...

...maybe he was just starting to see through them better.

Red Son pulled his hands back onto the table, as a sort of subtle show of how fine he totally was, and clenched his fists to keep them from continuing to shake.

"Red..." The nickname felt... natural. He couldn't quite explain why, but he supposed they'd been Something-or-Another-ing long enough to make it reasonable. Red Son's glare abated and was replaced quickly with a shocked expression. But he didn't shout to not be called something so short, so MK considered that a signal to continue. So he continued with what felt natural and placed a hand over his clenched fist.

The defensive anger was all but gone. And that puzzled, yet slightly awed look he kept sharing with Red Son during moments like these replaced it and those amber eyes darted down to their linked hands, as if he didn't quite know what to do next.

Eventually Red Son came to a decision, and MK let him fiddle around with his grip until their hands were linked properly. And it felt... it was that weird sense of nostalgia again. And as everything else neither of them could quite explain it felt right. familiar. Natural.

"It's not really worth talking about." Red Son responded after the moment passed. yet he didn't pull his hand away. "I know better than to believe what it had showed me."

"Red-"

"I mean, I SHOULD know better, right?" He looked away from MK then, but squeezed his hand a little tighter. "I mean- they're my parents. and they agreed me coming along with you all to take down the Lady Bone Demon was the best course of action. I know they wouldn't disown me because they believed I was becoming more aligned with you all than with the family. That just because we're friends doesn't mean I'm somehow betraying them!" Red Son was working through it in his head, and he didn't seem to really realize that he'd admitted to seeing MK as a friend, so he just squeezed his hand a little tighter and filed that away to celebrate later.

"It's irrational, and it's ridiculous that I actually feared the idea."

"It's not ridiculous, If you think it's irrational then it probably is, but it's not ridiculous. " Red Son looked back at him then and raised a brow. "I mean, who isn't afraid that they're letting their parents down in some way?" He remembered how nervous Xiaojiao was about the idea of disappointing her family, and he was always worried that he'd disappointed his fath-....

What was he thinking about again?.... right, Xiaojiao and her parents.

Red Son took his attention again and the confusion zipped right out of his mind. he gently detangled his hand from MK's and was moving to stand.

"I suppose you're right. And... In that regard I should probably thank you for allowing me the chance to properly process."

"Anytime, Red."

He stood as well, with nowhere else to go, he supposed he'd probably just go out onto the deck and do a little one-man training, heavens knew he needed it.

Red Son put a hand on his shoulder before either of them could pull away and when he turned back to face the demon-

Red Son was looking at him with intent. determination. And it was only then that MK realized that maybe holding someone's hand while they talked about some Real Shit with you, constantly sitting next to each other so as to be closer, falling asleep on each other, and sometimes when you wake up you glance at their mouth wondering how easy it would be to just...

Maybe that wasn't just all friendship overtures.

And maybe they'd had a name for their little something-or-another already.

Neither of them were ever very good at this whole 'self control' thing anyway.

Red Son was just as warm as he'd anticipated. His calloused fingers hooking under his chin as if to keep MK in place. And it was... chaste. Nothing like the fierce passionate devouring of another's mouth that he'd anticipated a demon to go for (that he'd daydreamed about) Almost... child-like. As if Red Son hadn't kissed anyone since before he hit Demon Puberty and didn't know how to do it right. And the action alone made MK feel very much like a child as well. Which was ridiculous he was a grownass man and Red Son was a fully matured demon, and the shortest most chaste little peck made him feel like a squeaky voiced kid.

When they parted he peeked his eyes open just a bit, and it seemed like Red Son had realized the same thing, the two of them shared a soft chuckle.

But then Red Son started to pull away, and that wouldn't do. MK wrapped his arms around the demon's shoulders and properly kissed him this time.

And it didn't feel quite as natural, but it did feel right.

So that was what mattered.

--

Send me stuff

#Lego Monkie Kid #lmk #Spicynoodleshipping #Qi Xiaotian #lmk Red Son #White Bone Amnesia AU #Letters To Vega #Vega Writes Stories Too #went a little crazy with this one #I needed to put some context okay #affection meme

[pretchatta]

the laws of spectre dynamics

I know it’s been a little while, but the university au continues! future updates will be more frequent, and you can always subscribe on AO3 to get notifications for each new chapter.

prev. chapters | chapter three

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

The pale morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains. Lying on her front, cheek pressed into the pillow, Hera’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she could tell that it was still early.

She stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of soft sheets against bare skin. Lazy Saturday mornings always felt good. She rolled onto her side and was reminded of the other reason this particular morning felt so good; the man lying behind her. The very attractive, very naked man.

Kanan was on his side, his chest now pressed against her back. He sleepily draped an arm over her waist as she settled against him and dragged his fingertips lightly over her stomach.

“Good morning,” came his deep voice from behind her, roughened by sleep. She felt him nuzzle the back of her head and press a kiss to the base of one lek. 

She twisted to lie on her back so that she could look at him. His long hair was loose and sleep-tousled, and his face looked a little different without his glasses – more elongated, even though his features were the same. Her eyes travelled over the smooth, light brown skin, crooked nose and the small beard that covered his chin. His teal eyes looked steadily back at her from under his thick, angular eyebrows. 

“Morning,” she said, feeling her mouth curve into a warm smile. She tilted her head up so their lips could meet in a chaste kiss. “Did you sleep okay?”

His eyes sparkled and he smirked at her. “Better than okay,” he replied. “You?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth as she thought back to just how she’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I had a great night.”

He leaned in to brush his lips over her jaw. His arm was still hooked over her waist, and his hand was warm where his fingers splayed over her ribs.

“Unfortunately I can’t stay long,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Help yourself, there are spare towels in the hamper.”

He gave her another quick kiss and then extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Hera sleepily watched him cross the room to the door, appreciating the view in the morning light. Kanan turned at the doorway and caught the direction of her eyes. He smirked before disappearing into the hall, and a few moments later she heard the shower come on.

She let her eyes drift shut, and must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew all was quiet. She felt a little more awake now, so sat up and surveyed her room. Clothes were strewn over the floor, though it took her a moment to realise they were all hers. She listened again, and heard nothing; had he dressed and left while she was sleeping? She knew he had to leave, but he seemed like the kind of person to at least say goodbye first...

Her eyes fell on the scrap of paper on her bedside table that hadn’t been there last night. It looked like a torn-off section of what might have once been an envelope. A few mathematical formulae were scrawled in one corner, but they had been crossed out by the same pen that had added a note in elegant handwriting.

“Hera,

I’ve gone to the shop down the road for breakfast, your key was still in the door from last night. I’ll be back in 10.

-K”

She felt a pang of guilt about her empty fridge. She’d needed to go grocery shopping for a few days now, but had kept putting it off, living off instant ready-meals. There was nothing she could do about it now. At least there was milk for coffee.

Though she didn’t know how long it had been since he’d left, she decided she should have time for a quick shower. She hurriedly grabbed her clothes off the floor of the bedroom and made the bed in case he came back before she was out. Even though he had played an equal part in creating that state, she still felt a need to tidy things up a bit. 

As Hera made her way to the bathroom, she was reminded that there were also clothes in the hallway. She found Kanan’s sweater vest in the pile with her coat, and couldn’t help but smile as she neatly folded it and set it on the end of the bed.

In the shower, her body went through the familiar routine as her mind reflected on the previous night. She’d been looking forward to the date from the moment they’d arranged it in the library, and it had gone better than she could ever have dreamed. Their conversation in the foyer of the Vasar-Corellia building hadn’t been the first time she’d seen Kanan; her office on the second floor overlooked the courtyard below, and she’d often seen him crossing it. He’d caught her eye immediately.

She’d been able to discern that he wasn’t a student, and he clearly worked in the Chemistry building, but not much more besides. Very few members of academic staff looked like that, so she couldn’t help but pay attention whenever she noticed him. 

Sometimes, when she assumed he was running late, he’d run his hand over his hair and a few strands would fall out around his face. Or his glasses would slide down his nose and he’d push them back up with the knuckle of his index finger as he walked. Sometimes, he wasn’t late, and would stroll across the courtyard holding a to-go coffee cup, his other hand tucked into his pocket. At those times he usually had a distant look on his face, like he was deep in thought.

Sometimes he’d be waylaid by students – that was how she’d known for sure he was part of the teaching staff. She’d marvelled at how easily they’d approached him, but he’d always seemed ready and willing to answer whatever questions they had. She assumed he was a good teacher.

And then she’d finally got the chance to talk to him – properly, not when she had to go set up a lab or talk to someone about a careers fair. Apart from the weird moment as they’d left campus when he’d seemed like he was trying to impress her, he’d been a perfect gentleman and excellent company. Talking to him had been so easy, and with how much they’d had in common she felt like they could have kept going well into the night.

As it was, she was not disappointed with how they had spent the night. It certainly wasn’t how she’d planned to end the evening, but that kiss… It had been electric, like no-one she’d ever kissed before. And the things he could do with his mouth…

She forced herself to focus on washing herself before she could get distracted. Yes, last night had been incredible. He hadn’t even technically gone yet and she was already hoping for a second date.

She finished up in the bathroom and was just pulling on clean clothes when she heard the sound of the front door opening. She finished wrapping a soft scarf around her head – grey, matching the top she wore above orange harem pants, her usual weekend clothes – and went out to the hall. Kanan was just closing the door behind himself.

He was back to being the Chemistry professor again; the clothes from last night (minus the sweater), glasses, hair pulled back neatly behind his head. He held a carrier bag in one hand, and the other came up to run over his hair as he caught sight of her in front of him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He started towards her, but didn’t give her an opportunity to respond as he launched into an explanation of his absence. “You’d fallen asleep when I came out of the shower, but I was thinking I still had some time before I have to go, and I thought you might like breakfast – we did say we’d have coffee today, so why not coffee and breakfast? – and since you didn’t seem to have much in, I thought I’d just go out and pick up a few things – I hope you don’t mind I took your key, I didn’t want to wake you up but I do need to keep an eye on the time for Ezra –” 

He was talking quickly, the words almost tripping over themselves as he tried to get them out. “Do you like omelette? I can make something else if you’d rather – or, if you want me to leave, I can just go now–”

She cut him off with a kiss. It was very effective.

“Omelette sounds lovely,” she told him. 

He seemed to relax, from either the kiss or her words, or possibly a combination of the two. “I’ll make a start.”

“As long as it’s not going to make you late.”

“Nah, this won’t take long.” He followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter, pulling out his ingredients.

“I suppose if you’re making me breakfast I could make you that coffee?” she offered.

He flashed her a smile that made her heart leap. “I wouldn’t say no.”

There was barely room in Hera’s kitchen for two people, and they had to carefully co-ordinate who was at the sink or fridge or counter at any one time. Despite this, as the two of them bustled around the small space Hera couldn’t help but notice how right it felt. She’d always considered herself to be someone who was happy in her own company and didn’t need anyone else to make her complete, but there was something very comforting about how easily she fell into the sheer domesticity of making breakfast with Kanan. The only thing missing was Chopper bothering her for his breakfast.

Soon, the air was filled with the rich smell of coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Kanan made quick work of the omelette, expertly dividing it in half before serving onto two mismatched plates. Hera poured the coffee and took the mugs to the table, where she was reminded that her dining situation was very much set up for one. 

She shifted the stack of mail that had accumulated on her second dining chair to an armchair so that Kanan could sit down. She considered herself a fairly neat person, but to outsiders she knew her system seemed chaotic. She had a place for everything, and everything was in its place – it was just that the places weren’t necessarily where one might logically assume them to be. 

If Kanan’s going to be here more often I’m going to need a new place to put my mail.

The thought crossed her mind unbidden, and she chastised herself. There was no guarantee that they’d do this again. Yes, he had suggested meeting up again last night, and she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed their date as much as she had, but it still didn’t mean anything for certain. She shouldn’t make any assumptions about where things were going, or she’d be setting herself up for disappointment. She shook her head as if to clear it and went to get them some cutlery.

Kanan turned out to be a great cook. The omelettes were perfectly done, and tasted delicious. Their easy banter resumed as they ate, and continued after they were done and simply sat sipping their coffees.

During a natural lull in the conversation, she caught Kanan gazing at her with an unmistakable softness. He seemed to realise it, and snapped back to himself.

“I should wash up.” He took her plate and stood up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you cooked!” she protested, following him back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

He set the plates in the sink and turned to the frying pan, but she grabbed his hand before he could take it.

“Stop it.” She had to step close to him in order to hold both hands, and in the tiny space she ended up pushing him against the counter. “I told you, I’ll wash up.”

“I’m just trying to be a good houseguest.”

She grinned up at him. “You’ve already been great.” She pushed up onto her toes to close the small gap between them. His mouth was still warm from the coffee, and he smelled faintly of her soap mixed with something she was realising was uniquely Kanan. She liked it. Her grip on his wrists relaxed as he twisted his arms away to encircle her waist. The kiss was soft and slow, with none of the urgency of their kisses the previous night. She felt a flutter of sparks somewhere near her stomach.

The moment was interrupted by a buzzing noise. A phone, yet again, although this time it was Kanan’s. He broke away and fumbled in his pocket.

“Sorry, I –” He looked at the screen and swore. “It’s Ezra, I should take this.”

Hera waited patiently while he answered the phone. She heard the panicked voice of a teenage boy on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s okay, calm down. I haven’t left yet, and don’t worry about it, I’ve got one you can use. Is there anything else you need? Good. I might be a little later than I said, but only a few minutes. Just try to stay calm, you’ve got nothing to worry about – remember, it’s only a practise test. I’ll see you soon.”

He put the phone down. 

“His calculator’s broken, and last-minute nerves are making everything worse,” he explained with a shrug. “I should really get going though, I didn’t realise the time.”

“Of course!” She stepped back, giving him room to move out of the kitchen. “Go, I don’t want you to be late.”

“Thanks, though. For – letting me stay.” He blushed. She found his awkwardness very endearing.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she replied with a grin.

He started making for the door, with her following. “Hey, maybe we could still get that coffee sometime?”

“Sure! Or we could do this again – dinner, I mean.” It was her turn to blush. She wasn’t exactly opposed to a repeat of their other activities, but she didn’t want him thinking that was all she was after.

He gave her a warm smile. “I’ll call you.”

He leaned down to give her a goodbye kiss in the doorway. She could tell he’d only meant it to be a quick one, but neither of them seemed inclined to stop. The kiss deepened and her arms slid around him. The sparks were back, this time with a touch of heat. She allowed herself to enjoy it for a few moments, and then firmly pushed at his chest.

“Go. Ezra’s waiting.”

He still lingered, his bright eyes gazing down at her. “Maybe I’ll see you on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” she replied softly.

Kanan pressed a final kiss to her forehead before turning to stride away down the path. She watched him go, her smile lingering on her lips. 

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo in the hallway. Now that Hera was alone, her home was a lot quieter.

No Chopper, she thought to herself. He was with Zeb, one of the few friends she’d made since moving to Lothal six months ago. She’d asked him to check in on Chop while she was out and feed him his dinner, but he’d texted her while Kanan was walking her home to say that Chopper was being clingy (translation: destructive) without her around and so he’d taken the cat home with him. 

It was sweet, especially considering that Zeb and Chopper didn’t really get along, but her friend knew how much she cared about her cat. She should probably go pick him up before Zeb did something stupid, like shave all of his fur off. She’d never known if he was serious about that threat and didn’t want to find out.

Hera did the responsible thing and finished cleaning up in the kitchen before making the short walk to Zeb’s place. She rapped on the door in her usual rhythm and didn’t have to wait long for it to be opened. Before she could even greet the lasat on the other side, a yowling streak of orange and white launched itself into her arms.

“Oof,” she grunted as she caught him. “Hello, Chop, it’s good to see you too.”

Chopper was not a small cat. It wasn’t only that he was permanently overweight from constantly managing to get into his sealed food containers, though that did play a part in it – he was also generally very large. Fortunately, Hera was well used to his way of greeting her.

Zeb sniggered from the doorway. “Morning, Hera.”

“Hey, Zeb,” she said, settling the familiar weight in her arms and straightening up. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Zeb’s expressive green eyes looked doubtful. “Not sure he’s so grateful.”

“Was he okay?”

“He was his usual self,” he replied, shrugging his huge shoulders. “He’s been waiting for you by the door since I gave him breakfast.”

“Well, he just wants to – wait, do you have guests?” She’d caught sight of rumpled blankets in the living room behind him.

“Wha’?” He turned to see what she was looking at. “Oh, yeah. Just a friend staying over. He didn’t mind Chop being around.”

“Did they get along?”

“Well, no, but come on, it’s Chopper…”

Yeah, expecting Chop to get along with a stranger was perhaps a little too optimistic. 

“Good point. It does explain why he’s so keen to get home.” The cat was squirming in her arms, trying to get comfortable and grumbling quietly.

“So how’d the date go?” Zeb asked.

Hera couldn’t help her smile. “It was good. Really good. We had a lot in common.”

“Yeah?” There was a knowing look on his face. “Think he’s gonna make it to the third date?”

Right. Because the few times she’d tried dating before, it had never gone beyond two dates. Zeb had said she might like them more if she let them stay the night, and she’d brushed his comment off by saying she wouldn’t do that before the third date. 

“I mean, I would definitely like to go on a third date. And a second, obviously. But, uh, he doesn’t need to make it that far for, um…” She trailed off, but Zeb’s eyes widened and he smirked in an all-too-knowing way.

“Wow. Must’ve been a really good date,” he teased.

She shrugged, realising she was happy enough not to feel self-conscious. Chopper mewed indignantly at the movement. “Yeah. It was.”

“And how was the…?”

“Zeb!”

“What? Just asking. I know it’s been a while.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

She looked away, flushing. “I’m only here to get Chopper. Maybe next time we go out for drinks, I’ll tell you about it.” 

Zeb chuckled. “Alright, so let’s talk about how I did you a favour by getting the furball out of your lekku for the night, because there’s actually something you could do for me in return. My nunaball team’s playing an away game next weekend, and the kids could use all the support they can get. It’s in Bahryn – d’you think you could make it?”

She mentally flicked through her calendar. Part of her wanted to keep the next few weekends free in case Kanan wanted another date, but she immediately rejected that idea out of impracticality. “Sure, I don’t have any plans for next weekend yet.”

“You could even bring Kanan if he’s interested. Get that second date.”

Was she really so easy to read? Or did Zeb just know her too well...

“Isn’t Bahryn the team that are your sworn enemies?” she asked, changing the subject.

“...Yeah, that might be why we need the support.”

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hera.”

She shifted Chopper in her arms, which were starting to ache. “We’d better get back. But I’ll see you next weekend!”

“See you then!” He waved from the doorway as she turned to leave, feeling glad that it was only a short walk back.

When she let herself back in through her front door, releasing Chopper into the hall, Hera had to restrain herself from immediately checking her phone. Of course Kanan wouldn’t have sent her a message yet, he probably wasn’t even done with Ezra’s exam. Maybe she could text him – wish Ezra luck with the exam, or just straight up ask if he wanted to get lunch on Monday.

Wait… Did she even have his number? Had she given him hers? She felt her heart fall through her stomach as she realised that no, despite all their promises, they had never actually exchanged contact information.

Okay, so no texting. That was fine. She could just run into him in Jhothal on Monday. She saw him from her office window so often, it would be easy to arrange. Right?

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars rebels #kanera modern au #kanera university au #the laws of spectre dynamics #fic #pretchwritta

[marshmallow-phd]

The Anormic

Part of The Experiments Universe

Genre: Lucky One/Obsession AU

Pairing: Kris x Reader

Summary: You were everything he needed to feel human. But not even your presence could keep the nightmares away. The years had gone by and it seemed his dreams were all that was left of his trauma. When his past comes back and snatches you away, the human mask he’d worked so hard to create will be ripped away and he’ll stop at nothing to get you back.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

**

Kris lifted the glass to his lips, letting the harsh alcohol slide down and sting the soft tissue of his throat. Emotional pop music blared from the worn out speakers hanging from various places on the walls. Bungie cables held the heavier boxes in place, wrapped tightly around the frame to keep them from crashing to the floor. He felt pathetic, sitting there on that bar stool, sipping on drinks that did nothing to cure him of his nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, he saw the doctors hovering over him, with their needles and toxins and tests. It seemed no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t escape the memories.

“Another one?” the pretty bartender offered. She smiled at him flirtatiously. A curtain of black hair hung from either side of her angular face, landing near the crooks of her elbows, and dark eyes shined under the low lighting. She probably saw his kind all the time. The burdened who thought they could fix whatever was broken in them with a strong drink. But this was only a band aide. His real medicine was elsewhere.

“No, thank you.” Kris pulled his wallet out of his pocket, threw down a bill, and stood up. “Keep the change.”

Disappointed, the bartender took the cash and rang it into the register.

It wasn’t hard to flag down a cab and give the driver his address. At this time of night, they flocked to the bar district, eager to pick up as many intoxicated passengers as they could before the parting ending for the night. Within fifteen minutes he was home. Outside, he looked up at the commonplace building, insignificant brick that blended in with the rest of the street. The apartment wasn’t anything fancy or luxurious, but it was enough. It was better than some. More than what he used to have.

All the lights were out when he stepped through the door. The only sound came from the air conditioner humming as it did its job. Tossing his keys down on the table, he shuffled his way through the dark until he made it to the bedroom. He closed the door as softly as he could before sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off his shoes. The world felt heavy on his shoulders. He was lost, feeling like he should be doing more with his life, but he didn’t know what it could be.

“Kris?”

Sighing, he turned to look over his shoulder.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes so they’d adjust to the darkness. The blankets fell down to your lap and exposed you to the cold given the camisole top you’d warn to bed. Shuffling closer to him, you rested your chin on his shoulder, rubbing his arm comfortingly. “It’s late.”

“I know,” Kris sighed.

He wasn’t even sure why he stayed away, why he went on these excursions as if he’d find the answer to his life out there. As soon as he came back here to your arms, he felt better. Like a warm fire in the middle of a harsh winter, you comforted him, thawed what had once been left for dead. No matter what he did you were there for him to fall into. You made him smile when happiness felt out of reach and your touch grounded him. There was only one problem with this perfect life with you. You thought he was normal.

As far as you were concerned, he was an orphan who grew up in a home and then went out on his own. He wasn’t rich or stable or open, but you stayed around anyway. There were times you’d ask about his past, a detail or moment you were curious about. Kris had mastered the ability to dodge such questions or give a vague enough answer that it wouldn’t technically be a lie. So many times he thought about telling you the truth. About sitting you down and explaining how he wasn’t entirely human, about how his nightmares weren’t random or forgettable. But he could never do it. He was too afraid of losing you.

“Everything okay?” you asked softly.

Kris nodded, not trusting his voice. It didn’t matter. You still didn’t believe him. Perhaps that was your own superpower, the ability to hear a lie, even the silent kind. Shoving the blanket off your lap, you threw a leg over his lap so you were now facing each other, your fingers interlocked behind his neck.

“What’s going on? Please, tell me. I want to help.”

Kris sighed. He hated seeing you frown like that. “It’s nothing you can help with. Just… thoughts in my head.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“Nothing bad,” he insisted. “I’ve just been thinking about… the orphanage. My past. Wondering where I’m supposed to be going. It seems all I can do is look back when I’m trying to go forward.”

“Well,” your frown morph into a small smile as you played with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I don’t know if I want you to go somewhere. I kind of like you here.”

That made him laugh, just once. “I wouldn’t go anywhere without you.”

“Good.” You pressed your lips to his, sealing that promise. Kris wrapped his arms around your waist and shifted so you were now lying back down on the bed. He hovered over you, taking in every feature he could, from the shape of your nose to the outline of your lips. The way your eyes were filled with so many words when you looked at him would be burned in his memory forever.

“I love you, (y/n),” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

And with your soft kisses and warm touch, he found himself forgetting about his worries. Finding you after wandering for so long was the small light in his life. What good thing had he done to deserve you?

Whatever it was, he was thankful. Oh, so thankful.

**

The sun trickled in from between the blinds, oh-so kindly beaming on your face to pull you from the wonderful land of sleep. As your consciousness came to the surface, you groaned. Why must the morning always come? You like the night, the cover the darkness gave. It lingered on the feeling of anything could happen. When the morning came, the desired mystery ran for the shadows to bring back the average, the dull.

A hand instinctively reached out to the space beside you. Upon feeling the cold sheets, you opened your eyes and sat up. You frowned. Any normal morning, you would be the first one awake and struggling to coax Kris out of the bed to get started on the day. But today brought you the surprise of an empty bed. You worried that Kris hadn’t slept at all. Climbing out of bed and stealing one of his jackets to fend off the cold air, you shuffled out into the living room. The smell of breakfast filtered in through your nose.

“You’re… cooking?”

The giggles couldn’t be held back. You were too astonished. Of his many talents, putting together an edible meal wasn’t exactly one of them. Barely glancing over his shoulder at you, Kris said, “I wanted something specific today.”

“You could have just asked. I would have made it.”

“You looked like you needed the sleep.”

That was a lie. If anyone needed sleep, it was him. But you let him stick to that story – this time. The sudden urge to be close to him pulled you into the kitchen where you wrapped your arms around his torso and laid your head against his back. His skin was warm, the steady pulse of his heartbeat reminding you that he was indeed real and not simply a figment of your imagination, a perfect daydream made up to shine up your dull life. The day you met Kris hadn’t been the greatest of your life, but each day after… you called them your little miracles.

With you still attached to him like an overgrown child, he reached up and took two plates out of the cabinet. Filling them up with the mouthwatering (albeit slightly burnt) food, you finally let go and gave the poor guy room to move over to the table that doubled as your studying space. Kris started to move the small cardboard boxes that currently occupied the table, but one of the lids began to slip, you jumped in and took it to the living room. The last thing you needed right now was for him to see what that particular box contained.

“Everything alright?” Kris asked, confused at your slightly frantic manner.

“Yeah,” you slapped on a smile, playing the part of innocence. “These are just old cases for my research project. I’m supposed to be careful with them.”

Kris took you at your word. “How’s that coming?”

“Pretty good. I’m about halfway through it.”

School had never been easy for you. Over the years, you’d lost count over the amount of times you’d started and stopped, never sure of what direction you wanted to go in. You were jealous of the others on campus, so sure of what career they were going to pursue, what major they were focused on. You never had such direction. Since you were young, you’d always had an interest in law and seeking the truth, but you neither wanted to be a lawyer or a detective. It wasn’t until right before you met Kris almost two years ago that you figured it out from a TV show. One of the characters on the drama worked for a law firm, fact checking and tracking down leads that might help the client in court. After researching and learning that, in fact, such a job did exist, you’d realized you’d found your calling. A way to satisfy your constant curiosity and help those who might not be able to help themselves. Funny how the good things came to you almost all at once.

Shaking his head, Kris blew out a long breath from between his lips, scoffing at the end like a period to his wordless sentence. “I don’t know how you do it.”

You moved the last of the boxes, careful to pile the rest so the first wasn’t easily accessible. “Do what?”

“Everything. Your classes, your papers, the internship.”

You shrugged. “It’s all just to get me where I’m going. You could do it, too, if you wanted to.”

Kris shook his head again. “No, you’re the ambitious one in this relationship. You’ve always been smarter than me.”

Feeling mischievous, you walked over and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Oh, hun, you don’t make it that hard.” Big mistake. Kris gaped at you, clearly offended. Then he puffed himself up and you knew you were in for it. “No, no, I was just kidding! I’m sorry!” Too late. You ran from the kitchen, hurrying to get to the bedroom and shut the door, but you were too slow. Pick you up, Kris jumped onto the bed with you in his arms. You wiggled and fought to get out of his grip, but he was too strong so all you could was laugh. His own deep chuckle rumbled in your ear as he tortuously tickled your sides.

“Do you give?” he asked, pausing but still not letting go.

After regaining your breath, you pushed out a “Yes, I give!”

He kissed your lips. “Good. Now, come on. I don’t want to eat cold food.” You stuck your tongue out at him in response, but let him hold your hand as he pulled you to your feet and back to the table. Perhaps mornings weren’t so bad after all.

**

Kris was sore when he walked through the front entrance. It’d been a long day out at the farm he worked on and he was ready to relax the night away with you, but there was something he had to do first. He was back at the bar, but this time it wasn’t to drown his sorrows alone. Waiting at a high-top was a tanned skin, platinum blond glued to the phone in their hands.

“You’re going to ruin your eyes if you keep staring at it,” Kris teased as he sat down.

Tao scoffed. “If a bullet can’t kill us then I hardly doubt some blue light will hurt our eyes.” The punk was probably right. Modern concerns like that were hardly on their list of worries. Putting the phone off to the side, Tao narrowed his eyes. “Are you still not sleeping?”

“I was, a bit,” Kris corrected. “But lately… not so much.”

“Have you talked to (y/n) about it?”

Before he could answer, a waiter came over to check on the two of them. They ordered drinks and Tao threw in some sort of appetizer platter. Kris had hoped the conversation would naturally turn in another direction, but he was let down. Tao was not going to let his worry over his closest friend go.

“Have you said anything to her?”

“No, I haven’t.” He almost did this morning. While you sat across from him at the table, he could tell that you were holding back, wanting to question how he was up before you when most days he didn’t want to leave the covers. Even after being with you, feeling you breath evenly beside him, he couldn’t get his mind to turn off. He couldn’t relax. It felt as if his body was preparing for something – something bad. He opened his mouth several times to start that conversation, but other words came out instead. “Do you ever wonder if it’s really over?”

What he had expected was reassurance. For Tao to laugh it off and tell him to quit stressing over what didn’t matter. It had been years since they escaped, years since they ended it. Now, they could be like everyone else, at least on the surface. But that wasn’t what he received.

Tao frowned, his eyes lowering to the table between them. “I feel like something’s coming. I don’t know what, but… there might be a reason to be wondering that.”

Swallowing thickly, Kris replied, “Have you seen anything?”

“No,” Tao admitted. “I haven’t. But I can’t make the feeling go away.”

“Damn it!” Kris slammed his fist on the table with enough force to tip over the plastic cup of water that sat on the edge. Before it could tip over completely, everything around them froze. Only Tao and Kris were mobile as the former caught the glass while it hovered in the air and placed it back on the table. Time resumed once again. Kris raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting better at that.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Tao smirked. “You?”

“No. I don’t use that… gift, just in case I get caught.” Especially by you.

Tao rolled his eyes. “You’re going to have to tell her someday, you know that right? Stuff like this doesn’t stay a secret forever.”

“I can at least try.”

Seeing the lack of progress this conversation was having, Tao changed the subject. He filled Kris in on all the places he’d gone, his favorite being an island in the south pacific. Paradise, he called it over and over again. Kris filed that information away for later. Perhaps when you were done with the semester, he could take you there. The two of you could get away for a little while, pretend this city didn’t exist and simply be with each other.

 Normally when Kris came home you were either studying away in the living room with your textbooks and notes spread out all over the floor or you were cooking dinner with your favorite songs blaring from your phone’s small speaker on the counter. But he was greeted by neither scenario as he stepped through the door.

All was quiet in the apartment. Too quiet for you to be home. Thinking maybe he’d missed a call or text, he checked his phone, but there was nothing. Odd. You never did that. A cold sweat emerged from his very pores.

“(y/n)? (y/n)?”

No answer.

He flipped on the lights and fell to his knees.

The place was a disaster, signs of a fight around every corner. The bookcase was overturned, the glass coffee table that you were so proud of was smashed to pieces, and so much more was in utter chaos. His heart raced when he saw the blood. There were only small traces, but he still knew that you’d been hurt. Running through the rest of the apartment, he searched for any clue as to what had happened or who might have taken you. Just when he was about to dial the police, he saw it.

It was too perfectly placed for it to be an accident. Whether you were the one who left it or your kidnapper had put it there to taunt him, he wasn’t sure, but it gave him a place to start.

Lying on the floor of the bedroom was a piece of black cloth with ripped, frayed edges. The emblem stitched into the cloth was one he knew too well when he was undercover in EXO. It was the symbol for Regeneration Science, a red R & S intertwined in a sinister, almost snake-like way. Or maybe it was just Kris’ experience that made him see it in that light. Right now that didn’t matter. Right now, he needed to find out why they took you. Why, after all these years, were they coming after him again? They’d destroyed the research and files EXO had on all of them and Moo San was dead.

Fury pulse through Kris. The only danger he’d ever considered you to be in was from himself, not his past. It was supposed to be over.

Kris flipped. Fear was gone and in its place nothing but determination. Shoving the emblem into his pocket, he started making his way around the apartment. In a few spots around the bedroom, he’d hidden various weapons in places he knew you wouldn’t find. They were for emergencies. In the back of his mind, he must have known that this would happen. Tao was right, something bad had come. And now you were in the middle of it. His anger surging, he threw whatever clothes his hands landed on in a duffel bag, his wallet, a few toiletries, along with other necessities. As he made one last trip to the bathroom, something crinkled under his foot.

The cracks that formed in his heart were nearly audible as he crouched down and picked up the rounded piece of metal that had fallen on the floor. In the palm of his hand was the charm from the necklace he’d surprised you with on your one year anniversary. It was a small bird with wings that would never have been big enough to carry them through the air. Wrapping the charm in his fist, Kris closed his eyes and kissed his fingers. Then he snapped them back open.

They would regret this. They would regret coming after him, they would regret taking you away from him. If you were hurt in anyway, they would pay. He would make sure of it.

Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he flipped off the lights and left the apartment, refusing to come back until he was with you again.

Hold on, (y/n). I’m coming for you.

#exo #exo obsession au #exo obsession!au #kris x reader #kris wu #wu yifan #exo lucky one au #exo lucky one!au #exo sci fi au #exo series #The Experiments Universe #The Anormic

[haechanmochi]

Forget about the stupid little things - a markhyuck fic

summary – Donghyuck wakes up with an odd case of amnesia after a baseball related incident and forgets everyone but Mark. Donghyuck also seems to have forgotten that Mark is his arch enemy and that their friendship ended quite a while ago.

word count - around 3.9k eheh

genre: enemies to friends kinda? I don’t wanna spoil too much, little bit of angst, some fluff, just typical markhyuck tings

requested by my main-girl @liameowlia <3

-

The last thing Donghyuck sees before the dark is Renjun yelling “DUCK”.

Any memory before that one is distorted, barely there, like when you turn on the liquify filter on a picture and it twists everything round and round until looking at it makes your head hurt.

Donghyuck wakes up in an unfamiliar setting but he’s focused enough to realize that it’s a hospital. A few nurses walk past his bed, noses buried in what he assumes are patient files until one finally notices that he’s awake and pages for his doctor.

The doctor is younger than Donghyuck expected but of course that is in the least of his worries right now.

“You took quite a hit to the back of your head, buddy”, Doctor Moon (according to his name tag) informs him and it’s news to Donghyuck too because as far as he can remember, well, he can’t remember.

“I did?”

Doctor Moon pauses his hand midway through taking notes on his clipboard and looks at Donghyuck.

“Could you tell me your name, young man?”

Okay, that one’s easy, “Lee Donghyuck”, he states proudly and the doctor nods.

“Can you tell me the name of someone close to you?”

Another easy one, “Yeah of course, I…”, Donghyuck trails off because in all honesty he doesn’t know.

“Donghyuck?”

He tries taking a deeper breath but chokes on it instead and the Doctor rushes to his side, placing a hand on his back and instructing him on how to breathe carefully.

“Yeah just give me a moment, I can’t seem to…”, he says in a small voice, panic rising in his chest because he truly can’t remember anything else.

After he’s calmed down, Doctor Moon reappears with some medication and tells Donghyuck to take it easy and not force himself to remember because that might permanently alter his memories.

Renjun is the one who had dropped Donghyuck off at the hospital after his concussion so he had called Donghyuck’s mom afterwards, deciding it’d be best if she was here when Donghyuck woke up.

A sweet lady rushes up to him that evening and Doctor Moon introduces her.

“This is your Mother, Donghyuck, we hoped that seeing her would flip some sort of memory switch”.

She stays with him until visiting hours are over, tears threatening to spill every time he calls her Ma’am instead of Eomma, but Doctor Moon assures her that the amnesia is most likely temporary and will wear off once Donghyuck falls back into his routine.

Surprisingly, sleep comes easy that night because his mind is completely clear, like a blank slate and Donghyuck wonders how soon he’s get his memories back, until he falls asleep.

In his dreams he keeps seeing a boy with blonde hair and wide brown eyes. He sees them hanging out and eating together, not entirely sure where but he’s sure the boy has to be real, his brain couldn’t imagine up details so intricate all on it’s own.

Mark

A voice, that Donghyuck believes is his own, calls out and the blonde boy turns around.

Mark

Donghyuck repeats and the said boy nods his head.

“Mark”.

The name is on his mouth when he wakes up and he’s flooded with fragmented memories of this blonde boy.

He was a close friend, at least that’s what Donghyuck gathered from the memories.

He was also sure they were from the same school because he remembers seeing a memory of them wearing school uniforms together and pushing each other to check themselves in the mirror of what seems to have been a bathroom.

“Doctor Moon”, Donghyuck addresses him as he’s getting his checkup done, “I remember someone, his name is Mark”.

“Oh? And what relationship did you have with this Mark?”

“We’re friends, close friends I believe and from the same school too”.

“We’ll try to get in contact with him, it might help you”.

-

“Mark there’s someone on the phone for you”.

Mark puts down his textbook, being interrupted from his studying for the third time now, the first two being by his brother and then his brother’s girlfriend who came looking for his brother.

He picks up the extension to his room and brings it to his ear.

“Mark Lee speaking”, he answers.

“Mark, Good Morning, I’m Doctor Moon from Seoul National Hospital, do you have some time?”

Concern flashes across his face, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

“Of course, please go ahead”.

“Thank you, you see we’ve admitted a patient after a head injury who is from your school. He can’t even recognize his own mother when she came to see him and he refuses to see anyone else if he can’t remember them, but he seems to have memories of you”.

Mark fists at the sheets by his thigh nervously. One of his friends had amnesia for Christ’s sake. Who wouldn’t be nervous?

“Could I know his name Doctor?”

“Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck”.

Mark’s breath hitches in his throat.

Donghyuck.

Donghyuck who told the entire class that Mark is a selfish asshole.

Donghyuck who put up a fight every time Mark told him to follow a school rule - don’t gel your hair, tuck your shirt in, tie your laces, straighten your tie – and was responded with fuck you, Mark Lee every time.

Donghyuck who was once Mark’s best friend.

That Donghyuck.

“I’ll be there in an hour”, Mark speaks as quick as he can into the phone before hanging up.

-

“Follow me, and really, thank you for coming”.

Mark trails behind him nervously, biting the remainders of his nails, nodding along to whatever Doctor Moon has to tell him which is basically, don’t pressure him, let him talk as much as he wants.

Donghyuck is propped up against the head of the bed, a bunch of pillows at his back and a mop of unruly brown curls sitting on his head. His eyes are intently scanning through what seems to be their school magazine. He slowly looks up from it, eyes flickering to Doctor Moon and then to Mark.

Mark stares, dumbfounded, expecting Donghyuck to yell, to shout, throw the magazine at him, anything the Donghyuck he knows would do. But the younger boy just sits up straighter, eyes widening and never leaving him.

“Mark?”

“That’s me, bud”, he smiles warmly when Donghyuck sighs in relief.

“At least I remember one person correctly, right?”, Donghyuck laughs nervously.

Mark cringes, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He wonders how much Donghyuck remembers of their friendship, wonders if he remembers the big fight they had an year ago.

“Something like that”, Mark replies, just as nervously and the odd response goes unnoticed.

“Can I ask you something?”

Mark only nods, placing a reassuring hand over Donghyuck’s own.

“We were very close right?”

Mark thinks for a while. Technically, they were close and it wouldn’t be a lie to say yes. He also doesn’t want to give Donghyuck any bad memories just when he’s starting to remember.

“Very, yeah”.

“I want to see my friends, but I’m not sure who I was close to and I don’t want randos in my personal space you know?”

Oh if you only remembered what happened with us, Mark thinks.

“Yeah”.

“So I was hoping you could tell me who else I was close to”.

Shit.

Donghyuck and Mark used to have the same friend circle but when Mark fucked up, the circle split and the only one who still spoke to him from their ex-circle was Jeno. And that’s only because Jeno is the nicest human being on the planet and he’s also Mark’s lab partner for biology.

So if Mark were to call anyone other than Jeno at the moment, he’s bound to get ripped apart by Renjun’s bare hands or stabbed with Jaemin’s deadly sarcasm simply for having gone to see Donghyuck.

“Um, well, there’s Jeno”.

Donghyuck nods, repeating the name softly, Jeno.

“But take it easy, Hyuck, don’t strain too much”.

Donghyuck’s eyes widen even more.

“Hyuck? Is that what people call me?”

Mark nods, realizing he’d let the name slip, he hadn’t called the younger boy that in a long long time, but it felt right, slipped right off his tongue like it had always been there. Like the way your phone predicts the next words in a sentence because you use it so frequently.

“Do you want me to call Jeno here?”

Mark asks softly, half scared because Jeno might bring with him the two spawns of Satan.

“Not right now, no, but… could you let him know I’m safe, that I’ll come around soon if my memory comes back?”

“When”, Mark states and Donghyuck looks to him, confused.

“You said if your memory comes back, say when instead, and of course, I’ll text Jeno right away”.

-

Donghyuck is discharged from the hospital that afternoon and he asks Mark if he could come over so they can talk.

Mark hesitates, like really hesitates, but agrees in the end. Maybe if he does this at least, Donghyuck would forgive him when his memory comes back.

They sit on the big white swing on Donghyuck’s porch and Mark lets Donghyuck carry most of the conversation. Losing his memory certainly hadn’t affected Donghyuck’s speech- he was still as talkative as Mark remembered him to be, when they used to be best friends and they would sit in this exact spot and rant about things they wanted to get off of their chests.

Maybe a part of Donghyuck remembered it because he’s the one that chose to sit on the swing instead of heading inside.

The autumn chill sweeps across the porch and Donghyuck shivers, scooting closer to burrow against Mark’s side. The older blushes and scratches his neck (a nervous habit) but stays put. Donghyuck doesn’t seem to sense how anxious Mark is at their proximity which is why he goes a step further to rest his head on Mark’s shoulder.

Then all of the fights come rushing back to Mark, the way they had ended their friendship on the worst terms.

  *Flashback*

Mark opens the door, expecting it to be another bunch of trick-or-treaters but instead is met with Donghyuck’s flashy smile. He holds up his arms to show the grocery bags hanging on each, one full of snacks and the other with rented movies. Mark smiles back and takes one of the bags from him, inviting him inside and heading to the TV room.

It’s still a long way from twelve o’clock so they watch a comedy first, an old comedy at that, which made everything that much more cringey and laughable.

By the time the third movie rolls around, they’re out of popcorn so Donghyuck takes it upon himself to rip a bag of chips open and place it in the space between him and Mark, which to be clear wasn’t that big of a space because this movie was a horror and Donghyuck wanted to be as close to Mark as possible in the event of any jump scares.

Donghyuck hides his face in Mark shoulder when the eerie music begins to play, earning a scoff and “pussy”, from the older.

Then they both reach for the chips, accidentally grabbing each other’s hands instead.

Now in any normal situation, because this had occurred many times before, they’d apologize and move their hands. But this time, Donghyuck feels his cheeks heat up and Mark can’t deny the sudden swarm of butterflies in his lower stomach and the both of them end up making eye-contact for way too long.

In the span of a minute, the movie is long forgotten because Mark leans over and kisses Donghyuck very very softly on the lips, cautious, gentle. When he pulls away, eyes lidded and lips a little wet, mirroring Donghyuck, they stare at each other a little longer until the sound of Mark’s house door opening startles them apart, like they had been doing something wrong.

Mark’s parents, followed closely by Donghyuck’s parents, enter the living room after their dinner party and Donghyuck stands up to leave, awkwardly shuffling around to collect the movies he had brought.

After he’s shoved them hastily into his backpack, he calls Mark softly.

“Mark, can I talk to you?”

Donghyuck is still a little pink on his cheeks when Mark looks at him, eyes glancing around nervously.

“I don’t know, Hyuck- you know I like girls”.

At the sudden rejection, before Donghyuck could even say anything, the younger feels a sharp pain twist in his chest, near his heart.

“But you kissed me, you leaned forward”, Donghyuck accuses, eyebrows furrowing together in frustration.

“You kissed me back!”

Mark whisper shouts, not wanting their parents to hear any of this.

“Mark you know I’m gay, what the fuck do you mean?”

Donghyuck’s mom’s voice carries from across the hall, “You boys done? We have to get going, Hyuck”.

Donghyuck doesn’t respond, still waiting for Mark to say something, for some closure.

“Just go, Donghyuck, let’s never talk about this again”.

Donghyuck feels his heart clench but he laughs a sad laugh, “You know what Mark Lee? Let’s never talk again, period”.

He grabs his jacket from the arm of the sofa and brushes past Mark, eyes glistening with hurt and somewhere in his head still hoping that Mark would say Wait.

Mark doesn’t.

If this were the only beef, they may have made-up in a few months, but Mark just had to go fuck it up a little more. Donghyuck was running for Student Body President this year, it was a dream that he had had for so long and Mark knew it too, because Donghyuck had been talking about it from the eighth grade practically.

There weren’t any other strong competitors in the grade either so Donghyuck was obviously over the moon. That is of course, until Mark puts his name down for the campaign, signing himself up as a candidate.

Mark, captain of the basket-ball team. Mark, president of the book club. Mark, goody two shoes and teacher’s pet.

Donghyuck was obviously qualified too, being the captain of the baseball team and maintaining his perfect grades but he had quite a knack for pranks, so when the teachers found out that Mark would also be running, they changed their vote without hesitation.

Mark would be a better president, he’s less playful.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened after.

Donghyuck lost it when he found out and that basically put the permanent full stop to their friendship.

*End of Flashback*

Donghyuck gasps, jumping off of the white swing, swaying from the whiplash.

Mark’s eyes widen and he grabs his hand to steady him.

“I remembered something”.

Mark gulps, “What is it?”

“I play baseball, don’t I? And so does Renjun and Jaemin too”.

“Oh”, Mark bites his lip partially relieved, but at the same time fully afraid, “You remember them too”.

Donghyuck grins and turns around.

“Oh don’t get down and jealous Mark, I remembered you first so that makes you special”.

Mark smiles sadly.

If he could go back to that Halloween night, he’d do it right and kiss Donghyuck again and tell him how he had really felt. That he was just scared of his own feelings.

“You’re the special one, Hyuck, you’ll always be special to me”.

Mark regrets what he did so much and in this moment, when Donghyuck blushes at the compliment, Mark wants to grab his cute face and kiss him. But he fucked that chance up all by himself last year.

-

Donghyuck’s mom gives him his phone back a few days later and he’s slowly started to remember everyone around him, so he decides to text Renjun.

His message is seen in a matter of seconds and immediately, Renjun facetimes him.

“My God, Hyuck, it’d be easier to call the president than get in touch with you”.

Donghyuck laughs, immediately feeling a little better.

“How’re you feeling now?”

Donghyuck shrugs, “Still don’t have most of my memories, but I remembered you guys a few nights ago”.

Renjun nods, understanding.

“It’s not easy remembering only half of the world I knew, but Mark is helping me a lot so…”

“Wait, who is helping you?”

Renjun looks concerned but Donghyuck brushes it off as a fault of the connection.

“Mark, Mark Lee, he’s the first person I remembered but I can’t seem to remember any memories with him yet, we must’ve been very close though if he was the first one”.

“Yeah, right”, Renjun visibly scoffs but doesn’t say anything further (only for the sake of Donghyuck’s pending memory).

Donghyuck doesn’t like the uneasy feeling that’s beginning to settle in his stomach so he lies that he has to go and take his medicine and says goodbye to Renjun - who doesn’t really notice anything unusual other than the fact that Mark has been helping Donghyuck – and hangs up.

That night, Donghyuck dreams again, the first dream he’s had since the last one at the hospital and Mark is in it again. This time it’s different. There’s details, there’s scenes playing out behind his closed eyelids, there’s hurt, there’s tears and there’s fighting.

Donghyuck wakes up in a fit of pants, struggling to breathe, knocking several things off his nightstand when he attempts to turn the lights on. His chest squeezes tight, throat even tighter when everything comes flooding and flooding, like a dam had been opened, like he was drowning.

He tries to shout but no sound comes out so he scrambles to his feet in search of his phone that’s gotten lost in the sheets and calls the one person who can solve all this.

-

The annoyingly loud trap remix blares from next to Mark’s ear and he groans, rolling over in the thick sheets to grab his phone. He almost declines the call but when he reads the caller ID he sits up, awake, sliding his finger to answer.

“Hyuck, it’s three in the morning”, he yawns.

He’s met with some heavy breathing and the smallest, pained hmph sound.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Mark says, a little louder, getting off the mattress in case he needed to rush over to Donghyuck’s right away.

“K-Keep talking, please”, he finally hears and Donghyuck has never before sounded so weak.

Not even when they fought last year.

So Mark complies, he says nice things, comforting Donghyuck, having no idea that he was the cause of Donghyuck’s panic attack.

It seems to work though, Mark’s voice, it calms the younger boy down, his breathing gradually coming to a slow.

“Hyuck, do you remember when I said you’re very special to me? I really really meant that”.

Mark says softly and Donghyuck breathes in and out slowly.

“Mark, I remember everything”.

-

Mark buttons his shirt carefully for the second time, having missed a button the first time and tucks it into his jeans. He’s wearing a yellow shirt, because it’s Donghyuck’s favorite color and he hopes and prays that Donghyuck will at least hear him out.

Last night’s conversation had ended with Donghyuck tiredly saying, “We’ll talk tomorrow, I’ll meet you at the park”.

This morning, Donghyuck had texted him

Meet u near the swings at 4pm

The distance from Mark’s place to the park is a mere ten minutes so he walks. He gets there earlier than Donghyuck so he sits on one of the swings, swaying back and forth solemnly, kicking at the sand by his feet.

It’s not until he feels a hand on his shoulder that he looks away from the sand, startled.

“Hey”, Mark squeaks, incredibly high.

Donghyuck sits on the swing besides Mark’s.

“I-“, Mark starts and Donghyuck interrupts him.

“Don’t say you’re sorry”.

Mark nods sadly.

“I came here to thank you”, Donghyuck sighs.

Mark turns to him, confused.

“Thank me?”

Donghyuck turns too, looking into Mark’s eyes.

“Given our history, you could’ve easily refused to help me, but you didn’t, why?”

Mark looks down at the sand again, blushing.

“I finally had a chance to speak to you again and I wanted to be close to you again”.

“Yeah but why?” Donghyuck presses on and Mark blushes deeper.

“I told you, you’re really special to me Hyuck”.

Donghyuck goes quiet.

“Then why didn’t you even try, after what happened, you didn’t even try to fix things”.

Mark’s gaze drops lower before coming up to meet Donghyuck’s sad eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, and that’s my fault, I’m so so sorry, Hyuck, I should have, I should have tried until you forgave me, I should’ve handled things better that night, I should’ve kissed you again and told you how I really felt instead of running away from my own feelings because I was scared, I called you a pussy but really, I’m the pussy, for being too afraid to confront myself”

“And then I went ahead and ran for student council president because I heard that you kissed Jaemin in the locker rooms and I was jealous, I was so stupid and selfish and I knew after that, that I really fucked things up. Turns out the rumor was false too and I felt so shit after that but I knew it was too late, you technically hated me by then but I don’t blame you, I was such an asshole”.

“To be fair, I’m the one that spread that rumor about Jaemin and I, hoping to make you jealous”, Donghyuck nervously laughs and Mark is taken back for a second but smiles.

“Still, I had no right to get mad at you when I had turned your feelings away just months back, you had every right to kiss anyone you wanted- even if the rumor was false”, Mark argues, bashing himself, kicking himself into the dirt.

They sit there for a few minutes in comfortable silence, thankful now that it’s all out there.

Donghyuck stands up from his swing and holds his hand out for Mark to take.

Confused, the older still takes it.

He’s pulled up and into Donghyuck’s embrace, warm and forgiving in the autumn weather.

“We both did some immature shit, but I’m willing to bury all that if you are”, Donghyuck mumbles into Mark’s shoulder.

“Dude, heck yeah”, Mark mumbles back, almost sobbing into Donghyuck’s shoulder from the overwhelming emotions that are rising in his throat.

“Friends first, then we’ll see where this goes”, Donghyuck pulls away, holding out his pinky.

Mark crosses it with his own and brings his thumb up to meet Donghyuck’s thumb, like they’re tying together a promise.

And just to be completely honest with you, the friend’s first ordeal lasts maybe a few weeks – if you leave out all the excessive flirting before that – because soon enough they decide it’s time to see where it goes when Mark yet again finds himself kissing Donghyuck on a movie night, but this time, they both intend to make this a regular thing.

#markhyuck #nct markhyuck #markhyuck fluff #markhyuck angst #mark lee #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #haechan #nct mark #nct haechan #nct lee donghyuck #nct mark lee

[broadwaycantdie]

The Best

( ralbert ) + ( angst )

a/n: i watched a certain show and got inspired so this is based off that—it’s not exactly the same but it’s got similar plot points (i don’t wanna say it because of spoilers since this show is still kinda new and popular but if you’ve watched it you’ll get it)

warnings: arguments, self- deprecation, suicide, survivors guilt, language, mental disorders

——————————————————————————

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You make me feel things, things—things I don’t feel.”

“Well maybe you should.”

Albert sat there, dumbfounded.

His eyes were full of tears. He never let himself cry like that. Or cry at all for that matter.

He couldn’t stop himself.

They looked at each other for a long time until Race finally spoke up.

“Posso baciarti?”

Albert spoke softly.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Race let out a tiny chuckle.

“Can I kiss you?”

More tears fell from Albert’s face as Race leaned in.

Their lips met and the moment was silent.

Albert was frozen as Race pulled away. He was feeling every emotion at once and didn’t know how to react. His involuntary actions spoke for themselves.

Race walked out of the room, leaving his new friend on the bed.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Albert was left there with only the thought of what happened and the warm taste of Race on his lips.

Many months flew by and they were friends.

Race always supported Albert in what he did and made sure he was doing it right.

Albert was hyper-focused. He cared about every detail so much and put all of his energy into one goal. He didn’t have plans for failure, that wasn’t an option.

Since he was 8 years old Albert dreamed of being a principle dancer. He learned every ballet and technique that he knew would impress his teachers, peers, and interviewers. He was skilled in every department he wanted to. He could do 25 pirouettes in a row, he could do both adagio and allegro, danced en pointe, and so much more. He perfected each and every skill he needed to.

Race also liked to dance. He had been doing ballet since he was a child and loved it. There was something about connecting people through dance that he really couldn’t get enough of. He would love to be a principle dancer and would love to be front and center, but it wasn’t his only goal.

Race was immensely talented without having to try as hard as Albert. He had naturally good rhythm, balance, and structure to his body—strong ankles, good feet, and poise—that made him stand out.

He wasn’t always happy. He tried to hard to be, he really did, but even with every resource for help, he couldn’t get it. Race toyed with the idea of ending his life. He felt every emotion all the time and sometimes it was too much. But he pushed on. He used dance as a way to cope but only so much could help.

When Race met Albert, things were a little better.

He and Albert danced at the same studio. They always have. It seemed things were easy for Race—especially at the studio. He was friendly and elegant and could get any solo he wanted.

The day Albert had planned for since he was 8 finally started to come closer. His studio was finally holding auditions to fill the role of a principle dancer.

He practiced harder and harder each day to make sure his piece would be perfect.

Albert pushed himself to the edge and was in constant states of panic, pain, and isolation.

His determination and ambition took over him. He felt he was nothing more than a train following a singular track.

Race also wanted to be a principle dancer.

He loved the opportunity to showcase his skills and get people to feel things with his performances. So he signed up to adudition as well.

When Albert saw Race’s name on the sign up sheet he was furious. He knew Race was an incredible dancer and was a huge theat to his confidence. He might not win. But he wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. He had to be the best.

Race was home alone. His parents were away for the week. He walked around his father’s office, knowing what was in there.

Race glided his hands arcross his father’s desk.

Then down to the safe.

He put the code in—remembering his father telling him to only go inside incase of an emergency—and opened it with a deep breath.

His eyes had a thin layer of water on them. Glossy as usual. They had a tendency to sparkle and shimmer in the sunlight.

He took out the contents of the safe and put it in his pocket.

A few minutes later Albert burst through his door.

He walked right up to Race and looked at him in the eyes.

“Why would you do that? You know I’ve been planning for this audition since I was 8 years old and now you’re just—you’re just gonna come in and take that away from me! Why would you take that away from me!? I’ve trained so hard and now you’re just going to walk in and steal it! It’s so easy for you I know you’ll make it so then what do I do? I can’t lose this, Racer, you know I can’t lose this! Why the fuck would you do this to me!?”

Albert was speaking so fast Race almost couldn’t keep up. His eyes were filling with tears but he continued to yell louder and louder at Race until he felt a soft hand on his cheek.

Race spoke with cracks in his voice and a sorrow in his chest.

“You have so much pain.”

He whipped the tear from Albert’s face and let his hand slide down to his chin and across his lips. There were tears in his own eyes watching how hurt Albert was.

Every time Race touched him, Albert felt a relief. He felt his tension drop and he could breathe again.

Race reached in his pocket and let the tears fall. He whispered to Albert.

“I’m sorry.”

Race lifted his hand to his head and not a moment later a gunshot rang out.

“NO!”

Albert’s face was covered in blood while Race’s body dropped to the floor.

Albert screamed so loud. He couldn’t understand what happened. He didn’t get it. Was it his fault? Oh God, maybe it was his fault? He couldn’t handle the thought of that.

Soon police arrived along with ambulances, detectives, and Race’s boyfriend, Spot.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Spot called out, seeing Albert sitting on the porch steps.

“Race killed himself. He—he just did it right there. We were talking and he just shot himself in the head. I—I don’t know what happened. I—“ Albert couldn’t let himself finish.

Spot ran towards the house.

“I have to see him! I’m his boyfriend I have to see him!”

He started tearing up as his voice cracked. He continued to yell as police were pushing him away from the house.

Spot walked up to Albert and looked him square in the eye.

“This is all because of you. You did this to him.”

Albert walked home, blood still on his face and clothes, and took a long shower. He couldn’t stop thinking about Race. Was it his fault? Race had everything he ever wanted but maybe that wasn’t enough. He couldn’t wrap his head around someone as perfect as Race, not being happy. Now, he didn’t have the time to ask. It was too late.

The thought that it was his fault ate him alive inside. Albert got worse than he thought he could. He pushed himself even harder at rehearsal and made sure he felt all the pain he endured. He felt he deserved it for what he did.

Race wouldn’t leave his head.

Albert kept seeing him around—knowing he’s gone.

He knew it wasn’t real but he liked seeing him. He missed Race so much—oh God did he miss him. Race was the only one who let Albert be a real human—not an ambitious control-freak.

Race was like a magnet pulling all of Albert’s emotions out of him. He made him feel vulnerable and raw. Race was the only one who ever saw who he really was. Scared. Hurt. In love.

Albert finally let himself cry.

It took him so long to finally get there. But he did.

He cried for a long time.

He accepted the fact that he loved him. Oh, did he love him so. He never loved anyone like he loved Race and now he’s gone. He cried and cried and cried.

The next day, at Albert’s studio, they were having a small memorial for Race. He was loved in the dance community—especially his studio—and had been there since he was just a kid. He was family.

A few people spoke about him, saying what a kind and genuine person he was and how no one knew what was going on inside his head.

Albert decided to do something different.

When he was asked to come up and speak, he did.

“I only formally met Race about a year ago. He was everything I wanted to be. Kind, smart, authentic...he never changed for anyone, he let himself be open and vulnerable to everyone he met. He had so much pain that none of us saw...he—he tried so hard to make sure that no one else felt that way, that he didn’t help himself. As many of you know, Race and I were auditioning against each other for the spot of principle dancer. I was nervous, when I saw his name, but he would always tell me, ‘hey! don’t worry! just do what you do and may the best man win.’ But now the best man can’t win. You see, Race was a perfect dancer, you guys know that, and I can only hope I come close to his level one day....and with that, I want to perform something I worked on last night as a tribute to Racer.”

Albert got into position and didn’t even bother to wipe his tears away, he just let them fall.

The music started and this was the first time in a long time that Albert just let himself dance.

His movements were flowy and open, he didn’t worry about every technicality, he floated across the floor, and just let his emotions take the lead.

He kept his eyes closed while he danced. He wanted to feel the music instead of seeing others. He didn’t care about the others in the room, he only cared about Race.

When he opened his eyes for a moment, he saw Racer—right there beside him. He was dancing. He was smiling. His eyes were sparkling. Albert knew this wasn’t real but he held on to just seeing Race again. They danced together as Race followed along with Albert’s movements.

He finished the dance and they moved on with the memorial. Albert couldn’t focus on anything else besides the fact that he conjured up Race in his mind. He didn’t know how he did that but he was glad he did.

Albert learned the easiest way to see Race was to dance. Race always use to say, “dance let’s us express and feel even when we don’t want to say anything.”

Albert thought about him a lot the next few days.

He decided to dance again in the hopes to see Racer.

He turned on the music and just started to move.

No one was there.

Albert was a wreck. He was mad that Race only popped up every once in a while. He was mad that Race was gone. He was mad that he wasn’t kinder to Race. And he still couldn’t shake the idea that it was his fault.

He wasn’t thinking about the dance. His thoughts were elsewhere. He started spinning and lost focus. He spun and spun until he couldn’t feel his head. He let his body fall to the floor.

The sound of his head hitting the wood was enough for his parents to run in the room. He was unconscious and unresponsive. He was breathing, but that was it. They rushed him to the hospital and monitored him closely.

Albert got to see Race again.

They were on a cloud, or so it seemed. They were both dressed in white and all their pain was gone.

When Albert saw Race standing there he ran up and hugged him. He hugged him so tight.

“I’ve been a mess without you.” Albert spoke, still in a hug.

“So I’ve seen.” Race lightly joked back.

They broke the hug and looked at each other.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Racer. What do I do without you.”

“What you’ve always done. Just maybe now you can take some time to yourself. Let your emotions run. Lead with your heart sometimes, your head doesn’t need to do all the work.”

Albert wanted to stay here with Race forever. He always knew what to say and was the only actual comfort he ever had. He loved him.

“I—I have to ask. Why? Why did you do it? You look like an angel, you’re the best dancer at our studio, everyone loved you. So why? What was so bad about your life that you had to do it?”

Race just looked at him with the same soft smile.

“I feel everything. All the time. It’s so hard to live like that. I just didn’t have enough positive to balance out all the negative I was feeling.”

“So...it wasn’t my fault?”

“No, Albert. It wasn’t your fault.”

Albert felt a relief. The biggest relief he’s ever felt.

He pulled Race back into a hug again as he cried into his sweater.

“I wish I could stay here with you forever.”

“You can’t. It’s not your time.”

Albert let out a deep breathe and saw the image of Racer fade into the fog.

He opened his eyes in the hospital had a new purpose.

Not only did he want to be a principle dancer, he wanted to make people feel with his dances. He wanted to help people who felt like Racer did. He didn’t want anyone to ever feel like that. He actually wanted to help. He did.

Maybe Race wouldn’t be there with them. But Albert would do everything in his power to keep Race’s memory alive. And to help every person who feels like that so they don’t have to end like Racer did.

Albert could rest a little easier.

He heart felt a little less heavy.

And he could finally take a break.

#newsies #fansies #toursies #newsies broadway #broadway #newsies on tour #newsies bway #newsies on broadway #race newsies #albert newsies #ralbert newsies #ralbert #newsies fandom #newsies fanfiction #newsies fic #ralbert fic

[apostatus]

Advice from a soon to be adult

It's not as scary as you think. Taxes, leases, doctor appointments, and buttons aren't obstacles.

(Mild) anxiety comes and goes, but you can handle it.

It's healthy to cry sometimes. You hold emotion in and it needs to be let out sometimes.

Get aquainted with the neighbors. They will help you and tolerate noise.

Grades won't matter in the work force. The guy with an A gets the same degree as the guy with a C.

Don't define yourself by what you do for work.

Call your parents. When you are born, you become their world (for good parents at least. If your parents are abusive, fuck them.) They talk about you when you're gone and see you in everything. You may be getting on with your life, but you are their lives. Call them.

If your so tells you when you can do things (get a haircut, go out, etc), break up with them.

Asking "can i kiss you" is actually super romantic and you should do it.

Friends are more important than anything else in your personal life. A friend will be there when you feel like the world is ending. But, you need to be ready to do the same. And, when you're their friend, that shouldn't feel like a burden.

Dance. A lot.

Dab. Don't rub. If you rub, you'll spread the stain.

Learn to sew. Nothing complex. Clothes tear.

Slow down on coffee. You'll become desensitized and won't enjoy it as much.

Drink water when you wake up.

Keep your alarm away from the bed. Getting up to snooze it makes getting up easier.

Sing.

Have an outfit for other people (tux, dress, pants suit, etc) and have every other outfit for yourself.

Walk in heels for 15-30 mins before buying.

If your landlord or dorm won't allow weapons (swords, mace, etc.) and you feel unsafe, buy a metal softball/baseball bat. It's technically sports equipment.

If you feel unsafe, people are willing to help you.

Take your medication. Not taking them will result in long term consequences unless you are told by your doctor that you can stop.

Never mix medication with alcohol.

Milk is good. Drink that.

If you can't afford to eat three meals a day, at least eat lunch. (For some people, dinner as the only meal is better.)

Make coffee at home. It's cheaper, faster, and healthier for you.

Coffee is a natural antidepressant. Tea is a depressant. Drink coffee in the morning and tea at night. Both have caffeine so don't drink after 6:00 or 7:00 unless you plan to be up late.

Don't stay up late.

Don't eat too close to your bedtime. It'll keep you awake.

Embarrassing advice: sometimes you'll dream of using the bathroom. If you don't wake up in time, wash your clothes and sheets. Then, wipe down your mattress with clorox or sweet smelling cleaner. Germs aren't much of an issue since urine is sterile.

When you call 911, be sure you know where you are. Preferably by address or street names. If you don't give the operator your location, it can take longer to locate you and they may not be able to get the correct location.

Before calling 911, make sure the area is safe, meaning that there are no hostiles or methods for more people to injure themselves. If you do not know CPR, DO NOT ADMINISTER CPR. It could be dangerous to the victim if CPR is administered incorrectly.

Over the counter meds help a lot, but don't take them too often.

Sugar and caffeine are drugs. Increasing or decreasing your intake can induce headaches, tiredness, and irritation. If you want to change your intake, be prepared for these symptoms.

Dishes at restaurants (fast and dine-in) have more calories than making food at home. Try to keep to a regular calorie intake. (Usually 2000 calories, but some people need more.)

Nobody cares about how you dress as long as you're not naked.

Lift with your knees. Not only will lifting with your back hurt your back, you won't be able to carry as much.

Have a toolkit.

If there's something wrong with an outlet or another thing attached to electricity, DO NOT TRY TO FIX IT BY YOURSELF. That's how you get electricuted.

Wedding and engagement rings don't matter. Don't spend a lot unless you BOTH want to.

Exercise for your health.

Unhealthy body type can mean obese AND anorexic. Either way, the journey to a healthy body is extremely difficult and you should respect people who attemot that journey.

Healthy is chubby, skinny, and inbetween. Healthy means a good diet and exercise. Your body can portray that many ways.

Skinny jeans are uncomfortable.

You don't need a house. An apartment or condo or RV is still good.

People will live their lives a way you don't agree with, but you need to come to terms that their life doesn't need to adhere to your wants or beliefs. As long as they are not hurting anyone, there is no reason to speak on the subject.

You can have sex wherever (just not in public), whenever, and with whoever. Your sex life is irrelevant to other people. Don't let people give their opinions on it.

Have a baby when you're ready. When you're comfortable with bringing life into the world. Don't have one because you feel obligated or feel you're running out of time.

You don't need to have kids. It's your choice and no one else's.

Love yourself. You have good qualities as well as bad, but there's no reason to focus on the negative. Being perfect would be inhuman, unnatural.

#advice #long post #i have no idea how to tag this #adulting #being an adult #self love #love #self care #911 #love yourself #love your body #life

[echodrops]

My KH3 Fix-It Dream

(Warning, long post is long because part way through I just started writing bits of the actual fic, oops.)

There’s a lot of people complaining about this and that with the KH3 plot, but I honestly don’t have too many complaints because the story we were given was about what I expected (did anyone realllyyy believe that Kairi was going to become a badass Keyblade wielder? Search your heart, you know you saw this travesty coming), except on one front: Vanitas was tragically under-utilized. After being hyped up so much in the trailers, you’d think that he would have at least had a go in the game that was worthy of his character. But KH3′s Vanitas was little more than a shadow of BBS’s, and that’s a darn shame.

So, I present to you: a fix-it fic plot bunny that fixes several things at once:

1) Vanitas doesn’t die. Okay, actually, it still works fine if he does die, but we’ll take his “I’m always with you” suggestion literally--Vanitas is a heart of Darkness wrapped in a body made of bad feelings, and that final battle was one brutal attack on the feels after another. The fear, anxiety, horror, and desperation the Lights, especially Sora upon witnessing what happens to Kairi, manifests as so much accumulated negativity that Vanitas--even though he actually wants to!!--can’t stay dead, and his heart, which naturally lingered with Sora and Ventus even after his defeat, gets shoved back into another body made entirely of other people’s suffering and pain, now even more unstable and dysfunctional than before.

2) The final battle happens. Kairi is saved, but Sora disappears. While the finally-reunited good-guy crew are busy coming out of shock planning how they’ll inevitably rescue Sora, they’re also struggling with another major issue: what to do about Vanitas, who is as comatose as Ven was at the beginning of BBS, a broken heart in a broken body.

3) Nobody wants to say “mercy kill”... The idea is there, but none of the gang is really willing to do it barring maybe Roxas, whose practicality is actually alarming (”You’re not going to be feeling so sympathetic when he wakes up and stabs somebody, you know. Don’t say I didn’t warn you”). Even Aqua, who knows as well as Ven how much of a danger Vanitas is, can’t really convince herself to attack someone who's completely helpless. But what to do, if not that? He isn’t waking up, and anywhere they leave him, he’ll have to be guarded around the clock--he still, technically, has the ability to trigger the apocalypse if left unattended to chase hearts of light, you know.

4) It’s Ven’s idea to take him to Destiny Islands. That was Master Xehanort’s plan for Ven, after all, when they were first separated: let Ven’s empty body waste away, forgotten, in a backwater world. Instead he’d made contact with Sora--and nobody wants to say that either, that maybe there’s the tiniest bit of hope: somehow, some way, maybe Sora can still be reached, maybe the call of yet another heart in need will be irresistible enough to make the unfailing hero claw his own way back from the brink...

5) What really happens is this: Sora’s mother has had MORE THAN ENOUGH. Spaceships start dropping out of the sky, the deserted play island is somehow brimming with grown men and women running around, she sees Kairi of all people wandering right back into town as if she hasn’t been inexplicably absent for months... So where is Sora? Where is Sora and why is he not coming home? Finally, after three days of radio silence from Kairi and Riku (Riku’s been gone for years, and now he’s suddenly here, without Sora? When has there ever been a such thing as Riku without Sora?), Sora’s mother prepares a scolding on the level of God casting humans out of the Garden of Eden and indignantly rows her way out to the play island. It seems there’s a whole crowd gathered at a bonfire down the beach, but she never makes it there. Because there’s Sora right there on the paopu island, there’s Sora, only everything’s wrong--who let him dye his hair like that, what is he wearing, why won’t he wake up--”Sora? SORA!”

6) It’s Riku who tells her the truth. That Sora is gone, in the wind, not even a body to bury except this one, this boy who’s wearing the face of the son she hasn’t held in her arms in ages--maybe never will again. This is what he looks like now, Riku says, but this isn’t him. (How? How is this not her son? Under his bangs there’s the same freckle at the edge of his forehead she used to give good night kisses to--)

7) They make several attempts to stop her (”Ma’am,” the man with brown hair and guilty eyes says, “Ma’am, you really can’t--he’s a danger to--”) but none of them stopped her son either and if they’ll stand by and let the light of all the worlds extinguish itself, let’s be honest, they’re just not that good of guardians. She takes Sora the boy named Vanitas home. In Sora’s old bed he looks comical, the only time, maybe, that he’ll ever look tall, and the shadow of the toys and clutter she hadn’t had the heart to clean (not after the day she remembered that the room up the stairs wasn’t just sealed up storage, that a boy had lived there, that his worn clothes were still strewn across the floor, that she’d had a son at all, Sora, for a whole year she’d forgotten the name, the sound, the jut of his lip in a pout--) falls over his face. They say he’s not her son.

8) Well, she thinks, we’ll see about that.

And lol I know that was a million words but like that was the prologue and the actual rest of the fic goes like this:

Sora’s mom takes care of Vanitas’ comatose body because hey, she’s a pediatric nurse, that kind of thing is literally her job. Riku and Kairi try to bodyguard her for a couple weeks, but the longer Vanitas stays asleep, the less and less often they come around--they’ve got to find Sora, after all.

The longer she takes care of Vanitas-not-Sora though, the worse her loneliness gets, until the deep vein of Darkness sadness (she lost her son not once, not twice, but three times) resonates with the shattered remnants of Vanitas’ heart and she forcefully because Sora got his busybodiness from somewhere generously connects with him enough to wake him up.

(“Go away,” answers a voice without speaking.

“Why?”

“You’re annoying me. I’m tired.”

“You’re hurt.”

“That’s what I said.”

No it isn’t.

There’s a certain sort of sadness only people who’ve lived through losing the light of their lives will ever know. There’s a kind of kinship in surviving separation. Her heart aches, goes out of her all at once, reaching--

“I made my decision. Leave me alone.”

"Did you make that decision because you were alone?”)

Only, you know, Vanitas doesn’t want to be awake or even alive now that he has absolutely no purpose, no master, no X-blade, no mission, nowhere to go, and no chance of ever reuniting with Ven--so fuck off, he’s not going to eat those home-made muffins and he’s not going to go take a bath even if he does stink, and he’s not going to talk, and he’s not coming out from under the covers for anything less than the sweet release of a swift execution.

...But that’s so boring.

So he insults her instead. And threatens her and mocks her and knocks over the water glasses she brings and lets the Unversed chase her out of the room and picks out all the stitches on this ugly hand-sewn quilt and asks her why she’s got a room full of toys but no kid to go in it.

No sell: she’s a pediatric nurse and dealing with sick, miserable, screaming children is what she does every day. And anyway, from seven to eight Sora threw a year of temper tantrums that make this boy look positively mild.

There’s one more thing working in her favor: he’s still curious. She learns: he’s never had a fruit smoothie, read a comic book, or slept in sheets fresh from the dryer. Sora’s old action figures aren’t played with so much as dismembered in effigy (is it that Vanitas is vindictive or that he’s jealous?), but the new electric toothbrush somehow wins grudging approval. The vacuum cleaner startles him the first time she turns it on, but one night when she goes for a drink at 3am, she discovers he’s been teaching himself to use the TV. Finding out the water can come out of the taps already hot buys her a whole seven minutes of intrigued silence, but the existence of ice cube trays might as well be a mortal offense. (”Don’t tell me you people actually wait for the water to--?” Given that he then summons a block of ice longer than the dining room table out of thin air, she thinks on this occasion he might be right though when he leaves said ice block to melt, her charitable feelings dry up.) He has to watch her pick herbs from the garden and cook with them before he can be convinced that the “weeds” are food. In short, he’s barely half way back from feral, and if the man who made him wasn’t already dead, she’d happily go kill that piece of shit herself.

It turns out, with spit, polish, and proper motivation (read as: bribes, read as: hot pot and honey castella), he’ll do the things she asks (sometimes). When he actually commits himself to a task, he’s focused to an alarming degree, meticulous and self-critical, and he stubbornly refuses to give up until he’s content with the results, which means that sometimes on her way to work she finds him where she left him the night before, still glaring, bleary-eyed and bratty, at the broken stand-mixer or mantle clock or book spine that she hoped he could fix with magic. If he spitefully tracks mud all over the house after he relentlessly weeds the whole garden, well, she’d say the benefits still outweigh the costs.

The hoard of creatures that follow him around (”They’re my feelings,” he says, and kicks one without the slightest hesitation) take getting used to, but it’s easier to share space when they make themselves so useful--sometimes even when he can’t be badgered into work, he’s willing the boss the underlings into action: the crooked door on the backyard shed finally gets rehung thanks to a towering brute with a banana peel on its head, and once she opens a jar in the kitchen she doesn’t remember buying and finds it full of rich, warm apple pie.

He gets... better. It’s not linear. They have bad days, days when he breaks things without warning and won’t talk except through stinging barbs, one day so bad he let a flock of his worst feelings pound enormous holes in the living room walls, burns up her favorite rose bush--but they have good days too. Some days he laughs and it isn’t malicious at all; some days he eats with her at the table without even being asked; some days she comes home late to find he’s still awake, ready to poke fun at the tired way she toes off her shoes, and it takes everything she has to keep from saying You really didn’t have to wait up for me.

One day he smiles for no reason at all, and she thinks: The boy’s going to be okay.

(But how in the world is she going to explain all this to Sora?)

And there’s sooo much else I want to write but I can’ttttttt, I don’t have time, so here’s a bullet list of “also featuring:”

Vanitas being a natural Heartless deterrent because none of them want to mess with the biggest Darkness on the block.

Ven, Terra, and Aqua sniffing around trying to figure out whether they need to take Vanitas back (just to make sure he’s properly under watch, of course); Sora’s mom giving them the politest “Fuck you” this side of the universe.

Kairi and Vanitas friendship. Vanitas doesn’t even know it’s happening. Kairi is devious. Vanitas taking over Kairi’s training even though they can’t physically spar because they’ll literally end the world if they fight lol. Kairi taking advantage of Vanitas’ lack of interest in social cues to get him to do things none of the other boys will do with her like clothes shopping.

Kairi and Axel friendship with Roxas being the weird middle man who doesn’t know why they can’t just text each other instead of sending handwritten letters back and forth through him of all people.

Vanitas and Roxas reaching grudging levels of respect because sarcastic bitches gotta support each other.

Roxas and Sora’s mom being hilariously awkward because Sora’s mom doesn’t know if she should also be claiming responsibility for this child too and Roxas is absolutely clueless about the concept of having parents in the first place.

After many chapters of redemption arc, Sora’s mom taking Vanitas with her to work at the hospital so he can turn the sick children’s negative feelings into Unversed and then defeat them. She doesn’t know this hurts him and he sure as fuck isn’t going to tell her.

Everything going to shit when Chirithy shows up, insisting Vanitas is its master and calling him “Ven.” Vanitas was getting better--he was getting over the fact that he’d never be “Ventus” again--

Discovering memories of Daybreak Town and the first Keyblade War with Chirithy’s (and Namine’s!) help. Remembering the existence of old friends--Ephemer, Skuld, the other Union leaders--and the realization that they might still be alive, trapped in a timeless world of sleep.

Vanitas and Riku teaming up after someone (Mickey? Yen Sid?) suggests that Sora’s heart may have returned to the place where all hearts eventually go--the core of light that lies sleeping in the deepest depths of the realm of Darkness. Realm of Darkness road trip! (This is just my excuse to wax philosophical about how being made of Darkness doesn’t actually make anyone evil.)

Finding out that saving Sora will mean finally, actually opening the door to the true Kingdom Hearts, which can only be accessed via Scala Ad Caelum, or, more specifically, the ruins of Daybreak Town that lie beneath it.

Insert some Nomura-esque convoluted plot here about how the clock of Daybreak Town isn’t actually a bell tower but the mechanism for protecting the original X-blade and the door to Kingdom Hearts, and Daybreak!Ventus’ very existence was somehow tied to this clock tower--that’s why Ventus’ and Vanitas’ Keyblades form the two halves of a broken gear: they’re maybe literally the gear that turns the hands of time in the world that once lay closest to the heart of all things. The bell, the sword, the door--they’re all linked, and the only way to save Sora--to save everyone, including the sleeping Dandelions--is to reunite (to wake) their fractured dream of Daybreak with reality, restore the X-blade, and retrieve Sora’s wandering self with the power of Kingdom Hearts’ connection to all worlds and all hearts.

In short, like Nomura, I don’t actually know how I’d ever make it make sense, but the X-blade would get forged by Ven and Vanitas in a safe and sane way (this is just my excuse to give Vanitas a scene where he finally recognizes that he is content to be a separate being from Ventus; that he wants to stay his own person)... Kairi wields the X-blade because fuck you KH3, and everyone gets the damn happy ending they deserve--but most especially Vanitas, who gets to be the big damn hero to finally bring Sora home safe to their mother.

Like guys, I just need Vanitas’ narrative arc to feel coherent and complete. I need to know why he and Ven have a gear motif. How they’re connected to the Dandelions. Whether or not Ventus and Vanitas could ever both simultaneously be at peace despite remaining separate people. Whether Chirithy would have recognized Vanitas. Why Ventus alone had the power to forge the X-blade by reuniting with his other half when it would otherwise have taken 13 Darknesses and 7 Lights. What Sora’s mother would say finding out her son has like five clones now. If anyone would ever recognize that Vanitas had never been shown basic fucking human kindness.

Nomura. Plz.

#Vanitas #Kingdom Hearts 3 #Kingdom Hearts #fix-it fic #Kingdom Hearts 3 spoilers #Kingdom Hearts fanfiction #plot bunny #tl;dr: Sora's mom adopts Vanitas #because she's not a Keyblade Wielder and doesn't know shit about Light vs. Darkness #and like two ounces of love and decency #turn Vanitas into the hero he always had the potential to be #also there's Chirithy #because Vanitas deserves to hug a talking cat #no hurt all comfort #so just like imagine everything I wrote here #but actually in-character #and infused with my typical over-emotional hyper-focus #and that's the story #I'll almost inevitably never actually write this #RIP

[getyouraoion]

‘✩’ heart eyes//

The Ultimate Relationship Meme!

Disagreements:

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? Definitely plan on it! Be it biological children or adoption, they’ve totally talked about it and plan on having a family~If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Dennis’s mentioned wanting twins to Aoi (which they’ll probably have twin daughters Who is the favorite parent? Leans a little more towards Dennis thanks to his expertise with magic Who is the authoritative parent? Aoi TRIES to be, but we all know how that works out XDWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Aoi! At least, for legitimate sick reasons, and if they’re just burned out she’ll give them a day to just stay home and relax. She and Dennis both agree they need their schooling (especially since they’ll be getting better schooling than they did), but everyone needs a sick day!Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Dennis~ And usually through magic tricks, to boot~Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? They both do! Unless one of them’s out of town, they wouldn’t miss it for the world!Who goes to parent teacher interviews? They both do, though Dennis often has to nudge Aoi along once they’re there. She’s not exactly fond of meeting with teachers and he knows sometimes, she needs a little coaxing to keep walking. Who changes the diapers? They both do~Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Both, taking turns with it - But they’re also both prone to the first one up taking care of everything so the other can get the rest they need.Who spends the most time with the children? Totally tied~ Aoi works from home and while they both hold ties still to Academia, their home is in Heartland now, giving magic shows and helping out as much as possible. They’re rarely far from their kids~Who packs their lunch boxes? Tag team effort! They take half each and write little notes to add in, signing them together Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Dennis. Aoi’s too busy being a blushy, flustered mess in the corner and she trusts Dennis to be informative without being embarrassing with it - And if all else fails, it’s time to bring in Uncle Aster!Who cleans up after the kids? They both do~Who worries the most? Dennis, though he tries not to show it. Aoi’s not far behind him on that front.Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Uncle Shun. XD

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? They both love it~! At the end of the day, it’s kindda easy to find them flopped somewhere, cuddling and winding down~Who is the little spoon? Aoi~ She loves the feeling of security of being the little spoon to his big~Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Aoi slips occasionally - Definitely not on purpose, but if it happens, 99 times out of 100 it’s her fault XDWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?  Aoi! She finds comfort in knowing he’s there, so she’s always trying to keep him close, even with something as small as holding his hand.How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? uncomfortable enough to change positions? Probably about 30, 45 minutes or so? To actually STOP cuddling? Pffffft they could be cuddling for hours~Who gives the most kisses? Aoi! She’s prone to just outright peppering Dennis in little kisses, especially when she’s excited What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Magic shows (either for each other or for Heartland’s kids), dueling, and cooking~Where is their favourite place to cuddle? On the couch, in front of a movie - Though second place goes to in bed (especially after a nightmare).Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Aoi~How often do they get time to themselves? Before they have kids, pretty often; they have quite a few pets and help in rebuilding Heartland, but otherwise they live alone and enjoy it. After they have kids, their time alone is usually kept to when the house is otherwise empty, or in the evenings, when all the kids’re in bed

Sleeping:

Who snores? Neither~ One of them might occasionally snort of make a noise, but there’’s not really any snoring~If both do, who snores the loudest? Neither~Do they share a bed or sleep separately? When they first started living together, they slept separately, save for when nightmares hit. After getting together, though, they kindda migrated towards sharing a bed.If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Cozy up~ Who talks in their sleep? Aoi does, though it’s incredibly rare and usually due to a really severe nightmare-What do they wear to bed? Aoi has a pair of short pink plaid shorts and a light pink tanktop, though she later picks up a nightgown or two for warmer nights. Dennis likely ends up in sleep pants and a random shirt~Are either of your muses insomniacs? They have odd night when neither of them can seep, but they’re not exactly insomniacs-Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Not unless one of them is really sick and can’t sleep.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Wrap their limbs around each other~ Aoi’s a cuddler when it comes to bedtime - even if they don’t stay that way, they at least start with it~Who wakes up with bed hair? They both do, but Dennis’s is more easily managed XDWho wakes up first? Dennis! Aoi rarely ever gets up before he does~Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? They’re both prone to this, but slightly more Aoi. She loves spoiling him rotten~What is their favourite sleeping position? If they’re not spooning to sleep, Aoi’s snuggled up into his side with his arms loosely wrapped around her Who hogs the sheets? Dennis~ Half the time as a joke, the other half just naturally tangling up in them~Do they set an alarm each night? While Dennis doesn’t nessecarially need one, they keep one set for Aoi, just to make sure she’s not sleeping in to noon. XD Otherwise, they only really set one if they have to be up early the next morning, of if it’s a school day and they need to get their kids up.Can a television be found in their bedroom? A small one, perhaps - Not too often used, but when it is it’s usually for cheap horror movies XDWho has nightmares? Both. They don’t exactly like talking about them, but they do.Who has ridiculous dreams? Aoi - Bear in tutus anyone? XDWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Aoi does, though usually as a joke XD Occassionally she finds Dennis doing it and she cracks up every time~Who makes the bed? Team effort~!What time is bed time? Whenever they get there, really? They enjoy stargazing and have a habit of falling asleep on the couch cuddling, so they rarely have a set bed time for themselves - But they do set one for the kids~Any routines/rituals before bed? Aoi spends some time letting down and brushing out her hair, and they brush their teeth together. Dennis checks and makes sure the doors are locked and the pets (and kids) are comfortable and settled, and after some joking and teasing, it’d off to bed they go~ Though the teasing tends to wind down into some softer, lighter talking once they’re under the covers~Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Dennis, until he gets his coffee

Work:

Who is the busiest? Originally Dennis, since he’s more active in the rebuilding efforts and magic shows (With his co-star, Aoi~), though Aoi catches up once she starts making clothes to sell.Who rakes in the highest income? Kindda tied? Possibly moreso Dennis-Are any of your muses unemployed? For a bit, they both technically are, though his ties to Academia ensure he still has work if he needs it, though they both later end up working.Who takes the most sick days? Aoi, considering she works from home and is her own boss~Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Still Aoi~Who sucks up to their boss? Dennis XDWhat are their jobs? They both volunteer and help rebuild Heartland, and also put on magic shows for the kids. Aside from that, Dennis still holds ties to Academia and teaches the XYZ Dimension’s kids how to duel and how to be dueltainers. Aoi occasionally joins in on his classes, but she also starts a clothing line to help out everyone.Who stresses the most? Pretty even- Aoi’s more likely to show it, though.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Absolutely love it~ Aside from Academia, Aoi’d still be happy to see the place roast-Are your muses financially stable?For the most part, yep. They’re not gonna go on any extravagant spending spree, but they really don’t have to worry about too much.

Home:

Who does the washing? Aoi~Who takes out the trash? Dennis~Who does the ironing? Aoi, only because she swears he’d probably try a magic trick with the iron and would rather not nurse a burn - She’s teasing, though~!Who does the cooking? They both do, and they have fun with it~Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Neither!Who is messier? Aoi, though she tries not to be~Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Aoi might occasionally, but it’s not often-Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Rarely on both of them, but it’s usually on days they’re both drop-dead tired and just want to crawl into bed.Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither~Who is the prankster around the house? Both of them like you wouldn’t believe-! XD Pranking is one of their favorite passtimes XDWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Aoi does - It’s why she hands Dennis the keys and lets him handle it, especially after losing them a few dozen times!Who mows the lawn? Dennis~Who answers the telephone? They both do, but there’s something about hearing Dennis say “Mackfield residence” that just makes her melt Who does the vacuuming?Aoi, partly because she loves listening to music while she does and singing and dancing along the way~Who does the groceries? Team effort! Planning meals is a lot esier when they do the shopping together~Who takes the longest to shower? Aoi, because she keeps stopping to daydream and spends more time with her hair XDWho spends the most time in the bathroom? Still Aoi. She tends to spend a fair amount of time just tying her hair up into the usual pigtails, but that’s a step cut out after she gets pregnant.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Not really?How many cars do they own? Just one~ Aoi has no problems walking places, but with a family and pets a car was just a wise investment.Do they own their home or do they rent? Start out renting, likely eventually own~Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? In the city~ It’s kindda close to the coast, but not close enough, for sure.Do they live in the city or in the country? City~Do they enjoy their surroundings? Definitely! Aoi’s surprised with how much she loves living in Heartland~What’s their song? Magic - Colbie CaillatWhat do they do when they’re away from each other? Dennis has his magic tricks and dueling, among friends and kids to teach and companions in his performages, while Aoi has her sewing work and family in Yuya and Yugo and their friends to keep them distracted. The more days/longer they’re apart, though, the more they feel it - Spacing out, looking for ways to get in touch with each other, thinking about going home… Aoi’s even prone to completely zoning out to the point even Yuya could drop a hip hippo on her and she’d not notice for several minutes.Where did they first meet? Er… Maiami City?How did they first meet? Aoi was recruited to help out with keeping people hydrated on an overly hot day - And among those people was Dennis, taking a break from the heat. Handing him a sandwich led to a flower… And from a flower to a friendship~Who spends the most money when out shopping? Aoi; she has a habit of spacing out prices on things and not paying attention to how much she’s spending until after the fact. Thankfully it doesn’t happen often and rarely, if ever, does she go too overboard (and never to the point it’d put them in financial trouble), but she never fails t feel absolutely horrible about it afterwards.Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? There’s a few chuckles, but they’re restricted to falls that don’t cause any hurts. Otherwise, there’s just a cheery smile and a reach to help the other up~Any mental issues? There’s a bit of PTSD-Who’s terrified of bugs? Aoi. NO CREEPY CRAWLIES THANKS-Who kills the spiders around the house? Dennis, because Aoi’s up on that table over there-Their favourite place? Aoi would argue anywhere where they can be together, but there’s a particular place they go for stargazing that might just be it-Who pays the bills? Team effort~ Do they have any fears for their future? Aoi still fears Academia, and worries about peace falling through because of them. They both worry about how things’ll work out sometimes, and both fuss over their kids. All it takes is one person looking at their kids (or them) like Academia did for them to worry.Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? They both do, though slightly more Dennis~Who uses up all of the hot water? Aoi occasionally (rarely) does fussing over her hair~Who’s the tallest? Dennis, by a full head~Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both guilty~ It’s sometimes for the sake of getting in and out as fast as possible on days they need to rush, but mostly just because they can XDWho wanders around in their underwear? On a hot day, more than likely gonna find Aoi doing it-Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Aoi~!What do they tease each other about? Everything. XD Dennis loves getting her blushing and flustered and thinks it’s cute when she is, and Aoi loves to tease him over just about anything~Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Hands down Dennis. XD While he’s not always a fashion icon himself, Aoi’s style is definitely not always the best and she knows his flinches are a “Please no” XDDo they have mutual friends? They do! Nearly all their friends are mutual ones- The only ones that aren’t, really, are Yuri (Aoi hates him, Dennis is his friend), Yugo (Doesn’t exactly like Dennis), Yuto (not fond of Fusion natives in the first place), and Shun (would probably still rather outright deck Dennis).Who crushed first? More than likely Aoi~Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nope~Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Neither-Who swears the most? Neither one of them really swears often in the least? Perhaps slightly more Dennis?

#Dueltorn #Pocket Full of Sunshine [Denoi] #Magicshipping is made of sweetness <3 #long post #They're such dorks <3

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

The Forging of the Wolf, Chapter 9

Aedion’s backstory continues.  Mildly NSFW.  Trigger warning for attempted sexual assault and PTSD symptoms.  Read Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4.  Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7.  Chapter 8. 

Paget’s camp ran like a dream, Aedion decided a month into his tenure there.  The more experienced officers were eager to involve the newer ones, regardless of rank.  They, in turn, helped train the regulars and recruits, rather than that training being left to a couple of lower ranking officers as been protocol at Perrington’s.  As newly made lieutenants, he and his fellows were being taught how to manage large groups of men both in training and in battle, and how to foster obedience to their commanding officer.  Yet respectful debate was encouraged, and good points were listened to regardless of who made them.  

It reminded him of Terrasen.

His fellow officers were by and large good men, though there were a couple who seemed to delight too much in their newfound status.  He enjoyed whenever he was paired with them in training, as he got to knock them down a peg or two.  General Paget would ride out whenever it was horse work, and even though he was fifty five if he was a day he was still an outstanding horseman and intimidating opponent.  Those were Aedion’s favorite sessions, and Avenar proved her worth again and again.  Then there were the private sessions with Captain Paget.  It was remarkably satisfying to be able to punch something as hard as he could, and the captain had him hold weights to increase his speed even more.  Not to mention the fun of the constant bantering with innuendo that bordered on flirtatious.  Captain Paget - Mikkal - had also insisted that he eat more, so his plate was always loaded.  It still felt like he could never get enough.  

And once a week the officers had social time in town.  It was essentially glorified whoring, but Aedion wasn’t about to object.  The evenings off afforded him the time to grab a new book and eat an extra meal before satisfying other appetites.  

On one such night he lay on his back, panting, between two women in similar situations.  He had always wondered what one man could manage to do with two women, and it turned out the possibilities far exceeded his imagination.  It had never occurred to him that they might also enjoy each other’s skills; nor how much fun that would be for him to observe.  One of the women stirred, brushing her fingers over his chest, and he pulled her to him for a thorough kiss.  He just needed a few more minutes…

A faint scream hit his ear, and he was out of bed before anyone could blink.  Yanking his pants on, he ran out of the room shirtless and barefoot, the calls of the women he’d left echoing after him.  At the bottom of the stairs, he paused, listening; he could hear muffled sobbing now, coming from down the hall.  Tracking the sound, he burst through the door it came from, ripping the hinges straight off.  Lieutenant Harcourt was in there, pants down, tearing at the clothes of a terrified girl lying prone on the bed.  He froze as Aedion roared in rage and grabbed him by the throat.  As Aedion dragged him through the hallways and out onto the street, Harcourt made enough noise fighting his hold that doors slammed open throughout the inn.  

When they reached the open air, Aedion threw him down the front steps.  “What the hell is your problem?” Harcourt yelled as soon as he had breath.  

“My problem, you son of a bitch, is that you were about to rape an innocent girl!”

Harcourt tried to laugh derisively, though it came out as more of a squeak.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you stupid bastard,” he sneered.  “She wanted it, you had no right to interfere.”

“Her screams would suggest otherwise.”  Aedion could feel himself shifting into a cold rage.  All of his senses were heightened even more than typical; he could hear the heartbeats of the people clustered in the open doorway behind him, could still smell the salt of the girl’s tears, the acidity of her fear.  “You’re so weak you have to prove yourself by taking some poor child by force?”  He spat in the dirt at Harcourt’s feet.

Harcourt lunged at him, and Aedion struck him on the cheek, hard enough to knock him back a little but not enough to break anything.  Swearing, the man charged him again, and Aedion’s knuckles buried themselves in his gut.  Harcourt fell to his knees, retching.  When he’d finished he leaped up, wiping his mouth, and came at him a third time.  One more blow, this one to his ribs, hard enough to bruise bone, had Harcourt down on one knee, gasping out, “You don’t outrank me, you can’t do this!”

“I’ll take the censure if it comes, you fucking prick.”

“I don’t see how you can hold yourself up as some sort of..” he sputtered incoherently for a while, before spitting out, “You fucking killed a man for no good reason.”

“And you would do well to remember that,” Aedion snarled, and Harcourt blanched at the promise of death in his face.  Aedion prowled down the steps and bent low over his fellow lieutenant.  “You might think you’re some sort of stallion who can breed whatever filly he wants,” he murmured softly.  “But I wouldn’t even need a knife to geld you, if you ever touch a woman without her consent again.”  Grabbing the back of Harcourt’s shirt, he yanked him to his feet.  Turning back to the inn, someone tossed him Harcourt’s pants, and he threw them on the ground in front of him.  The crowd parted as he stalked through, but there were a few gentle pats on his back as he passed.  He went to the room where the girl was still clutching at the sheets, sobbing quietly, and knelt gently on the floor next to the bed.  

“Are you all right, honey?” he asked gently.  She nodded, then burst into a fresh round of tears.  He sighed, wanting to comfort her but could see his presence was only scaring her more.  The innkeeper’s wife bustled in with a basin of water and a washcloth, and he rose to let her help the girl.  Out in the hallway, the innkeeper was hovering, looking anxious.  Aedion apologized for damaging the door, but the man waved that off, thanking him for intervening.  Now that the situation was under control, he could feel the blackness pressing down on him and fought to retain consciousness.  He trailed back up the stairs to the room, leaning heavily on the bannister, everything around him going gray.  The women were gone, thank the gods.  He almost made it into the bathing room before his knees gave out and he vomited up his dinner.  There were spots in his vision and a buzzing in his ears, as wave after wave of nausea hit him.  Finally he became aware of a cool dry hand on his forehead.  Litton.  His face was grim as he helped Aedion to his feet and handed him his shirt.  He stayed with him while he put on his socks and tied his boots, not speaking, until Aedion stood up to leave.  Then, Litton pulled him into a quick embrace.  

“Thank you, my brother,” Aedion said, looking steadily into Litton’s face.  The two men clapped each other’s shoulders, and Aedion headed down to walk home alone.

*****

Mikkal had kept his vow to himself for a full month, which was about three times longer than he had expected to manage given his constant close contact with Lieutenant Ashryver.  Indeed, he was beginning to congratulate himself on his self-control when the man in question swaggered into the officer’s lounge, brushing past him on the way to the small bar.  Like most of the unmarried officers he had evidently spent the evening in town, and he reeked of sex and ladies’ perfume.  Mikkal had stayed at camp ostensibly to finish the week’s reports, taking advantage of everyone’s absence to spread his papers out all over the table in the lounge.  In reality, he wanted to avoid temptation.

It looked like temptation had found him.

No.  He would go back to his quarters and finish up there.  As he started to gather up his files, Ashryver flopped down in the chair opposite, sliding a glass across the table at him before propping his feet up and leaning back.  “Thought you could use a drink,” he said, smiling crookedly.  “I know I’d need one to get through all that shit.”

Mikkal huffed.  “Seems like you’ve had a few already.”  But he picked up the drink and took a sip, rolling it in his mouth before swallowing the burn.

“Not really.”

Mikkal looked at him more closely, at his glittering eyes and the aggression that seemed to be pouring off of him; usually he kept it more tightly leashed.  But he certainly didn’t seem intoxicated.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.  Sir,” Ashryver said, the honorific an afterthought; he got to his feet and prowled over to the bar.  Mikkal waited.  “It’s just…Nothing.”

“You know I’ll hear about it eventually,” Mikkal said evenly.  

“There are plenty of women who are ready and willing in town.  Plenty.”  He walked around the room, coming to a halt next to the table, looking down at Mikkal, who nodded, unsure where this was going.  “So why do I have to pull a fellow officer off a fourteen year old girl who’s not?”

That was when Mikkal noticed the bruised and cracked knuckles.  “Who.”

“Harcourt.  Don’t worry, I got there in time.  Barely.  And the bastard’s not going to try anything like that again, or I told him he’d lose the ability permanently.”  

At least it was another lieutenant and Ashryver hadn’t assaulted and threatened a superior officer.  Mikkal closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Technically, it should have been reported to a superior and they should have dealt with it, but realistically there probably hadn’t been time.  Also, technically, he was reporting it now.  “How badly did you hurt him?”

“He’ll have some good bruises but I didn’t break anything.  Except his sense of entitlement.”

Mikkal laughed; he couldn’t help it.  This camp had never held with taking women by force, though he was aware it was all too common elsewhere.  He would back Ashryver up, and more to the point so would his father.  He held out his hand.  “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Ashryver reached out with the injured hand.  It was his left, though Mikkal knew by now that he favored his right.  Inspecting the knuckles, Mikkal noticed that several of the fingers were crooked.  “How did you break these?”  He brushed them lightly with his thumb and pretended not to notice the shiver that followed.

“Umm.”  His voice cracked a little.  “They were broken in a fight a few months ago.”

“Why did you punch someone with a hand that’s been broken that recently?”  And how had he not known about this?  He’d been having the boy punch weighted bags for the past month.

“Because if I’d hit him with my right I probably would’ve done a lot more than I meant.”  

Mikkal brushed his thumb over the fingers again, then released his hand and looked up into those strange, beautiful eyes.  “How was the rest of your evening?” he asked quietly.

“Satisfactory,” Ashryver replied, that one corner of his mouth hitching up again.

Definitely time to leave.  Mikkal stood, tapped his files against the table a few times to get them to line up, and headed for the door.  Ashryver downed his drink, then turned out the lamp and followed him, reaching him just before he could turn the handle.  That bruised hand appeared over his shoulder to press on the door, holding it closed.  Mikkal turned around to find them inches apart.  His eyes focused on the other man’s mouth, the little dent in the upper lip.  Ashryver was the only man he’d ever met who made him feel small.  It wasn’t so much the few inches in height but the breadth of his frame.  Even though he was lean - too lean, despite all the work they’d been doing to build his body up - he was still utterly overwhelming.

His eyes flicked up and were caught by the intense expression in the lieutenant’s.  Holding his gaze, Ashryver leaned in and covered his mouth with his own.  Mikkal felt himself melting into the kiss, much as he had that first time all those weeks ago.  Ashryver’s tongue brushed his lips and he opened for him.  He reached up to cup his face, to drag him in even deeper, and ended up bashing him in the shoulder with his files.  Ashryver broke off abruptly and looked down at the papers in confusion.  

“Ignore it,” Mikkal said, and dropped them on the floor.  Ashryver chuckled and returned to the job at hand, pressing him back against the door, that long lean thigh between his own.  Their hands began roaming over each other’s clothes, and Mikkal couldn’t stop his body’s response, didn’t even want to.  Ashryver clearly felt it pressing into his hip and he gave a soft groan into his mouth.  He tugged harder at Mikkal’s shirt, sliding those callused fingers directly over heated skin as soon as he found a gap.  Mikkal let his own hand wander down, feeling the smooth ridges of the younger man’s muscles through the thin fabric, then down further to palm him gently through his pants.  Ashryver jerked slightly with a soft curse, then leaned into the touch, continuing to explore Mikkal’s back with his hand.  

Suddenly he froze, listening intently to something Mikkal couldn’t hear.  “Shit,” he whispered.  “The others are back.”  Mikkal wondered how he knew.  “What should we do?”

He heard it then, the faintest of voices.  “I don’t…” He couldn’t think over the roaring of blood through his veins.  Ashryver kissed him once more, softly, then pulled away.  Picking up the papers, he handed them to Mikkal, then moved him gently out of the way.  Opening the door, he sauntered casually into the night.  Mikkal could hear the other men calling out a drunken greeting, and Ashryver replying in kind.  He waited until the men had passed, then slipped out and headed to his quarters.  An hour later, he was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, fighting an absurd urge to cry.

*****

A month had passed.  A month of living in relative luxury, delivering letters, and waiting.  In which Delaney had learned nothing of the message she had brought hundreds of miles to Terrasen.  In which there were whispers on the street of the resurrection of a prince thought dead, of rebellion, of the rousing of the Bane.  In which there were hushed meetings behind closed doors and people coming and going in the night.  In which nobody smiled, but everybody began to feel a tiny spark, smothered long ago, glowing deep in the ashes of Terrasen.

*****

The weeks continued to slip by.  The lieutenants were divided into pairs to start working with regulars, organizing drills and planning forays out into the field.  Aedion was paired with Amond.  He was a nice enough fellow; the third son of a minor lord, he had ended up in the military more or less by accident and seemed determined to make the best of it.  Together they schemed and organized and trained, and Aedion loved every second of it.  Loved finding the rhythm of the work, the new ways to challenge the men and keep them interested, breaking the monotony of routine while not disrupting the comfort that comes with familiarity.  And he loved the few stolen moments he found with Mikkal, their brief clashes of lips and breath that never went farther but somehow left him more sated than his trysts with women in town.

One afternoon, Major Ivry asked him to run into town to pick up something for his wife.  He liked Mrs. Ivry; she was cheerful and funny and so pregnant she looked like she was going to rupture at any moment.  Hopping on Avenar, who needed the exercise and made the first few moments of the ride interesting, he made it into town to the herbalist just moments before the skies opened in a summer squall.  While waiting out the worst of it, the innkeeper’s wife saw him and began making a fuss.  Naturally this drew the older generation of women out of the woodwork who all clustered around him, telling him how noble he was, how wonderful it was to have officers with such a sense of honor, and so handsome too.  Flushing beet red, he made his excuses and grabbed Avenar from her tie under the building’s overhang.  The rain had lightened some, but he and his horse were both soaked through before they passed through the gates.  At least the herbs were safe in their waxed paper in his satchel, and he handed them off to Mrs. Ivry.

“Oh, thank you, Lieutenant.  I’d have gone myself, but the major wouldn’t have any of that.  He told me he couldn’t have me be dropping the baby on the public street.  And here I’ve got another month to go!”  She laughed, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of men, and patted Aedion on the cheek.  He bowed and retreated, blushing fiercely again and cursing his complexion.  

Once safely in his room, he realized he was dripping all over the floor.  Stripping off his sodden clothes, he toweled off and then began digging through his wardrobe.  Shit.  He’d forgotten that he’d sent his spare shirt to the laundry for repair.  With a sigh, he pulled out a short-sleeved training shirt.  It wasn’t protocol to wear off the pitch, but he could get a fresh shirt from the laundry before dinner.

He was about the pull the shirt over his head when there was a token tap on the door and Mikkal entered, focused on a paper in his hand.  “Sorry to intrude, Ashryver, Litton said…” he trailed off as he looked up and realized he had just walked into a room with a very naked Aedion in it.

Aedion raised an eyebrow.  “What did Litton say?”  A grin began to spread across his face at Mikkal’s distraction, those amber eyes roving over his body.  

“He, umm.  He said you were, um, in here.”  He dragged his eyes up to meet Aedion’s, then reached behind him and closed the door.  

“So I am,” Aedion said, and closed the distance between them in two strides.  “What did you need?” he murmured in Mikkal’s ear.  

“It can wait,” he replied, dropping the paper on the small desk by the door and pulling Aedion down the couple inches to meet his lips.  

It was so easy, Aedion thought, slipping his tongue into Mikkal’s mouth, so easy to lose himself in this man.  He yanked Mikkal’s shirt free and pulled back to watch him tug it over his head.  Then they were chest to chest, and he savored the skin on skin contact, the feel of those hard muscles against his own.  Their hands roamed, and it was getting hard to tell where he ended and Mikkal began.  So easy to lose himself, and to love being lost.

Which was why he didn’t feel the wave of icy black coming until it crashed over him and dragged him under.

*****

Mikkal had never felt so helpless in all his life as he did when Aedion collapsed in his arms.  It was too sudden and Aedion too big for him to do more than control the fall.  At first he thought it was some sort of seizure, but Aedion’s eyes were open and staring, horror-filled, as if it were more of a waking nightmare.  Then the retching began, and he helped him onto his hands and knees as bile poured out of his mouth and nose.  This must be what Litton had told him about when he came to him the day after the incident with Harcourt.  No wonder Litton had been so shaken.

It seemed to last forever.  He thought about calling for help as more spasms of nausea wracked that huge frame, but he didn’t want to have to explain the lack of clothing.  And Litton had said he’d come out of it on his own eventually.  So he waited, crouched on the floor with one arm steadying his shoulders, using his body to stabilize them both until finally Aedion pulled away and sat down, back against the wall, arms resting on his knees.  There was an odd sort of defiance in the tear-bright eyes, and Mikkal sat back and waited quietly, not breaking eye contact.

He must be ill, somehow.  When he had burst in on Aedion he had been first struck by his sheer beauty, but it hadn’t escaped him that despite his muscle mass, those bones were far too clearly visible.  Holding him as he had been sick made it even more obvious.  Mikkal wondered how long it had been going on, how he had successfully hidden it.  He certainly ate plenty, more than any of the others, especially since they’d decided he was underweight, but if anything he seemed to be getting leaner.  “I want you to see the healer,” he finally said, little louder than a whisper.

“I’m fine,” Aedion replied.  He leaned his head back until it rested against the wall, closing his eyes and rubbing his face.

“You’re not fine.  You’re losing weight, you’re vomiting -”  

Aedion dropped his hands and glared at him.  “I don’t want to see the healer,” he snapped.  “There’s nothing wrong, this just…happens sometimes.”  

Mikkal thought for a moment.  Behind the flash of anger there was a glimmer of fear, and he supposed that having the official camp healer diagnose him with some sort of illness could impact his status.  “What if I took you to an outside healer?”

“What?”  

Mikkal stood and grabbed the paper he’d brought off the desk.  “I was coming to ask you if you were familiar at all with Oakwald.  I’ve been assigned to do a little scouting training there, and I wanted to visit beforehand to plan.  But I haven’t spent much time in the forest, and I thought perhaps you had.”

Aedion nodded warily.  “Yes, I know the forest well, at least on the Terrasen side.”

“So…what if we go together to plan the training exercise, and find a healer on the way?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t need a healer.”

Mikkal smiled, a slow, lazy smile that he knew would get under Aedion’s skin.  “Then it will be a short visit.”

Lurching to his feet, Aedion stalked to his bureau and pulled on some pants, then picked the shirt up from where he had discarded it and pulled it over his head.  “You’re not going to let this go, are you.”

“Would it help if I made it an order?”

Cursing, Aedion went to his washbasin, poured himself a glass of water, and rinsed his mouth several times.  Then he crossed back to Mikkal, pushing into his space, but Mikkal planted his feet.  They stared at each other, so close that details blurred.  “Fine,” he said, and his breath hitting Mikkal’s cheek almost made him shiver.  “I’ll see a healer, but only because I want to take this trip with you.”

Mikkal’s reply was not in words.

*****

Delaney came down to breakfast one morning to find a stranger sitting at the table.  Clery had still not descended, but the fair-haired man seemed quite at home despite his dusty clothes and pungent smell.  He looked up from happily slapping jam on a piece of toast.  “Good morning, miss,” he greeted her in a cheerful Adarlanian accent, slurping some coffee.  

“Good morning,” she murmured automatically, and sat down a bit dazedly in her usual chair.  Shaking her head to clear it, she pulled the silver teapot closer and poured herself a cup, adding her usual heaping teaspoon of sugar.  Clery burst into the room, making Delaney slosh her tea everywhere, and pulled the stranger into an enthusiastic hug.  

“Fulke!  I didn’t expect you back so soon.  When did you return?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” Fulke replied with a grin.  “I came straight here, as you can see.”  He gestured to his stained clothes.

“And what news from Paget’s camp?”

Delaney startled at the name and leaned forward, feeling her pulse all the way in her fingertips.  

Fulke settled back in his chair with the air of someone preparing to tell a good story.  “Well, it seems the new lieutenant class has made a bit of a splash.  All was pretty quiet in town when I arrived.  I was staying at the main inn, just like we talked about, trying to feel out if there might be some work available in the camp itself.  I’d only been there three days when I was wakened out of a sound sleep by a ruckus the likes of which I’ve never heard before.  Out on the front step was a half-naked giant of a man, beating the shit out of some fool lieutenant who’d evidently tried to take a young girl to bed against her will.  It was young Ashryver.”  He shook his head, chuckling.

“Ashryver tried to rape a young girl?” Clery asked, aghast.  Delaney almost laughed, the idea was so ludicrous, and Fulke looked contrite at the misunderstanding.

“No, no, he was doing the beating.  And let me tell you, there’s no doubt that boy was trained by Rhoe.  Dropped the man in three blows.  Nobody in that camp is ever going to force a woman as long as he’s around, not after that.”

Clery sagged in relief.  “And you’re sure it’s him.”

“No doubt.  He looks just the same, only bigger.  Could never mistake those eyes, anyway.”

“Aedion’s all right?” Delaney interjected, needing to hear the confirmation.  Fulke looked at her in some confusion.

“Sorry, this is Delaney, the girl who brought us the message,” Clery introduced her.  “Delaney, Fulke is one of my…associates.”

“I’m one of his spies, he means,” Fulke said, adding, “Come on, man, it’s gotta be obvious,” in response to Clery’s glare.

“But Aedion really is all right.”  She would not be deterred.

Fulke nodded.  “Yes, he certainly is.”  Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked furiously.  The fair-haired man smiled at her kindly.  “You must have been…close.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, knowing what he was implying.  “He’s like my brother,” she said.  “As dear to me as my real one.”

Clery began questioning about more general matters then, and Delaney paid close attention even though her heart was singing.  Fulke answered in great detail about the layout of the town, the proximity to the camp, the frequency of visits from the officers, and the ease of traveling there from Terrasen.  Evidently despite Clery’s acquiescence to Darrow, he was still developing a contingency to get Aedion out of Adarlan altogether if necessary.

After breakfast, she was sent out with just one letter, but it was to a country house well away from the city.  Part of her wondered if it was to get her out of the way while Clery and Fulke plotted, but she didn’t mind.  It was a glorious day in high summer, and even Horse didn’t seem to object too much to being ridden out, though that may have been because of all the tall grass lining the road.  As the sun beat down on her and she could practically feel her smattering of freckles darkening, she thought about Fulke.  About the advantages Terrasen could find in having spies of Adarlanian descent.  About her own skill in getting around unnoticed, and her longing to do something other than eating all of Clery’s food and waiting, always waiting.  After delivering the letter and receiving her reply - and a delicious lunch, courtesy of the bustling cook - she returned to the city.  

Dropping the letter onto Clery’s desk, she stood straight and proud before him and announced, “I want to learn to be a spy.”

*****

Aedion shouldn’t have been surprised at the ease with which Mikkal arranged their trip, but he was.  They would travel due west to a small town that bordered Oakwald forest, then spend two or three days exploring the area to determine how best to set up the scout training.  The training itself would take place in a month or two, after the lieutenants were all made and had received their assignments.  Which meant it was possible neither Aedion nor Mikkal would be present for the actual training, so their notes would have to be meticulous.

Avenar seemed glad to be on the road again, or perhaps she was feeding off Aedion’s mood.  The weather was glorious, and the rich scents of baking earth and growing plants filled his nostrils.  He and Mikkal joked and laughed for most of the trip, interspersed with brief snatches of more serious talk about the challenges of training in the forest compared to on the plains.  It was well past noon and getting on towards evening when they reached the tiny town, little more than a village.  Mikkal asked a passing farmer if there was a town healer, and they were directed to a small cottage right on the outskirts, backing up against the woods.

The healer was a pleasant faced, pleasantly curved middle-aged woman who nonetheless made Aedion edgy.  She welcomed them into her cottage, directing him into a clean, bright room that smelled pungently of herbs.  As Mikkal followed him into the room, she glared at him.  “And who are you?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“I’m his commanding officer,” Mikkal replied, drawing himself up to his full height.

She glanced at Aedion, comically unimpressed.  “Is it all right with you if he stays?”

“It’s fine, he’s the reason I’m here,” he said with a disarming smile, adding silently in his head, Because I’m incapable of saying no to him.

She closed the door and, gesturing Aedion onto a stool, sat on a small chair opposite him.  Mikkal hovered behind him.  “What brings you here today?”

Feeling a bit foolish, he replied, “I’m having trouble putting on weight.”

She looked him up and down with a knowing eye.  “Is that the sole complaint?”

Aedion started to say yes, but Mikkal spoke over him.  “And you’re having those episodes.”

Nearly growling, Aedion turned to Mikkal and snapped, “I’m not having episodes.”  Turning back to the healer, he added more gently, “I’m not.”

“You’ve had two that I know of,” Mikkal retorted, not backing down an inch.  “Yes,” he said in response to Aedion’s self-conscious look, “I got the full report of what happened with Harcourt, so don’t give me any bullshit about it.”

The healer was watching them with some amusement.  “Define episodes.”

“He collapses.”

She turned to Aedion for confirmation.  “If I get…upset, or emotional,” he said with a warning glare at Mikkal, “I vomit and get light-headed.”

Making a few notes on a small pad of paper, she asked, “How often does that happen?”

He shrugged.  “It varies.  I can go a month or more with nothing, then have two in a week.”

After asking a few more basic questions and jotting the answers down, she asked him to remove his shirt and examined him carefully, making more notes after examining his eyes and his mouth, then pressing an ear to his chest.  “How well do you sleep?” she asked, as she probed his abdomen.  

“It’s inconsistent.  Sometimes like the dead, other times I can’t settle, especially if I don’t fight or…” he trailed off, reluctant to say “fuck” to this motherly woman.

“Have relations?” she suppled drily.  He nodded, feeling the blood rise to his face.

“Well,” Mikkal muttered, “when it comes to that, I have the same problem.”

Finishing her examination, she pulled back and tapped her pen against her leg.  “Can you shift?”  He sat up straighter and eyed her warily, twisting his shirt in his hands.

“Shift?” Mikkal asked.  “What’s shift?”

Aedion ignored him, staring the healer right in the eye as she gazed back calmly.  He gave in first.  “No.”

“Could you…before?” She waved her hand in the air, and he knew she meant before magic vanished.  He shook his head, biting his cheek to keep from laughing at Mikkal’s baffled expression.

“Was it your mother or your father?”  

“It was,” he thought back to what he’d been told, “my mother’s…grandmother, I believe.”

She shook her head.  “That’s impossible.  It’s way too strong to be that distant.”

“What’s too strong?” Mikkal interjected.  “What are you talking about?”

“Mikkal. Shut. Up,” Aedion hissed.

“Commanding officer, you say?” the healer asked Mikkal sweetly, and he cursed under his breath.

“My cousin could shift, though my senses are better,” Aedion said, turning back to her.  “We shared the same amount of blood.  We were told it just bred true in our generation.”

“Hmm.”  The syllable was dripping with skepticism.  “Who was your father?”

His lips tightened slightly.  “Unknown; I’m a bastard.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mikkal supplied quietly.  If Aedion could have cold-cocked him without upsetting the healer, he would have.

The woman studied her paper, then him, continuing to ignore Mikkal.  “How old are you?” she asked abruptly.

“Sixteen.”  

“And you?” she said, turning to Mikkal.  

“Twenty four,” he responded automatically.  She gave him a disapproving glare.  “What?” he asked defensively, but she just turned back to Aedion.  

“How often do you eat?”

Aedion’s brow furrowed.  “Uh, three times a day?  Sometimes four, if I can manage it.”

She stood with a derisive snort.  “Well, then, there’s your problem.  Don’t you know demi-fae have to eat at least six times a day during adolescence?  You’re burning up the food too fast to follow human eating habits.”  Mikkal looked so shocked Aedion thought a strong breeze would take him off his feet.  “Of course, if you settle, you’ll be able to eat far less often.”  She ushered him to his feet, then opened the door to the small room and swept into the hallway, saying over her shoulder “Now, I’ve got to be going, if you don’t mind; I need to collect some herbs before dark.”  The men followed her, Mikkal still looking like he’d been punched in the balls, Aedion feeling a bit the same.  They were nearly out the door when Mikkal stopped.

“Wait, what about the episodes?  Why is he collapsing?” he asked.  

The healer looked at Aedion for a long moment, expression unfathomably sad.  “A totally normal response to trauma,” she said quietly.  He looked at the ground, unable to hold her clear-eyed gaze.

“Trauma?”  Mikkal repeated in little more than a whisper.

Throwing a red cloak over her shoulders, she locked her door behind her and patted Aedion on the arm as she passed.  “Be honest with your lover,” she said.  “And eat more frequently.”  With that, she walked into the woods and disappeared.

*****

It was a quiet ride back into the town proper.  Once, a number of years ago, Mikkal had taken a colt out that was only just started under saddle.  The horse had shied at a bird and set off in a series of back-cracking bucks; on the fourth leap, Mikkal had sailed over the colt’s head and landed flat on his back.  He still remembered the feeling of being utterly unable to move air, of feeling the earth sway beneath him even though he was laying down, of the nauseating spinning of his head.  He felt somewhat like that now.

Not that it was really so shocking that Aedion had fae blood, when you considered his size, his speed, and his strength.  He wondered if his father knew. If the King knew.  Remembering his recent conversation with his father, he suspected they did.  The general had pulled him aside before this trip and warned him to be careful of the young lieutenant.

Mikkal had laughed.  “I don’t need to worry about Ashryver,” he’d assured his father.  “I’ve never raped a woman, and I don’t plan on starting now.”

The general had huffed.  “I certainly hope not, son, or you’d have more than Ashryver to worry about.  Just…don’t forget what he’s capable of.”  Mikkal had pointed out that Aedion had deliberately used his off hand when he had punished Harcourt, and the general had looked grim.  “I know, son, and that’s part of what worries me.  A man who can show that type of control when he’s in a rage like that?  It’s not just you who needs to be worried about Ashryver.  We all do.”

He was still a bit lost in his thoughts when they reached the inn and requested a room for the night.  “One room or two?” the innkeeper asked.  He hesitated, uncertain what to say.

“Do you have a room with two beds?” Aedion asked smoothly.  He turned to Mikkal.  “Might as well save the general the coin.”  

“Of course,” the innkeeper said, and showed the to a large, airy room on the  top floor.  Mikkal ordered food, and then stopped the man before he departed and asked for another meal to be sent up right before the kitchens closed.  Aedion flashed him a quick smile in appreciation, then dropped his pack on the floor and fell back on one of the beds, just staring at the ceiling.  Mikkal sat on the other bed and pulled off his boots, wiggling his toes in relief.  He needed new ones, he noted idly; these ones always seemed to pinch.

After several minutes of silence, Aedion sat up and pulled off his own boots, setting them neatly by the bed.  Then he met Mikkal’s eyes and just…waited.

Mikkal opened his mouth to ask some sort of brilliant question about the implications of being demi-fae, but what blurted out was, “Does the age difference bother you?”

Aedion gaped at him in disbelief, then started laughing.  “After all that came out during that examination, that’s what you got caught up on?” he asked once he was able to recover his breath.  There was a knock on the door before Mikkal could reply, and he opened it to allow in a man carrying a tray with two heaping plates on it.  After setting the food and silver on the small table, Mikkal gave him a copper and the man bowed and retreated.

Mikkal sat at the table and picked up his fork; Aedion sat opposite him and fell on the food as a man starving.  Which, Mikkal thought with a twinge of guilt, he was.  “Yes,” he answered the question asked several minutes ago.  “It’s been bothering me for a while, actually.”

Aedion came up for air and met his eyes.  “Really?”  He nodded.  “How long?”

“Since I read your file.”  He gave a short, humorless laugh and decided he might as well confess.  “Otherwise I probably would’ve invited you to my bed a while ago.”

Taking another bite, Aedion chewed thoughtfully for a moment.  “But I’ve bedded women your age and nobody thinks twice about it.”

That hadn’t actually occurred to him.  “Well, but…it’s different with women.”

“Why?”

That was an excellent question.  Mikkal searched his mind for a reason.  “They’re less predatory.”

Aedion choked.  When he had finished coughing, he said wryly, “You’re fucking different women than I am, then.”  They ate in silence for a while, and finally Aedion set down his silver and leaned back in the chair.  “Let me get this straight.  I’ve been raised for war, trained for it since I could lift a wooden sword.  I’ve killed a dozen men that I know about, most of them when I was fourteen.  Are you telling me I’m old enough to kill a man, but not old enough to love one?”

There was no answer to that.  Mikkal didn’t want to even consider the ramifications of that word, even as a wild joy flared through him.  He cast about for a different topic.  “And you’re fae.”

Those turquoise eyes showed no surprise from the abrupt change in subject.  “Only part.  It’s not a secret.”  Mikkal narrowed his own eyes at him, and that one corner of his mouth lifted slightly.  “I’m an Ashryver,” he said by way of explanation.  “All Ashryvers have fae blood,” he added at Mikkal’s blank look.  “It might not be common knowledge over here, but I’m sure the King knows.  Probably how the healer did, come to think of it.”  Finishing his food, he stood and stretched, then pulled a book out of his pack and sat on his bed, back against the headboard, long legs crossed at the ankles.  The book sat on his lap, unopened.  Mikkal rose and sat himself at the foot of the same bed, pulling Aedion’s feet into his lap and beginning to massage them.  

There was something intimate about it, some dropping of a barrier as Aedion gave a little moan of pleasure.  He peeled off the socks and dug his thumbs into the ball of one foot, enjoying the feel of the strong arch and the smooth calluses beneath his fingers. “I’ve been in war camps my whole life,” Mikkal said quietly, watching his hands work, “and I trained in Rifthold for a year.  I fought in Terrasen and then in Fenharrow.  I’ve seen almost every torture that can be devised for a man.”  He glanced briefly up at Aedion’s guarded face before returning to his task.  “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you, but you can.  It won’t change how I feel about you.”

Aedion was silent for so long Mikkal was sure he wasn’t going to answer.  Then, in a soft voice so cracked with pain it didn’t even belong to him, he began.  He told about the confrontation with the man who’d broken his fingers, about the ambush with the corporal.  About being brought around with smelling salts solely so he would feel the terror of being trapped, the pain of the repeated violations.  About the threats and mocking words that had been whispered in his ear, the pinches to his thighs and balls every time he threatened to lose consciousness again.  About the overwhelming smell of blood and sex and his own fear that had saturated the room.  Mikkal kept his eyes down, barely daring to breathe, just absorbing the pain and humiliation that poured off this man he knew now, in this moment, he loved.  Only when Aedion admitted that it was exhaustion alone that had kept him from throwing himself off the watchtower afterwards did Mikkal’s own tears start to fall.

“So you see,” he concluded so quietly Mikkal had to lean closer to hear him, “I want to…be with you, but I…” Aedion’s voice broke completely then and Mikkal all but lunged to gather him in his arms.  Pulling him to his chest, he rocked him gently while Aedion’s whole body strained to control his weeping.  Mikkal sang to him as he held him, just the nonsense songs his mother used to sing when he was upset, over and over until his voice was growing hoarse and Aedion finally began to cry himself out.  

As Aedion quieted, Mikkal still held him close, gently brushing back that golden hair with his fingers.  Slowly, he felt him relax, and he pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.  They lay pressed together, Aedion’s head on his shoulder, their legs tangled.  Mikkal felt grateful for the tranquil closeness that came from the purging of such pain.  Eventually he realized that Aedion had fallen asleep, and he smiled a little despite himself as he rested his cheek against the top of his head.

He himself was fully awake.  The sky outside the windows was finally darkening, a rich deep blue stained with orange and pink at the bottom.  The day’s revelations crawled through his brain.  It was hard not to be angry at himself for not picking up on what had happened to Aedion; now that he knew, it seemed obvious.  He thought of the note he had found in his pocket after leaving the healer.  Be patient, it had said in a beautiful flowing script.  Be kind.

Aedion shifted slightly in his sleep, tucking himself in closer.  Mikkal realized that he had lied earlier when he had told Aedion the story wouldn’t affect how he felt towards him.  Well, not so much lied as been wrong.  He had known, before Aedion started talking, that he was brave; yet the guts it took to sit there in the lamp light and lay bare those soul scars was something he had never seen.  He couldn’t even comprehend it, it was so different from his brand of hot-blooded courage that took soldiers into battle.  Until tonight, he had cared for Aedion, had been attracted by him, even to the point of distraction; but now, this draw he felt was something he didn’t dare name for fear of destroying it.  The arm trapped underneath the broad shoulders began to tingle and slowly go numb, but he didn’t move.  This was the first time since he met him that Aedion had ever actually seemed content, and he couldn’t risk ruining that. So he waited, grateful for this moment of peace, wishing it would never end.

#aedion #aedion ashryver #tog #prequel #my writing

[estherkonamaay-blog]

Reaching Out With Birmingham

Sup y’all

Step 7: never ever never believe stereotypes

I spent two weeks on outreach in Muslim Birmingham in a convent.

Ok, so it was technically 13 days, in the predominantly Asian/Muslim/sikh/etc community of Alum Rock, East Birmingham, so not the whole of Birmingham is Muslim, and it’s an old convent so I haven’t been turned into a nun....yet.

Not sure how to write about a whole outreach, maybe I should have been writing this as I went through the weeks... nah! Sounds way too responsible.

Ummm, I suppose I should start with the prayers we had for the week. A big one that I particularly prayed for was rest and peace in God. I really wanted the weeks to feel relaxed and that I wouldn’t work myself up into a panic for no reason and wouldn’t suck up people’s stress and let that make me feel soggy and panicky.

Also praying for the actual outreach we kept getting the story of the Samaritan woman at the well who met Jesus. The leaders really sensed that for the whole trip, so we went into the trip with hope as our theme.

Another prayer was that God would be the centre of all our work and the focus would be about Him and not about church politics or about the art itself.

We got to Birmingham on Monday and met the people who lived there and were showed our rooms and blah blah blah. We especially met the two people who one of our staff members, Julia, works with and who came with us for most of our outreach activities. They were Amber and Helena and they were my favourite people of Birmingham(not taking into consideration our YWAM members).

The first week was predominantly focused on the work we were set to do with the cathedral in the centre of Birmingham. The cathedral and a lovely lady called Louisa gave us permission to put our artwork around the cathedral, initially on the walls but later they said we could only put them on the ground(which was better in the end because it looked weirder and made people look at it more than if they were just on the walls.

On the Tuesday we went out into Birmingham City in groups of 2 or 3 to take pictures of strangers and get a bit of their stories. This was for a project for Friday we were calling Beyond the Surface In the group I was in for the first wave before lunch there was Hannah and one of our leaders, Dave. We were sent off to a very abandoned area of the city as we found out after wandering around for half an hour or so. We spent half of the time punching each other when we saw yellow cars, but I don’t think Dave really got a hang of the ‘cars’ part and punched for dumpsters and a baby’s blanket in its pram.

When we moved further into the city centre, there were about 20 other people trying to stop people to sell them something and we soon found we started looking like them anytime we tried asking for a free picture from a very fast moving passerby.

People in Birmingham seemed even more unhappy about stopping than in Manchester and York combined. Funnily enough when our groups got together and compared how many photos we all got, some had like 8 and others had 2 so I’m not sure what happened.

On Wednesday was a day for getting all our photos and additional activities ready to be used on Friday. I was in a group supposed to do a response to the photos and quotes being exhibited. What had brainstormed a week before or something and come up with something. This initial idea was scrapped.

We decided to go for an instalment type thing where people could write their hopes and dreams on pieces of tracing paper, make them into paper aeroplanes which we could then string up to a giant cube frame that we would build. The idea is write your dreams and let them fly in away, but not really because they’d be in the cube frame.

The next part of the response was portraits. We decided to do 3 types of portraits. One would be literal portraits which I’d be doing, then there’d be poetry portraits which Jaima and a staff member called Garrett were to do, and last there’d be bracelets that Hannah would be doing. So once we had sorted the logistics and made a list of things to get we went on a road trip to shop, which was awesome. We went to a wood recycling company to get the wood for the massive cube and had to get it ordered for the next day. We then picked up some art stuff but not everything so we’d have to get some on the Friday.

The Thursday was different. We were going to a ladies group that takes place in a church and is mostly Muslim women so none of the male leaders could come. We joined in on their exercise activities while others did the crèche and others helped in the kitchen. It was awesome because after lunch which was a really nice soup, we got to do henna and stuff for the ladies. The other activities was a print making station where we’d ask the ladies to print things that meant treasure for them and we’d then exhibit them during a dinner the next Wednesday at the convent.

Let me be honest. Henna is hard. I mean difficult. Like really hard. Struggle type hard. Hurts your hand, always seems to co e out looking messy when I do it, just a stress. But I suppose it was fun...

The day that comes after Thursday is Friday. That day was the cathedral day. It started off super slow and I think it could have really stressed everyone out but I felt a weird calm over the stressful things of the day. Hannah, Julia and I went running around Birmingham for the first hour looking for alphabet beads, and tracing paper.

But once we had put down all the quotes, images and put up the cube, eaten lunch, and settle down to do the portraits, this went ok. It was a weird day because we got maybe 4-8 people to do the responses but it felt just the right amount. It was super calm even though one of the leaders threw pressure on me to start my portraits waaaaay before I was ready and 15 minutes before I was set to start. Not naming any names but (*garrett) was very mean to do that.

In the evenings of the Thursday and Friday that week we also got the opportunity to go on a night watch with some of the community members who had taken cleaning up the streets on themselves and so they sort of walk around and scare druggies and dealers off with a big torch and watch out for prostitutes so they aren’t abused or anything. The cool thing is they started in September when it was awful and now there’s literally no drug dealer or anyone anywhere. The park is clear when there’d been stoners everywhere and out of the 15 prostitutes, 3 or 2 have already gone to rehab or managed to get off the streets (the last two are going to rehab soon I think).

Anyway, the night watch was on Thursday and Friday at like 10-11 (they continued till 2/3 am but we had to go bedy bye).

Saturday we drove a lot to get to a pink church for something they call word by heart. This nice man basically gets us to act out Bible stories which meant we remembered them by the time we were done and they became relevant to us the closer we got to the characters.

Week 2

After a free Sunday we began the week going to ladies groups around Birmingham to get them to participate in the treasure project we had set up the previous Thursday with the printing. While some of us from Monday to Wednesday went in twos to these meetings, the others began individual art projects about the treasure we found in alum rock. It was back breaking trying to do our waaaaaay too elaborate projects in time for the Wednesday exhibition. I know me and Hannah stayed till 2 one night trying to get them done.

(You know when you’ve worked on a piece and sweated away and then you realise it doesn’t look very impressive to you and you just wish you could have made it 10 feet taller?)

On the Wednesday evening families from the community groups we had been to came to look at the exhibition of their art work and ours while enjoying some lovely food.

I hid with the kids.

Events are getting less and less detailed as this blog gets longer and longer.

Thursday was another date with the ladies’ day. Some more exercise which is always welcome. There was a play about Easter. There was lunch and I played with the kids again.

Then there was Good Friday! One of our staff, Julia had an exhibition she was doing for her church during an event called 12 hours where for each hour something was happening at their church. It was absolutely electric! We got there for 12(or was it 1?) and there were these dancers that used hoops hanging from the ceiling. All the way around the building were instalments and art pieces that were both visual and interactive and it was all so creating and touching and beautiful and it literally was one of the best things I have ever seen. Each piece was done by someone else but for some reason happened to work so perfectly with everything else.

Julia’s work was the Garden of Gethsemane and she did it by suspending sheets of translucent fabric from the ceiling of a darkened section of the church and using many projectors to project videos of trees and greenery. Then she had prayer sheets and cushions and you could go in about the strips of trees and meditate and pray. The overall effect was a gorgeous calming place. It was just so beautiful.

That day I got to see what art could really do in serving God’s people in not just a cheesy way it normally does.

To be very honest I’m really tired of this blog but I have now given a full if scanty account of all the happenings of Birmingham.

Tomorrow we are planning to have a special Easter meal at our base back in York. Just have to bare the bus ride back and tally-ho!

Note to all in case you cared: I for some reason don’t feel hungry anymore unless I’ve gone most of the day without food. Should I be worried?

Yours

Esther

[miraclemin-blog]

a little? a lot.

Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung are caught breaking some rules they shouldn’t be and their solution isn’t exactly...the best. OR The fic in which Kim Taehyung, the current king of Wizarding Korea, finds himself in a rather sticky situation that leaves him enjoying the smile of a certain Slytherin a little too much.

AU// HP AU, royalty au, fake dating au

OKAY SO... Neither this fic nor my love of this ship would exist without the beautiful twitter user daeguholic. I promised this fic to her a long time ago and when she mentioned that it was her birthday, well I just couldn’t escape using the celebration as a justification for my procrastinating to actually write this for her. I know this is a mess of a bunch of different AUs and concepts but I think I pulled it together pretty well and I hope you all give it lots of love, even if I’m still a little unsure! I love you Meah and I hope you have an amazing birthday!

The wizarding world had always been a little disconnected from the outside non-magical societies - sure they mixed on occasion and there was some crossover in culture - it wasn’t like they spoke entirely different languages - but if you had any possession of magic, there was a high likelihood you were out of touch with the regular populus.

Distance from the general population was however; amplified in Kim Taehyung’s case.

The traditional Korean monarchy had died out with the Japanese invasion, unable to hide themselves from the invaders and falling to the hands of non-magical mortality.

A crown on Kim Taehyung’s head on his thirteenth birthday spoke to the fact that magical monarchy hadn’t gone the same way as their muggle counterparts.

Gems that weren’t even visible to those that didn’t have that silver sheen of magic running through their blood; and a gold that was more pure than the greatest scientists could even dream of; gleamed through the moving photograph. It had been a year since his coronation and the Queen Mother had sent him a package that would have probably arrived late were it not for the three letters that came before his name. It was a regular occurrence to have one’s mail lost if you were a boarder, or at least that was what Taehyung was told, not even the school’s poltergeist dared meddle with his letters.

While his station afforded him a freedom and opportunities that other students didn’t have, Taehyung rarely found it within himself to actually take advantage of them - even his marks were worse than some of his classmates. He still slept in the same dormitories with everyone else, and while it had afforded some contempt from his housemates at the increased security, overall his social life had fared all the better for the decision.

It was a cool winter afternoon and Taehyung wasn’t going to test fate by opening his dormitory window (whether it be a cold or the wrath of his roommates he was risking), so there wasn’t anything to ruffle his hair but he still ran his hand through it as if he was taming something other than the hair he had. It was hard being away from home, especially so since he’d been crowned King after his father had stepped down as a birthday ‘gift’ last year. Thing was, looking over the snow dusted grounds - Taehyung wasn’t totally sure that it was a gift he’d even wanted.

The first three years of his schooling at the South Korean Hogwarts International School had been marred by snowball fights, mischief making and general non-learning. Now, he was virtually always stuck in his room, not because the teachers were merciless or anything, but more because the legacy of his family (not to mention, nation) rested on his shoulder. Surprisingly, it became a lot harder to throw snowballs when you had the weight of nation on your shoulders — threw off your balance more than one would have previously guessed.

Right now even, he wasn’t even meant to be pining over a package that was nothing more than a reminder of what he’d become in the months since the last snowfall. He was meant to be doing the work on etiquette that’d had been crammed into his suitcase without his noticing. Technically it was a treasonable offence to be doing anything to his luggage but Taehyung knew it had been his mother so he’d not raised a fuss. A heavy sigh heaved into the air marked his getting up from the window seat, one last fleeting glance down to where Jimin was flinging charmed snowballs at his rather hapless (and uncoordinated) boyfriend Namjoon.

Envy did rise in his heart as he began to fish through the contents of his luggage, papers flying here and there as Taehyung searched more insistently for the articles explaining which way to set your chopsticks depending on the rank of who you were with. Such was his envy that he didn’t have time to register the black cloaked figure that had been a small dot on the horizon when he’d turned away from the window. Soon his envy was overshadowed by the sheer annoyance of not being able to find the sheet of paper he knew was in his trunk and he didn’t afford a second glance to the window to figure out exactly why the dot was getting larger.

Taehyung’s lack of awareness of his surroundings did not however, extend to the whistling sound of a blast spell rocketing through the air outside his window, nor to the racket of his windows flying open. Classical training in dance saved him from falling on his ass as he spun on the spot, clutching the book he’d been about to throw on to his desk to his chest. “What the FUCk!” If he was being honest, the real surprise to Taehyung was that he wasn’t the one cursing, instead it was the student tumbling through the window and hurtling into the fairly small dorm space. Time didn’t exist for him to echo the words, instead he dropped the floor to avoid the broomstick that was unwaveringly catapulting towards his very royal head.

The body that had been occupying the oaken branch had launched himself off the vehicle within moments of making it through the window and as such the remaining magical power that was propelling it forwards fell away, leaving it to feebly clatter against the wall behind them. While Taehyung was thankful to the gods that he, and the intruder, hadn’t obtained any injuries, his thankfulness didn’t overshadow the rage that anyone would feel at their private room effectively being broken into. This kid wasn’t a Ravenclaw and as such had no reason to be in this tower — that was unless this was a particularly ham-fisted attempt at picking up his date for a little quality time in the gardens at the back of the grounds.

“Don’t ask.” A gruff voice came from the slump on the floor and Taehyung was tempted to check if he was okay, especially considering he hadn’t actually moved since his rather bizarre entrance. Temptation did however give way to anger as Taehyung realised that the mint-haired non-Ravenclaw hadn’t used formal speech with him. Book from before still held tight across his chest, Taehyung chose instead, in a fit of irritation, to gently pelt it at the student’s back. A gentle ‘oof’ escaped into the air, and guilt immediately settled on to Taehyung’s shoulder, that hadn’t been nice, nor very diplomatic. His father would be disappointed in him.

Since he’d already tried the low road and tasting a bittersweet victory with the threat of a rather opinionated letter from his father hanging over his head, Taehyung instead decided to crouch down, and actually ask: “Are you okay?”. Strands of hair shifted on the boys fringe as he blinked and they caught on his eyelashes, and a faint relief flooded his body as it finally began to clink that no serious injuries had been obtained. “Do I need to go get the nurse or?” he left the question hanging in the air, intensely aware of the warning ‘Don’t ask.’ that he’d earnt earlier — hopefully though, that only applied to questions about why exactly there was a non-Ravenclaw and broomstick in his room.

Calloused hands caught on his wrist, breaking through Taehyung’s hurried thoughts of when and how the warning would be applied, hauling the student into a sitting position, furrowed brows and questioning eyes firmly holding his gaze. “You’re His Royal Highness Kim Taehyung. Aren’t you?” Again, there was no formal speech; it would have been amusing were it not for the fact that the guy had literally just recognised who Taehyung was. “Ah, before you ask: I’m not using formal speak because you’re younger than me, kid.” While the logic would pretty much apply to anyone other than him, Taehyung was curious as to why whoever this guy was, thought he could get away with it.

Petulant as it made him sound, Taehyung couldn’t help the huff of annoyance that dispersed into the air in front of him, burning cool with unbridled magic. “I’d watch what you’re saying. This is my room that you barged into. You should be being polite no matter who I am but considering I’m your king…” Taehyung left the sentence unfinished as he strode forwards, only realising now that despite their apparent difference in age, he was the taller one. “Now, apologise.” he grunted, mustering up all the masculine energy that he could recall his father exuding in the years he’d watched him rule. The finesse of an iron hand was lost in his pubescent voice though and instead Taehyung couldn’t blame the intruder for the smile that cracked across his features.

A right eyebrow quirked, inviting challenge before an almost inaudible, “Make me…” the guy trailed off but Taehyung knew he wasn’t done talking. “Your Highness.” The second word of his title was bit out and a smarmy smirk brought up the rear, reminding Taehyung that this guy didn’t care all that much about what station one held.

Kim Taehyung wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do to make this guy apologise to him and he was in the midst of formulating a plan on what he was meant to do with him when he heard Jimin calling from the bottom of the stairs. “TAETAE! LUNCH TIME!!” There was a brief question as to how Jimin was actually in the tower but when he seriously considered it, the most likely situation was that Namjoon had let him in the hopes of a quick make-out session before lunch. Nothing ever stopped Jimin when it came to food though. Once the situation actually clicked in his head Taehyung could palpably feel the disappointment rolling through the floorboards, like Namjoon was telepathically reminding him to hurry his ass up so he could at least get some time after lunch to mark Jimin up.

Working out what was actually going on proved to be his undoing and before he realised what was going Taehyung could hear thundering footsteps running up the stairs, a warning that came too late. It was honestly a feat that he didn’t get whiplash from how quickly he turned to look at the broomstick-invader, eyes wide and searching for an answer as to exactly what the fuck he was meant to do. “Shit.” Harsh and whispered, the guy’s curse came as a suitable answer to Taehyung’s non-verbal question and that was: neither of them had any idea of what they was meant to do.

Invader’s hands went to quickly smooth out his uniform, giving Taehyung enough time to catch the glint of silver and emerald green winding round his neck in the form of a tie. Great. A Slytherin. That wouldn’t look suspicious at all — it wasn’t like they even had any joint projects with that house this semester anyway.

Fuck. Shit. A reminding squeak came from just outside his door, letting Taehyung know that Jimin hadn’t slowed and was about to tumble through the door in that purely Jimin way that he had when intruding on one’s private business.

The lock clicked, an inevitable reminder of defeat and Taehyung turned his head to look at the student in desperation except this time, his face was far closer than he’d been expecting. A creak of the door came in unison with the creep of a hand along his shoulders, stopping where his arm began. “I got you.” Still — no formal speech but considering how many rules Taehyung was flexing at the moment, he wasn’t about to snap at him about it if he was offering the safe haven of an explanation.

“TAEEEEEE~~~~~~~” Taehyung (or Tae. or TaeTae.) felt Slytherin’s head hit the side of his gently with the flinch he gave with the noise and while he knew that Jimin could be loud, it did amuse him to see how people that weren’t used to it reacted to the behaviour. Caught up in the amusement it did take Taehyung a moment to recognise the awkward silence that had fallen across the cool room (he’d not even gotten the opportunity to shut his windows before shit went down). “Tae?” Jimin’s eyes weren’t wide in surprise, more narrowed to trace along the curve of Slytherin’s hand on his shoulder and the non-existent space between them.

Namjoon’s footsteps followed Jimin’s heavily, the taller Ravenclaw popping up behind his Hufflepuff beau. “Who is this?” the pair asked in unison, a habit that had started before they’d even gotten involved romantically and Taehyung would admit, got under his skin. A voice that wasn’t his broke through the silence and Taehyung felt the hand on his shoulder tighten in what he guessed was a reassurance as well as a sign to just trust rather than question. While he couldn’t promise anything about the second part, he was a Ravenclaw after all, Taehyung knew that the explanation would be flimsy without his support and that wasn’t something either of them needed at the moment.

“I’m Min Yoongi. Seventh Year Slytherin, and I’m Taehyung’s boyfriend.”

—————————————————————————

Slack jaws aside, Jimin and Namjoon were rather supportive and after the initial jubilation that Taehyung finally had a boyfriend (‘boyfriend’), they all agreed that it was better to keep things quiet.

Keeping things quiet didn’t really amount to much and it was within two or so weeks that the crowds began to part in ways that they only had when the royal procession dropped him off for the beginnings of the school years. He didn’t mind the added convenience of being able to get to his classes faster but it was obvious that people knew or at least thought they knew. Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung hadn’t actually spoken all the much since that fateful incident in his bedroom, brief conversations had occurred here and there if they’d passed each other in the dining hall but all in all — nothing. If anything, it was amusing to watch the rumours rage with an uncontrollable fury that wasn’t even quenched by substantial evidence, if anything, Taehyung would guess that the lack of interactions was fuelling the curiosity.

Perhaps in spite of the preoccupation the rumours had held in his mind for the last half a month, they were the last thing on his mind when he felt something hitting the side of his head — for Yoongi’s better health he decided to not actually think about what it was. A furtive glance at their surroundings told Taehyung that no one had actually seen the ploy to get his attention but that didn’t mean that there weren’t people waiting and watching to see what would unfold now the new IT couple were talking. “You know couples actually talk right?” Tae hated that the lack of respect got under his skin, he was meant to be a ~chill~ king (whatever that meant), so feeling himself slipping into a ‘superior’ mindset subconsciously was irritating.

Snapping himself from the reverie that came with his self-antagonism, Taehyung took a step off the path, grass bending beneath his shoes as he strode towards his fake-boyfriend. “I guess so, but then again we aren—“ he was cut off as Yoongi shot up from where he was sitting, tumbling into a nearby bush. Herbology wasn’t Taehyung’s best subject but off the top of his head, he would later recommend that Yoongi not try and get that book back. Those were some cuts Taehyung didn’t want anyone dealing with.

Yoongi’s finger was soft against his lips, landing with more force than was strictly necessary but clearly communicating that he wasn’t going to be moving it without some effort. “It’s not like we need to be found out anytime soon you…” Yoongi trailed off to trail his eyes up and down Taehyung’s frame before apparently deciding on a word, “…giraffe”. Offence would have been taken were it not for the accuracy of the nickname, at least in comparison to Yoongi. “If people, Jimin, find(s) out that I was in your room for any reason other than a quick make-out, he’s gonna accidentally dob me in.” Taehyung couldn’t argue with the logic and while it pained him to admit, he’d managed to get himself into a situation where he had to act like Min Yoongi didn’t irk the shit out of him.

This was where he would have opened up his mouth, retorting tightly but Yoongi’s finger was still pressed firmly against his lips with seemingly no intentions to leave. Irritated grunts managed to escape around the obstacle and it was with tense eyes that Kim Taehyung noticed his supposed boyfriend took pleasure in bothering him. He couldn’t decide between narrowing and widening his eyes and eventually did a combination of both until he was released with a low sort of chuckle bubbling from Yoongi’s chest, heavy with years Taehyung didn’t have and Yoongi didn’t appear to posses. “Generally boyfriends don’t go around pressing their fingers against each others lips to keep ‘em quiet.” Taehyung had decided to drop honourifics with Yoongi a while ago, but this had been his first opportunity to do so.

Dirt scuffed against Yoongi’s shoes as he shuffled backwards, that same old cocky smile resting on his lips, “Unless you’re kinky like that.” This time Taehyung did know what to do, his eyes flying open and hands coming up to rest over his mouth, covering where Yoongi’s finger had been minutes, if not moments, earlier. “Relax, kiddo. Everyone knows I don’t go that far on the first date.” Taehyung took a menacing step forwards, eyes narrowing above his hands, warning that Yoongi needed to watch his step if he didn’t want his very limbs rent from his body. “Then again, we’re dating, this is probably not the first date we’ve been on.” Accompanied by a wink, there was no way that Taehyung could have missed the implicated meaning. Social courtesies seemingly didn’t exist for the man standing in front him, a reminder of the stark difference in who they were and what they represented — a thought that was the only thing that kept Taehyung’s feet steadfast in their place.

It was a credit to Taehyung as a person that he didn’t ball his fists often, instead his extensive training had taught him to keep an even façade, even if it would have been understandable for him to lose it given the situation. Training be damned, while he’d not taken a step forwards, Taehyung was pissed, “Like I would do anything of the sort with you, Min Yoongi.” It was a low blow but let it be known that even kings were not above being complete and utter dickheads. Credit needed to go to Yoongi though, and instead of the reactionary response he was expecting to get, all Taehyung’s attack earnt him was a hearty chuckle and a raised eyebrow.

“Are you done?” Taehyung was surprised by the question and his lips puffed out in both a sigh but a search of the right words to reply, eventually he settled on the simple option and just nodded. The space between them had shrunk to a few paces and Yoongi closed them quickly before whispering a quick, “Good.” the word barely meeting Taehyung’s ears before his robes were being grabbed and yanked forward. Their lips met in the moment a complaint, an exclamation, a yelp, anything really, was about to leave Taehyung’s, the sounds instead being caught with the chapped reality of Min Yoongi.

A wet sort of oomph sound was the only thing that punctuated the kiss, flurried anger radiating from Taehyung and amused resignation rolling from Yoongi. Emotions meeting in the middle prompted a placation in the both of them that soon turned into a mutual appreciation of the sensation. Noses bumped as they both turned their heads to the same side, an issue addressed with the settling of Taehyung’s hands in Yoongi’s hair, tilting his head to the right and their mouths finally fitting. Words felt like they needed to be said but right now, in spite of every logical thought that was running through his head, Taehyung couldn’t find it within himself to pull away long enough to say them.

Yoongi was the one that pulled away first, notably not extracting himself from the true extent of Taehyung’s grip in his hair. “Tell me again about how you wouldn’t do that with me Kim Taehyung.” Grudgingly, he would have to admit that he would but it would probably take him having been pulled into it like he just had been or an awful lot of persuasion — instead of saying all these things, Taehyung only rewarded him with a grunt. “If that’s how you react whenever anyone shows you a good time, I can see why there aren’t exactly girls lining up around the block to suck you off at House parties.” Yoongi’s comment was scathing, enough to rival Taehyung’s now void statement from earlier — didn’t mean it was true though.

Derision filled his laugh as Taehyung finally released his tangled grip on Yoongi’s mint locks. “There’s no girls lining up because they know they wouldn’t be getting any. Boys, on the other hand, they’re a rather different story.” A cocky smile passed across his lips and he rather bravely returned Yoongi’s wink from earlier. His efforts aren’t ignored and he earns a pat on his shoulder from his kissing partner. It was only with the proximity to his eyes did Taehyung notice that Min Yoongi’s fingers weren’t clad in any gloves, and with nothing to protect them from the cold, they’d begun to turn a warning pink. Granted, Taehyung’s hands weren't covered but their encounter had begun with him leaving the safety of warm buildings.

Fingers met before he’d really thought through what he was doing and the response in Yoongi’s eyes was enough to confirm it hadn’t been the most thought out ideas in the world. It should have bothered him, how well their fingers fit together, but the chill that ran up his arm was enough to distract Taehyung from the surprised widening of Yoongi’s eyes. Guilt stabbed unrelentingly into his stomach as it became painfully obvious that the surprise wasn’t because it was Taehyung holding his hand, but because anyone was holding his hand. Worry brushed aside before he could really delve too deeply, Taehyung mumbled, “Since we’ve kissed now it’d look weird if I let you get frostbite wouldn’t it?” He could feel those surprised eyes on him once again but rather than replying he allowed their gaze to eat away at his thoughts as he slipped their intertwined hands into his robe pockets. 

Taehyung couldn’t pin down a reason for the heat on his neck, whether it be in embarrassment at the incredibly sappy thing he’d just done or the possession of a certain short person’s attention. He found his answer with a furtive glance over and down, eyes suddenly resting on the gaze of Min Yoongi, tsundere extraordinaire and seeing one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever had the blessing of witnessing.

“It’s gonna be nice dating you Kim Taehyung.” It’s said with a light smile that laces Yoongi’s very aura, radiating amusement and sincerity and the boy the words are directed at, well he can’t help but feel like some of that happiness soak into the smile he flashed in return.

———————————————————————————

Attention didn’t usually bother Taehyung but the intensity with which Park Jimin was staring at him, well he had to admit it was a bit much. “Are you really sure Yoongi will like that?” Truth was: Taehyung wasn’t really sure — a fact that bothered him somewhat considering the current situation.

What was the current situation? One no one really enjoyed being in and in all likelihood would never actually encounter — also known as a fake anniversary for a relationship you weren’t even in. Jimin had been the one to get him stuck here, asking over rice porridge after a particularly harried study session, the pointed question of ‘When did you guys actually start dating?’ jolting Taehyung out of his relieved inhalation of the sustenance. He hadn’t really had time to think of a totally plausible date and instead chose a random number, and following that a random month (that hadn’t already passed), unknowingly manufacturing a lie that would get him dragged down to the village the moment they had free afternoon.

Twisting the plastic clad lollies in his hands Taehyung had to admit he wasn’t entirely if indeed Yoongi would like the gift, it wasn’t like they’d spent any amount of time together (in spite of the fact that they’d already kissed). He’d protested to Jimin’s insistence they come down to the shops but he’d had a fairly fierce gaze levelled with his, how he best friend managed it with the heigh difference he didn’t know, but it had happened. Shouts of how unromantic Taehyung was also leant a hand in their entry to the small confectionary shop, if just because he wanted to at least look like he was trying. Jimin had flitted off along the aisles, saying he was going to look for this particular lolly Namjoon had gotten hooked on during exchange, leaving Taehyung alone to flounder only before coming back satisfied with his search and ready to nag.

Breath rustling the packaging as he let out a defeated sigh, Taehyung dropped the item into his little basket, reminding him of just how little of an idea he had as to what Yoongi would want/like. Hell, it wasn’t even like could want anything for their anniversary since it didn’t technically exist. It’s not like Yoongi would be expecting anything, he didn’t even know that their chosen anniversary date was approaching — and that was exactly why Taehyung couldn’t understand why he was agonising so much over what he was going to get him.

Jimin’s hand settled calmingly, his friend obviously sensing the tense worry that was flooding his body. “Relax Taehyungie, I’m sure Yoongi will love anything you get him. You have really good sense when it comes to presents. Trust me.” A glance at his friend wasn’t even needed for Taehyung to know that he was being flashed a ice melting eye smile, a fact paired with the gentle massaging of his shoulders gave the Ravenclaw a sense of calm that could only be rivalled by the eye of a tropical cyclone.

A snapping sound echoed through the shop and Taehyung’s eyes fell shut, fully aware of the fact that it was coming from the aisle Namjoon had been standing in after rocking up to their friends outing about twenty minutes late. “You go get that. I’m fine,” he whispered to Jimin, voice taut, wanting to laugh at his friend’s mishaps but a tad too absorbed in gift shopping to be joking around. Jimin’s hand left his shoulder soon after and he could hear the patter of his footfalls and the swish of fabric that went with him running in a robe.

Eyes on the table in front of him, Taehyung kept his search focus, only allowing himself to get distracted once when he spotted a type of chocolate that claimed to give you dog ears — let it be known that despite the temptation he didn’t buy it.

He’d reached the soft jellies section of the store when he did eventually look out the window, not because he had any particular interest in the passers-by but because he’d heard a soft dusting of snow begin to settle on the roof of the store. What he had not been expecting was for his own eyes to meet a gaze of a certain student with mint green hair and golden syrup hued eyes. “Jesus, Min Yoongi!” The exclamation licked its way into the silence before Taehyung had time to clamp his mouth shut and he earned a rather startled (and disgruntled) stare from the shopkeeper while Yoongi almost fell on his ass laughing.

Blush the same colour as the hair he wanted bloomed on Taehyung’s cheeks, and he immediately began to gather up the items in front of him, an assortment of the things he’d thought Yoongi would enjoy enough his cheeks would bulge. “Just wait there, punk.” Taehyung pulled up his top lip at the Slytherin, arms too occupied to raise a fist but rest assured he did it in spirit.

Taehyung demonstrated brutal efficiency that he wouldn’t have otherwise displayed on a shopping trip, Namjoon and Jimin barely had time to wave goodbye before he was bustling out of the confectioners, snow almost drowning his feet. Sweets hit against his leg with a crinkling thud as he drew to a stop in front of a still doubled over Min Yoongi, “It’s not funny, you really scared me.” His voice rose in the intonation of a whine but were anyone to ask him if it was a whine, Kim Taehyung would deny himself vehemently.

A little snicker escaped Yoongi as he straightened, gummy smile pressed unerringly onto his lips, refusing to budge even with the frown that hung on Taehyung’s face. “It was kinda funny, I mean, your face did this:” it took a little for Yoongi to prepare himself to pull the expression but once he did even Taehyung had to admit he laughed a little. “SEE?! It was funny.” The older boy was laughing as he pointed out Taehyung’s near concession and had it been anyone else Taehyung would have been pissed but considering it was Yoongi, he was either too scared or surprised to see him laughing he didn’t correct him. Thing was, he couldn’t decide which one it was.

“Hyung~” Taehyung drew out the word, jiggling his body a little, going for a comedic effect, but instead earning the burning gaze of a Min Yoongi that was most certainly not impressed.

The bag that hung around his wrist had gone almost forgotten, only for Taehyung to be reminded of it when it slapped against his thigh in his faux tantrum. Yoongi noticed it too and made an immediate beeline for the possible gossip, hands catching Taehyung’s mid-wiggle and pulling the bag off his person. He’d have caused a fuss about the surprise if they were actually dating but given the only semi-real status their relationship held, it’d have looked pretty absurd if Taehyung did anything but let Yoongi rifle through the bag without hampering his efforts.

Chocolate was the first thing the boy pulled from the plastic, a raised eyebrow asking the silent question of exactly why Taehyung was carrying this much sugar and fat in a single shop. “I got it for you. Jimin dragged me out when I told him our anniversary was coming up on Saturday.” A blush to rival his one from earlier began to dust his cheekbones, giving away feelings he wasn’t entirely ready to admit he had.

Yoongi shuffled back with his explanation, bag held in one hand with the chocolate still tightly gripped in his other. “Oh?” It wasn’t so much an expression of surprise as a question, asking why exactly they’d even been awarded an anniversary in the first place and why Taehyung had been agonising over it.

“Listen, Jimin dragged my ass all the way here, it’s not like I could’ve not bought anything it would’ve looked suspicious.” Taehyung retorted, satisfied with his own excuse and praying that Yoongi would be too. It wasn’t like he was really ready to admit that he did actually care what the other thought of his ‘anniversary’ gifts.

A laugh that could have melted the snow beneath their feet rang out between the buildings and Taehyung was forced to look up from where he’d begun to stare at his shoes to simply witness his now favourite sight of Min Yoongi laughing. It took the Slytherin a moment to settle but when he did and he fixed that gummy smile on him, Taehyung felt like he could die and he’d be the happiest teenager in the world. “Well, you picked well. I like ‘em.” Hearts weren’t meant to beat as fast Taehyung’s did in that moment, and if he thought smile ended him it was the peck on the cheek that he got that really sealed the deal. Almost as if the kiss hadn’t actually happened Yoongi’s gruff broke through Taehyung’s reverie once again, “Now hurry your ass up, Jimin is watchin’ from the window and I don’t feel like stuffing my face with chocolate nor pretending to be your boyfriend for any longer than I gotta.”

And just like that the moment was gone.

Yoongi trudged off ahead, calling out that his ass was freezing and if he had to wait out here a little longer his nipples would freeze off, or perhaps something even more vulgar and Taehyung’s mind had just censored it. Taehyung was too busy thinking about how he was going to get the upperclassman back for not only teasing him at the window but now the kiss too.

Snow crunched under his feet, only audible for the lack of people filling the alleys like they usually did during summer, there seemed to be even fewer people than there had been when he’d been walking and Taehyung had a feeling it was the weather that had driven them indoors. Yoongi was ahead of him, insisting that if they just walked faster he wouldn’t need to struggle through the cold. He’d feel bad for him were it not for the way that he’d laughed at him back at the sweet shop, instead all he felt was the overwhelming need for revenge.

Inspiration came with a glimpse of a couple of young wizards, obviously not old enough to be in high school, hurling misshapen lumps of snow at each other, giggles ringing through the wind tunnels created by the olden style buildings. Pulling his wand from his waist band, Taehyung bet himself that he’d be able to form a perfect sphere with the freshly fallen snow, or at least something that better resembled a sphere than the ones those boys were smattering each other with. He whispered, trying to keep his voice low enough that it wouldn’t echo up to the ears of his target, light soon flowing down in a honey like substance until it wrapped around the blended snowflakes. A flick of his wrist was all that was needed to pull the gathered snow up into the air, and another few twists of his wand gifted him with a recognisable snowball.

Poor Min Yoongi was minding his own business when he felt a wet mass hit the back of his robes, obliterating on impact, leaving behind only a few flecks to support it’s existence — and that was before the snow melted into the fabric clinging to his back, chilling him even more. “Kim. Taehyung. What. The. Fuck?!” Taehyung was ready, sweeping his arm in front of him, a shimmering shield of indefinable colour forming in front of him, just in time for a manually made snowball to hit the barrier and split in all directions. “Oh I’m gonna get you!” Yoongi’s words turned from menacing to almost amused at the end of the warning, the boy breaking out in a quick sprint down the street to follow an already fleeing king.

Wind whipped through Taehyung’s hair as he repeated the process of the wand flick and turn enough to throw at least three snowballs behind him, hurling them over his shoulder in the hopes he wasn’t aiming too high and hitting Yoongi in the face. A grunted expletive seemed to confirm the very fears Taehyung had been hoping weren’t true and he halted in his tracks, almost falling over himself with how slippery the snow was. “Yoongi?” he called out, voice carrying before he’d even had the opportunity to turn around. When he did turn he was greeted with the image of Min Yoongi sprawled out on the ground, not hurt per se, more in a rather compromising starfish position.

Since he’d not seen any blood pooling around the body Taehyung slowed his roll, analysing the situation before trying to scoop Yoongi up, the boy was a Slytherin after all. “You alright there darling~?” He earnt a disgruntled groan for the use of the pet name and that was enough to assure him that Yoongi was okay. Shuffling through the snow scuffed a little snow on to the already damp back of his boyfriend’s robe but really, he’d brought it on himself for mocking his surprise. Couple steps more and Taehyung was by Yoongi’s side, dipping himself low and wrapping his arms around the still sprawled out boy.

“Thank you.” The level of tiredness in Yoongi’s voice was almost enough to make Taehyung feel guilty for what he was about to do. Almost.

Snow flooded Yoongi’s face as Taehyung shoved the handfuls he’d gathered in unison with picking Yoongi up and as if the sensory assault wasn’t enough, Taehyung slipped his hands down the older boy’s shirt, dropping snow down into the damp cotton. His prank would have gone off without a hitch were it not for the fact that Yoongi whipped his head back rather unexpectedly. Unexpectedly enough that Taehyung’s nose had bore the full brunt of the surprise and he was consequently knocked to the ground, not unlike the way Yoongi had been but moments before. “Fuck, Yoongi, shit. That really really hurt.” Taehyung whined, snow cold fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he tipped his head forwards in an effort of not have any possibly blood dripping down the back of his throat.

Yoongi’s eyes were wide when they met his and despite a small voice in his head telling him that it was because he was worried about him Taehyung brushed it off all surprise at his sudden swearing. “Fucking hell Taehyung, what were you expecting?” Yoongi’s arm slipped under his back, bringing him up into a sitting position and his fingers soon replaced Taehyung’s on his nose, pinching tightly and moving to allow him to check for breakage. “I’d try and fix it but I’m pretty sure the nurse’d kill me and she scares the shit out me quite frankly,” Yoongi’s tone was obviously trying to keep things light but Taehyung was more preoccupied with the way that the cold of the boy’s fingers starkly contrasted with the blazing heat of his injury. 

Smiling felt odd to his senses but it seemed to be the only thing he could do, so Taehyung did, adding a shrug in there for good measure, “It doesn’t hurt that much hyung.” he assured Yoongi, shuffling his butt a little in a poor attempt at standing up. The glare he earnt for his troubles wasn’t particularly encouraging but Taehyung persevered, rocking until he gained enough momentum to rise to his feet, feeling a little better towering over Yoongi once again. “My height comforts me,” he teased, winking and resting the hand that was holding the goods on Yoongi’s shoulder.

His joking about only garnered a click of his tongue from Yoongi and a quick brush off of his hand, “All this fuckin’ about means you’re fine.” his voice was gruff but Taehyung could tell that it was only because he was mildly worried, a fact that he didn’t allow himself to get too comfy with.

All Taehyung wanted to do was take a step forwards to rest his arm on Yoongi’s shoulder but he only ended up tripping on his own feet, leaving Yoongi, of all people, to catch him. “Right, well you’re not going so good are you? Come on, we gotta get you to the nurse ASAP.” Taehyung scoffed at that, unsurprisingly getting him an unapologetic slap the side as Yoongi fought with gravity to right him as much as possible. “I’m not gonna let my boyfriend collapse in the snow after he’s just spent hours buying me gifts. I reckon Jimin’d get on my case about it being unromantic.” This time the words were hot, whispered warm against Taehyung’s ear and while it was cold, he knew the shiver that ran down his spine wasn’t because of the weather.

Sweet words and surprisingly strong short people aside, Taehyung couldn’t deny just how nice it felt to be able to lean on and rely on someone other than his parents and/or family — even nicer since that person was Min Yoongi.

———————————————————————————

It was the turn of the seasons, spring was upon them and Taehyung knew that his mother would be waiting for his letter with tense anticipation and while he knew he wasn’t strictly required to send one, his fate would be questionable should he not do so. Hanja stared back from the parchment he’d bought the same day he’d bought Yoongi’s gifts for their anniversary, and the fact that you could still smell the trace of the lavender stuffed bear brought the beginnings of a smile to his lips. Ink did mute the reminder of the reason he’d been out that day, and only became stronger as he continued on with his letter but Taehyung did have to wonder if his mother would be able to smell it, or if it would be precious only to him.

Ink welled up around the fine hairs of his calligraphy brush, the remainder of age old royal traditions. Slowly, ever so slowly, he traced recounts of the events of the past month, refusing to name Yoongi with the sole reason of not actually knowing the hanja that made up his name. He became ‘that boy’, and the words around him took on a beauty that Taehyung usually only reserved for his lessons on poetry (a fact that Taehyung wouldn’t notice until his mother asked about). 

Trust wasn’t the only reason the truth was written on the parchment, Jimin was one of his most trusted friends and even then Taehyung wasn’t about to divulge the true extent to which Min Yoongi had crawled his way into his heart. The woman he was writing to was the Queen Mother, he had a duty to report to her everything that had the possibility to affect the nation. Taehyung’s love life was the very epitome of something with the power to shape or destroy the health of their nation.

Such was his concentration on the task of honouring his mother and his non-existent relationship with Yoongi that Taehyung missed the soft tapping on his semi-opened window — at least until it became louder and more insistent. “Hello?” Sing-song had never sounded so pissed off and Taehyung felt a touch of guilt roll forwards in his consciousness when he raised his gaze and was met with a rather pissed off looking Min Yoongi. Scrambling up from his spot at his desk, Taehyung launched himself across various piles of stationary and threw the windows open, the unspoken question of how Yoongi was there answered when he floated in, legs tight around a broomstick. “Thank you.” The thanks was bitten out, the boy obviously too preoccupied with the task of landing without stacking the way he did last time to offer a proper greeting. Taehyung didn’t blame him.

“How come you’re here? I told you I was writing my letter to my mother this afternoon.” The words weren’t meant to come out as harsh as they did and Taehyung winced a little with the pointed look he got from his boyfriend (now with both feet planted on the ground).

Mouth almost becoming an upside down smile Yoongi shrugged, leaning his broomstick against the frame of the bed, eyes sweeping efficiently up and down Taehyung’s frame. “I wanted to visit you. They say that it’s romantic to visit the person you love on the turn of the seasons.” The words caught Taehyung off guard but Yoongi edged in before he could ask where in the fresh hell the almost confession had come from. “Jimin’s been on my back for not showing you enough affection, and while you and I both know that I ain’t a PDA kind of guy, I’d appreciate it if you told your minion that I’ve been putting in an effort.” Still didn’t completely answer why Yoongi had actually visited, they’d agreed that it was easier to just lie and co-ordinate their stories instead of playing into Jimin (and to a lesser extent, Namjoon)’s hands by being that lovey-dovey couple everyone hated.

Edging away from his desk, where Taehyung had been tidying up his letter materials while he listened to Yoongi’s explanation, he narrowed his eyes. “How come you didn’t follow the usual thing of just writing me? Or talking to me after class?” Curiosity dripped in his voice and while it made things sound like Taehyung didn’t actually want to see Yoongi, it was a question that did need answering (or at least for him).

Yoongi’s hand came up to rest on the back of his neck, scratching nervously at the baby hairs that were still soft in spite of their treatment to the mint green experience. “Well I wanted to talk to you and we don’t have a lot of classes together and I’m busy at lunch and I guess you probably are too and yeah…” There wasn’t much to the explanation but it still made Taehyung’s head flop the the side, and tempted him to ask the question: ‘Who are you and what have you done with Min Yoongi?’. His train of thought was sabotaged however when one final statement came from the mouth of a possible imposter. “‘Sides I felt bad for the way that I hurt your nose when we went to the village so I brought you these.”

Flowers. Min Yoongi had brought him sunflowers. Not just any flowers either, sunflowers. Sunflowers in a big, healthy bunch stared back at him and it felt odd that the only thing that was actually on Taehyung’s mind was: what kind of concealment spell did he use to hide those or was Min Yoongi just really good at sleight-of-hand? Rather than replying with any comprehensible words Taehyung instead just let out a flustered sound, hands repeatedly raising and lowering, not entirely sure of whether they were meant to take the flowers or not. “My nose is fine.” A not entirely helpful addition to the discourse Taehyung was aware, but he couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

“Can you just take the blessed flowers you, idiot? I even asked Jimin for help in picking them out, he said they were your favourites.” Well, that wasn’t an incorrect statement and things made a little more sense once he knew that Jimin had provided assistance but that didn’t mean he wasn’t…suspicious.

Closing the gap between them, hands wrapping around the bouquets with an as of yet undecided level of enthusiasm, Taehyung couldn’t help the “Why’d you really get these?” He knew that Jimin got under Yoongi’s skin and it seemed odd to him that he'd really feel bad enough about a relatively minor ‘injury’ (if you could even call it that) to put up with him for long enough to weed this information out of him.

At this stage, both their hands were wrapped the bouquet, an unspoken line between them in this war of attrition. “I already said, because I feel bad for hurting you Taehyung, don’t be looking for shit when there isn’t any.” Yoongi’s voice was defensive now, taking on a quality that Taehyung had only overheard when he’d spotted teachers pulling Yoongi up for not wearing his robes properly or having his wand out in the hallways.

He narrowed his eyes at the same time that he pulled the flowers close to him, feeling Yoongi unwilling to hand them over, and stopping just short of wrenching them out of the Slytherin’s hands. “Come on Yoongi, you know that when you say that I know you’re lying. I wasn’t put into Ravenclaw for no reason.” Taehyung sounded almost as if he pitied the older boy, his words falling into the silence between them, heavy, but not enough to break the thick tension between them — all fond memories of snowball fights and lollipops forgotten. Yoongi stepped forwards in the space, forcing the flowers against Taehyung’s chest, eyes drawing so narrow they were almost closed, but open enough that he could still see them passing over every line in his face. “You really want me to say it don’t you?” Victory. It was obvious that Yoongi was going to spill it no matter what he did so rather than speaking (his voice would be too mocking to risk it) Taehyung simply shrugged, shoulders loose and smile warm. “God. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Idiot.” Yoongi surged forwards, the crinkling of the packaged sunflowers falling on deaf ears as tension fell away and unspoken wishes were realised.

They were kissing, and in that moment Taehyung knew that this wasn’t the some stranger pretending to be Min Yoongi, these lips tasted too sweet, too warm, and most of all too right. Hands pinned against his chest, Taehyung released them with a faint struggle with the rather large bundle of flowers, throwing his gift half-heartedly upon the bed. Suddenly everything that wasn’t the urgent press of Yoongi’s body against his own became irrelevant and unwanted. Time slowed and it felt like entirely too long to get his hands once again resting in those mint green strands, except this occasion was much less angry and more…desperate. They fit together better this time, Taehyung dipping low and Yoongi leaning upwards, meeting in the middle as they both sought out what they’d denied themselves since the last incident. 

Eventually though, they did need to break apart for air, lungs begging for more than the sharp intakes they’d been afforded by quick breaks as they positioned. Taehyung’s hands had eventually found their ways to Yoongi’s waist, and that was where they laid as he brought their foreheads together and let his eyes slip shut. The only sound in the room was, for but a brief moment, their hurried breathing, giving Taehyung another reason that they most definitely had to do this again sometime. While he wasn’t actively looking for reasons that this was the best moment in his life (closely rivalled by his coronation), it was a welcome surprise when Yoongi uttered the words that firmly secured its place in his memories.

“I kinda…definitely…like you…a lot…Your Highness Kim Taehyung…” In a moment that required the least formal speech — Min Yoongi used it for the first time.

part II here

#taegi #minjoon #bts fic #fic #HP AU #royalty au #fake dating au