#also the former suggests every time he goes to sleep it is with familiar yet fresh hopelessness

[vickyvicarious]

This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed cudgelling my brains,

Sounds like a routine. Which is a sign of his resilience and determination, that he regularly sits and thinks of any possible way out. He hasn't given up. He's not resorting to panicked risky attempts yet either.

But it's also very sad. His deadline is coming up fast and there's only so long he can keep going like this. But he has nothing else he can do, at least nothing he can think of. Every morning, perhaps, he sits on his bed and wracks his brains to try and think of some possible course of action, and every morning he's stuck. It's such a miserable routine, but he keeps trying because he has to, it's all he has.

[grade-a-masochist]

Kit and Ash headcanons

A bunch of my Kit and Ash headcanons. I think that they would make for a really interesting dynamic, is all, so here goes. They’re after the read more, since it got...long. They all got pretty descriptive, after all!

It also ended up including a lot of headcanons for Jem, Tessa and Mina, as well as how Kit and Ash experience the world around them. Plus some general headcanons.

I'm always thinking about this bunch, so if you're interested in more headcanons, lemme know

Edit: The second batch of Kit and Ash headcanons is here.

Kit and Ash began seeing each other in dreams like. Years before TWP began.

So, picture this. You're Kit. You just went to bed after a grueling day of being trained by James Carstairs, former shadowhunter extraordinaire. You are also ever so acutely aware that your cousin Jace is coming over tomorrow and that he will make you lose the last remaining slivers of your will to live via rigorous training. The only comfort is that Simon is also going to suffer death by Jace.

You are, understandably, exhausted and eager to sleep. So you do just that. And promptly find yourself in the middle of the fucking woods in the dead of fucking winter.

Now, you are no stranger to weird dreams. You've been having them most of your life and yes, they've gotten considerably worse since your father died, and significantly worse still since what happened with Livvy and Ty. But there's different categories to them. There's Ty dreams, there's Livvy dreams, there's Johnny Rook dreams, and then there are...The Dreams.

The Dreams usually consist of incredibly disturbing and foreign images that feel at once bewildering and yet painfully, sorrowfully nostalgic. There's a pang of recognition every time, like a blow, amongst the blood and the grit and the whispers of your dreams. There's a lot of bronze and a lot of white, a lot of fire and a lot of fights, and you can't ever make sense of them. You try. God, do you try. But the only thing there is dread, heavy and solid, and the creeping feeling that you've already lost something deeply precious.

Now, the woods you are in, even though you just went to sleep? This doesn't fit any category, except maybe sleepwalking. Because although things are hazy, idyllic, whimsical—they're pretty real, too. The snow burns along the bridge of your nose and melts on your lashes, even though the cold doesn't make you shiver. The flower petals and pine needles under your feet crunch softly when you turn in a circle. When you inhale, the air is crisp and harsh in your lungs, even if it isn't unpleasant. And you can tell at once, because there's that tingle of recognition down your spine, a familiarity you cannot describe—you're in the Faerilands. The one place where you're never supposed to go. Figures.

You don't hear the footsteps so much as you feel them. All that training is paying off, because something at the back of your neck prickles, some long-dormant instinct, and when you turn, it's quick and graceful and practiced. You're not sure what you expect to see—maybe assassins, maybe a ghost, maybe a monster, maybe none of the above—but it's certainly not a guy staring at you with Clary Fairchild's eyes.

The comparison is not apt. Clary's gaze is warm and kind and welcoming. The gaze that stares at you now is frigid and sharp and predatory, meditating on all the ways to take you apart, same as you analyze all the ways in which the parts that make people up come together. It's dark and deep and it cuts you to the quick.

And then you feel it, as you lock eyes, trembling down your spine, zinging through your skin.

Ah.

There's that recognition again, quick and firm and brutal. Except this time, it's not a suggestion. It's not a vague feeling. It's a certainty, bone-deep, that tells you you know this guy and he knows you. You know him on a level that you're not used to knowing people, even though you don't know him at all. You're sure you could pick him apart, even though you couldn't even say his name. You're sure the same familiarity is buzzing through him.

And you think, fuck you. Because isn't it just so convenient that this guy—a fae, at that, because you can see it and feel it—is another part of all the reasons you fear for your life and your family's life even on your best days. And isn't so convenient that you know him. And isn't it so convenient that he knows you. And isn’t it so annoying that you want to know him. You already are starting to, picking apart what makes him tick, just like you were raised to. Old habits die hard.

When he asks your name, his voice is smooth like honey and pleasant, even though it's flat and distant and cold. You get the feeling you should fall right under the syrup and swallow it up. You get the feeling you could, if you were so inclined to.

As it is, all you feel is annoyance, because you can feel the magic in him like a languid current, like the currents wading around you the longer you stand here staring at him, and you know that you're expected to fall in line and answer him and love him.

So you tell him, "Wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy," and the next thing you know, as his face contorts incredulously, Mina is shrieking her delight and jumping in your bed as Oscar the dog (well, technically the ghost) pants by your feet.

Three days later, you wander into the same woods, and find him cleaning the sword that had hung by his hip last time. He asks you your name again. You ask him his. You play hot potato like this for four more visits, much to your mutual and evident dismay, and valiantly do not try to kill each other, though the tension is as tangible a force as the string pulling them into the same space to begin with.

You see him several times a week, whether you want to or not. Sometimes he wanders into your dreams. Sometimes you wander into his. More often than not, you wander into each other in the liminal space of the Faerilands, where the seasons change alarmingly fast but he does not, except for the fact that his skin gradually begins to swirl with runes.

You never stop seeing him after that.

You don't really know how to feel about that.

Like, at all.

This is sort of implied by the last one, but: Kit isn’t actually affected by the perfect loyalty spell.

That’s not to say he’s not aware of it. In fact, he’s hyper-aware of it and everything else related to Ash. Hell, being around Ash is like being turned into a live wire with how fucking aware he is. And it doesn’t really take a genius to figure out why, with who Kit is. What he is.

Ash is appealing to him in every sense of the manner, because Kit is pretty sure fae are built to be appealing in every sense of the manner. His voice, his face, his bone structure, his eyes, the way he talks, the way he moves, even his scent—all of it is honey a fly, and if any common fae attracts a swarm, Kit can only imagine how many Ash calls to him. He’s perfectly charming and he’s, quite literally, enchanting. Kit would have to be dead not to notice, and then dead again because even a vampire could tell and be trapped by it.

But.

But being conscious of it does not in any way mean Kit is swayed by it.

He could be, he thinks, if he allowed it. It’d be quite easy, actually, because it’s just as easy to blink away the film that Ash’s existence tries to drag over his eyes. It’s second nature, in fact. So, it could be third nature to let it in instead of keeping it out, if he were so inclined. 

But that would have to be a conscious decision, which he finds about as appealing as getting stabbed in the gut. As it is, it washes over him like water off a duck’s back, slippery and insistent and curious. Different than the buzz of when they come into contact, or the currents that seem to thicken between them whenever they’re in the same vicinity, tumultuous and arresting. But familiar nonetheless. Familiar the way many things about Ash are, even when they feel jarringly foreign.

The magic is strong, like a waterfall right like over Kit’s head whenever Ash so much as looks his way, but it’s easy to be distracted from it by other things. It’s not uncomfortable, not like the pressure of their proximity; in fact, it can even be pleasant. It soothes Kit’s rage considerably, which means he just gets angrier out of seemingly reflexive spite, and it relaxes him, which makes him want to tense up just to prove a point. And he does. Until he doesn’t.

But the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t feel beholden to it in the least.

In fact, he finds it annoying as hell, because he can tell that he’s supposed to fall head over ass in a quest to make Ash his number one priority at all costs, and that’s more than vaguely insulting. So much so that it makes Kit feel more than vaguely murderous. It makes him more furious than anything has since he had to accept that he was a Herondale when the rug got yanked out from under him.

But with time, he ever so reluctantly lets it go, because although Ash seems confused as to why it doesn’t work—and wasn’t that a fucking woozy—he also seems vaguely, ever-so-slightly, ever-so-secretly pleased. Kit has never met anyone that even somewhat enjoyed being brutally and viciously and very vocally hated, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

(Needless to say, Ash is pleased because that means that, whatever Kit feels toward him—be it negative, positive, both or neither—is fully, wholly, entirely real. It’s genuine. And he’s never really had that. So he’s more than a little delighted to experience it. Even if Kit is incredibly annoying.)

Ash and Kit struggle with touching each other.

There's definitely some trauma reasons behind this. Undoubtedly.

Kit has gone without affection for most of his life and that has left its mark, even if he now has all the affection one could would, via his family.

On the other hand, Ash has a very long history with touch signifying pain. It's been weaponized against him, until he associates it with violence.

The point is, they have a shit history with touch and that certainty influences Le Situation.

But, in truth, there's also a magical aspect to it.

Namely, how the magic between them interacts.

Both Kit and Ash are one of kind, in their own respective ways. There's nobody else like them, not anymore. There may never be anyone like them ever again. And what they do know for a fact is that people like them have never interacted the way they try to.

Hence, the first they touch, it's...interesting.

It's not entirely deliberate. They could call it an accident, but the truth is that very little between the two of them can ever be defined as wholly accidental, because of the very nature of their interactions. Thus, it's not entirely planned. It is, mostly, accidental.

They're skipping rocks, one of their past times that is less likely to end in them trying to kill each other, and Ash offers Kit a rock. It isn't peaceful in the least, but it is companionable, as comfortable as they've been able to get, and their conversation is civil, for a change.

Hence, when Kit offers a rock, another one of their many sharp, double-edged olive branches, Ash doesn't hesitate to grasp it.

It's just a brush of their fingers as the rock trades hands, just knuckles knocking together and calloused fingertips rubbing against each other, nails catching on skin. At least, it's supposed to be.

In truth, their fingers barely begins to brush before they feel it, thick and pulsing and firm between them, like shoving your hand straight into a river's current and trying to push back against it. The pressure is immediate and it is brutal, the live-wire buzz that their proximity constantly hums climbing to the beginning of a burn, flaming up and down their spines like they've come into contact with heavenly fire.

It's a frisson spreading over them, lightning striking down the knobs of their spinal cords and tingling through their skin. It isn't painful, no, but it's uncomfortable, unsettling. It sets off their instincts, warning bells and panic, in the way standing at the edge of a cliff does. Like standing too close to a fire.

At once, they flinch away, hands hovering inches away from each other, the magic constantly surrounding them thickening into something that's almost fucking visible. They've been like magnets since they met, pulled together by something other than themselves, and now, just like when poles face each other, they're bouncing off each other.

They look at each other, confused brows and wide eyes, Kit's mouth half-open with surprise, a question there. He doesn't need to ask for Ash to nod, a confirmation that Kit hasn't lost his mind. Kit alternates between the rock and Ash's too-still fingers, squinting. Ash looks between their hands and Kit's eyes like the answer will spell itself out if he glowers long enough.

No such luck. As it is, Ash readjusts his stance and slowly, ever so carefully, reaches out again. Kit tenses, bracing against whatever is about to happen, keeping his hand still and out snd steady.

As their hands near, it happens again; the currents between them harden, packed air and running waves, and Ash's brow furrows, even as his jaw clenches stubbornly. Instead of relenting, he pushes forward, further and further and further, mouth curdling into a grimace and breath freezing in his lungs with every milimeter he pushes through.

Kit tenses further and further with each one, face pinched with the same discomfort shuddering its way through Ash's body. It's like a fucking mantle over each of them, reacting only to each other. Reacting because of each other.

By the time their fingers are about to touch, it's taking all of Kit's self-control not to snatch his hand away. Now, it almost stings, standing on the knife's edge between discomfort and pain. Everything with Ash is heightened and quick and vicious. He doesn't want to find out how this is gonna feel.

But Ash doesn't touch him. He doesn't even try. Instead, he very carefully, very deliberately avoids it, pinching the rock between his fingers and all but snatching his hand away, stumbling half a step backwards with the pressure of it all.

Kit doesn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he finally exhales in relief, chest and throat burning with it, and he doesn't care about apperances for once. He presses his hands over his knees and bends over as he pants, acutely aware of the shivers wracking through him, sparks bursting behind his eyes.

He can tell that Ash isn't doing any better, not because he can see it, but because he can feel it. For the few moments it takes him to stabilize his galloping heart and his breathing, he can feel Ash's own, faster than he's ever seen them, unsteady and messy.

And then he blinks his eyes open and Ash is alright, perfectly composed, perfectly okay—except his fist has clenched into a vice around the rock, knuckles bone-white and trembling, blood drip-drip-dripping from their crevices easily.

Kit straightens up, calm spreading over him at the sight of something he fix, at the sign that he wasn't the only one rattled by the event.

And so he pointed at it and said, "Iratze."

And Ash's gaze snapped to him, startled, another one of those moments when Kit remembered that Ash experienced the world and its pains in ways utterly foreign to Kit. Slowly, his green eyes fell to his hand, fingers slowly uncurling from the rock, exposing bloody palms and jagged cuts. A frown adorned his porcelain features, a shadow crossing his eyes. There he went again.

With a sigh, Kit pulled his stele out from his pocket and leaned over, careful to make sure no part of them brushed, gritting his teeth around the currents of resistance as they got ever closer. Ash did not flinch, though alarm flashed over his eyes.

It was the hardest iratze of Kit's life, drawn sloppily over the bump of Ash's wrist bone. It wasn't perfect and it wouldn't work as such, but it'd do.

True to form, when Ash skipped his rock, it was with perfect accuracy, and his hand came back healed, even though he had to wash it out in order to actually see it.

They didn't touch again for a long time.

Fae's real names hold weight, right? Not with hybrids, as we know, but what if it was, instinctively, the principle of the thing. (AKA, Kit introduces himself as Christopher.)

During Kit and Ash's game of name hot potato, it is, surprisingly, Ash that finally gives.

They've been at this for weeks and honestly, little progress has been made. He knows Kit has a sister and a cousin, he knows he's no good with words but he's clever, he knows that Kit knows him even though he does not want to, which is a mutual feeling. He also knows that Kit is completely immune to his—literal—charms.

Kit is a walking, talking obstacle. Ash wouldn't mind cutting him down like a weed.

Except.

Though it's true he doesn't really seem to have a choice in the matter, much like Ash, Kit is still here. He isn't beholden to him by love, loyalty or charm. But he's still here. He still talks to Ash, even if most of their conversations devolve into thinly veiled threats and not-so-subtle resentful spats over their differences. Of which there are an unfortunate many.

There's also the matter of Ash being supremely out of his depth, being around someone who doesn't feel the need to care for him for once, and Kit seems to be the distrustful type, which suits him just fine.

Tactically speaking, though, however intriguing their existential arguments are, they're not liable to get anywhere if they continue like this. In fact, they're liable to kill each other first. So, Ash decides perhaps he should move his piece. A slight nudge. It is purely strategic. It has absolutely nothing to do with his genuine curiosity toward Kit and his juxtapositions.

So, during another round of "Who are you?" "I don't know, who are you?" When Kit mockingly, sarcastically plays his part, Ash answers honestly.

"My name is Ash." Just Ash. Not Ash Morgenstern, Sebastian's son or the Seelie Queen's offspring. Not Ash Morgenstern, who is to be the better Sebastian, as Janus wants. Not the boy who had his throat slit wide open by the king for a vial of blood, because there was power in him. None of that. Just Ash.

He thinks that, in this situation, it's easy to be just that.

Kit looks surprised, for a moment, and then a tad disarmed, and then wholly suspicious. And then, amusingly enough, he looks begrudgingly cowed.

Finally, in grumbling tones, he says, "Christopher."

It's odd, the way he says it. A bit dazed, a bit languid, and not at all deliberate. Like the simple honesty of it unfamiliar to him, rolling uncomfortably off his tongue. He says it in a mutter that could get lost in the soft twinkle of the woods and the gentle drizzle of the wind, were Ash not always keeping an ear open for everything Kit has to say, almost as studiously as Kit seems to listen to him, even when he pretends to ignore him.

The way Kit looks, he's surprised that's what came out. It takes Ash a moment to realize that perhaps it's not the name he usually goes by. Another moment to realize the raw vulnerability that crosses Kit's face for a moment, before he defiantly shuts it into boredom and distance, cockiness. Yet another, and he realizes that they're not all that dissimilar.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, then, Christopher," Ash says, going back to practicing runes on his ankle.

He means it.

Lake Lyn's water gives the fae "true sight" and allows them to see visions. It's poisonous to nephilim. For Ash and Kit, it's both.

How do they figure this out, you ask? They get thrown into Lake Lyn. They almost die. It is not fun.

They come out sputtering and hypothermic and also puking out half the river in the most disgraceful picture ever. For heirs to the throne, they look like wet, sick kittens.

And then they start going through the weirdest drug trip ever. Yes, they're running a very high fever. They're delirious. They're also half blind.

But they're seeing a lot of what's going to happen in the future and a lot of what happened in the past. They see their families, past and present and though there are glimpses of a future, it is...conspicuously hollow.

They see war and bloodshed and they see their allies turning on them. They see themselves alone and battered and broken.

Kit sees himself falling from the sky. It takes him a moment to realize he's got dark wings in the periphery of his vision and that there's iron netting burning along them, and that he...doesn't have wings.

It takes Ash a second to recognize Tessa Gray's face from Kit's dreams when he sees her, and then another to recognize the sword impaled inside his own chest, gilded gold and an inscription, a name—Cortana, it says Cortana—and yet another to see her tears and understand.

And then it's them, together, in Faeri, fighting against their worst enemies and their worst fears taken flesh—and they fight together. They wouldn't call each other friends, no, but they're not enemies, either, and they trust each other with their backs. Even though they should not. Even though they really should not.

If they're stuck with each other, they'll make sure they both make it out alive.

If only because they should be the ones to tear each other in half.

When Kit comes to, Ash has been dragging him through the woods of Idris, soaking wet and catatonic, while muttering under his breath in what he's halfway certain is a foreign language.

When he realizes Kit is awake, he asks, "What did you see?"

And all Kit can do is laugh so he doesn't cry. That seems to be answer enough for Ash.

(This is a particularly funny headcanon because before the parabatai ceremony aka the trial by fire, there's the trial by water. You know what it's about? You guessed it—you drink Lake Lyn's water together and see if your mind takes you to the same place, to fight to protect each other. Wonder what that’s about...)

Kit and Ash fight amazingly, instinctively well together. And guess what:

They hate it.

They despise it.

It's a little comical, really, and Kit's posse of ghostly friends is not shy about saying it. But Kit is so unamused. He is so unmoved.

After months and months of coiled tension, of barbed wire arguments, of hissing threats and very consciously turning away from each other to keep the peace, they understand each other. Somewhat.

They know each other's body language. Some of their tells. The way Kit's shoulders curl when he's wary. The way Ash's fingers give him away when they're too still or too twitchy, which is hard to tell apart from his general graceful stillness or his general twitching. (Not for Kit. That one's easy.)

And so, since they are both adept at seeing people's behavior and learning it, at seeing intentions through the language of the body, they fight like they've known each other for years.

Kit finds it so annoying that he could literally, physically scream. Ash just finds it confusing in a very 😐 way.

Where Kit wades in, Ash washes out. When Ash goes under, Kit aims higher. When Kit goes in, fast and lethal and up-close, Ash dances away, hard to catch and fluid as water.

Kit fights dirty; there's nothing fair or honorable about it. It's all speed and grace and clever movements, twin daggers slicing through tendons like butter, a swift leg kicking feet out from under people, dirt kicked into people's eyes and glasses smashed over their heads. He doesn't fight to win so much as he fights to survive, and so it's less about proving a point, about scoring, and more about making sure they can't get him. He's slick, slippering through grips like smoke, comfortable in the shadows, where he reigns king. He doesn't fight harder, he fights smarter.

Often, that means people find it distasteful, because he will manipulate and lie and brutalize his way out of a fight. He uses people's weakness against them the second he sniffs them out. He uses their anger, their sadness, their fear. Whatever he has to do, even if that's a knife to the back, even if that is something he'll hate himself for come morning.

Anything to survive. Anything to protect that which he loves. Anything to come back home.

Ash is of a mind with him. There's little he won't do to come out on top, whether it's lying or making false promises or biting his way through someone's carotid before they can slice through his own. In a fight, Kit is ruthless, but Ash is brutal. He blazes through every battle like it's his last. He fights to win, every single time, using every asset at his disposal to do so. He'll charm, he'll deceive, he'll be cruel, he'll be vicious, he'll be monstrous. He doesn't care; he's been entrusted with goals and dreams and expectations, and he'll meet each and every one.

(His father only ever said one or two things Ash actually found important. One of them was if I can't move heaven, I'll raise hell.)

(And here Ash is, huh.)

Ash has Jace's grace and Emma's strength, the same relentless grit, pushing and pushing until his opponent gives. He's got his mother's ease for figuring people out, for singling out the chinks in their armor. He's got his father's ease for exploiting them. He's a vision in the battlefield, wading his way through the chaos easily, never losing his cool and never tripping over his feet, dancing to a tune only he and few others seem to understand.

He's built for endurance and he's built for strength, but he's speedy in his own right and his instincts are impeccable. His reflexes, even more so. Plus, his wings are surprisingly vicious weapons and they move like an extension of himself, easy and fluid.

He's a warrior. A leader, even.

Kit, on the other hand, is built for speed more so than strength, even if he is strong. He's resilient and he endures. He doesn't give. And it's profoundly annoying, because he runs circles around the people he fights, slippery and clever. He ends things fast, either because he doesn't give his opponents a chance to make it otherwise or because he comes at them so sharply, so suddenly, they can't stop him, even when they know he's coming. When it drags on for longer, though, Kit fights a war of atrition, because his stamina is ridiculous. He has the time and the patience to pick at them and prod at the right places, so they'll get sloppy and give him an opening.

Kit's got that Herondale grace to him, beautiful and dangerous, but he also has the Carstairs patience, their ease. Their deliberation. He's got Tessa's quiet ferocity, her stubbornness. And he has his father's arrogance, that way he knew what buttons to push to get what he wanted.

If Ash moves like water, Kit moves like smoke, gone and then here again in a blink, pervasive and inevitable and fucking annoying. Pretty brutal, too, and often unfair.

Their signature weapons represent this, too.

(Thule's) Heosphoros, Morgenstern sword it is, cuts through everything like Ash's will. It strikes true and it strikes hard, relentless, and though it's smaller than its cousin, Phaesphoros, it's no less lethal. In Ash's hand, even a spoon would do the trick, but Heosphoros moves like it's a part of his arm, smooth and easy and beautiful.

And it could be the last thing you see, if that's what Ash wishes.

Kit's bichuwa daggers are curved, wickedly sharp things, older than anyone he knows is, except maybe Magnus. From the first time he holds them, they feel right in his hands, balanced in a way no weapon but the dagger Jace gave him has been. Dual wielding was daunting at first, unfamiliar and strange, but with time and training and help, it becomes as instinctive to him as breathing.

He's a menace with them, whirling through everything in his path like a cyclone of doom. They are versatile, adaptable weapons, though they're not for everyone. It takes a clever mind to adjust to them, takes a light step to wield them right. In Kit's hands, they're weapons of destruction and mercy tucked by his sides, ready to be drawn in a single flash that might be your last.

These two fighting styles, unsurprisingly, mesh very, very well.

It's easy. Instinctive. Pieces falling into place. Parallel lines. The push and pull of the waves taken physical shape, even with how wary they still are, even with all the damn walls. A game of smoke and mirrors taken flesh.

Nobody finds it more ??? than the Blackthorns, to be perfectly honest.

Tessa and Jem have...found feelings.

Mina likes it on sole account of thinking Ash is the coolest person ever outside of her family and Emma, because of his wings.

That annoys Kit even more, for the record, because he kinda gets where she's coming from.

Ash notices this. Kit doesn't want to be here anymore.

Kit's bichuwa daggers were once a part of Alastair's collection.

Once, Alastair resided in the home Kit and his family now live in. Now, Kit should technically know little of this; those are Carstair tales and the hurt of them is fresh for Jem, who would have given plenty of his ribs to help his family in their struggles if given the chance. Someday, he'll share. Until that day, they're all content to wait.

But the truth is that Kit knows things he doesn't want to know, things nobody should know. Because he sees things.

Kit's a Herondale. Herondales see more than the average person, even if that person is a nephilim. They see the living and the dead as though they were one and the same, the rules of the universe be damned. But Kit is fae, too, and there is more than enough of Auraline in him for him to see more than ghosts.

He sees the past, dreamily hazy and yet technicolor-like in its detail. Walking down the halls of Cirenworth, Kit can almost taste the past. Can hear Cordelia giggling and can see Alastair's tortured stoicism. He sees enough of them to know who they were, not as names but as people. He doesn't see enough to know exactly what happened to them, but he sees enough to think maybe he's okay with not knowing, with imagining they lived to be very happy.

But Oscar wasn't Cordelia's dog and he wasn't Alastair's, so what the hell was he doing here? How come Matthew Fairchild—the boy he saw when he held onto James's ring tightly enough, for that parabatai of his was as much a part of James as his own heart was—had somehow come to be here?

Or, if not Matthew, how come the dog he'd been so fond of ended up dying here?

Didn't make much sense, but Kit was learning quickly not to question the things he saw. Not the future and its chaos, the flames and the broken glass and the screams, and not the past, with its loss and its pain and its sepia mistakes.

So, when Oscar starts barking during Mina's first yuletide, Kit thinks nothing of it. Oscar is excitable and Kit is indulgent, given only he can hear him and Mina's naptime won't be disturbed. He pets him and plays with him and thinks nothing of the way he paces up and down one of the towers. It's not uncommon behavior. It shouldn't really raise any eyebrows.

Except it's been days and Oscar hasn't calmed down any. If anything, he's gotten more frantic. More pacing and more barking and a lot less sleeping for Kit.

So finally, Kit caves and follows the dog up to the top of the tower, with its roomy, dusty attic, sealed off and left for storage. It's a place Kit avoids, because the visions are particularly strong here. He suspects it has something to do with the imprints the past has left on the place. He really doesn't want to know if he's wrong or not.

But the lock gives easily with a couple shoves and a good picking, and Oscar rushes straight past him like a tornado, booking it toward the back of the room, avoiding all the piles of boxes and cases of weapons and white sheets protecting furniture from dust.

Kit follows wearily, blinking through the flashes of bleached hair and copper skin, hazel eyes and a fond smile. Love echoed through the walls like misery did, pulsing with loneliness and guilt and self-loathing as strongly as they did with affection; Kit could feel it like a physical touch, and he pulled down his long sleeves like that would ward off the way the echoes, words and sensations and memories, were already sinking into his bones.

But Oscar whined for his attention, sitting panting and waiting by the window, besides an ornate box caked in dust and half-hidden under a disturbed sheet. It's pure brass, shadowed by time but still swirling into beautiful patterns; it looks heavy, durable despite its beauty. Practical. And bigger than any jewelry box needed to be. Big enough it could be a gentleman's chest.

Kit blinked away the images of a past not his own, trying to forget the names to the faces—Alastair and Thomas, the voice in his head that wasn't his own whispered; Kit clenched his jaw—and followed Oscar, trailing fingers over his head, though he couldn't really touch him.

Here goes nothing, Kit thought, and then he unlatched the box.

And stared. And stared. And stared some more.

The first thing that strikes him as he stares down at the daggers is the violence of the recognition. The sheer familiarity. The certainty that yes, he's seen these somewhere before; he knows them, he's sure of it, in ways he hasn't ever been sure of much. He's seen them in the nebulous clouds of his visions, disjointed things that weren't dreams, that were memories nobody had yet or nobody had anymore.

The blades are twins, beautiful recurved, polished steel, glimmering even with the rust of time. The hilts were silver and brass, looping into knuckle-guards, ornamented elegantly with what looked like a small bird preparing to take flight. Guarding, almost. They lay on a bed of velvet, cared for, loved. There is power in them, dulled by time but waiting to blaze, and he can, at once, of their importance.

Same as he can tell, at once, that they're Carstairs blades. It's not in any signature he can see. Or in any ornament. No castle tower and no resemblance to Cortana beyond the wickedness of the blade's edge. Nothing to explain what he knew.

Nothing except memories, that is, and Alastair Carstairs's presence deep within the foundations of Cirenworth. There was no ghost of him. He was, at least in death, free. But Kit could feel him still, could feel the imprint he'd left here, heavy with conflict and a maelstrom of emotions, filled with abrasive longing.

He had a collection of daggers, Kit remembered abruptly. A great many of them, a whole slew of them, scattered throughout the world and the house, now. And it looked like Oscar had found one such pair for Kit.

"Good boy," Kit says, before he reapplies his Strength rune and heaves the chest into his arms.

As it turns out, Jem is none the wiser about these particular daggers. He doesn't recognize them, though he, too, is certain they belonged to Alastair. Tessa is slightly less clueless; as it turns out, they had belonged to Alastair, once upon a Tuesday. They were ancient, really, bichuwa daggers from the 17th century, one of Alastair's greatest findings and dearest treasures. They were Cordelia's favorites, apparently, or at least the ones that actually called to her eye.

And so, Alastair had apparently surrendered the daggers as a wedding gift, handed to his sister for safekeeping, so they would one day belong to a Herondale. As a gift. Since it was what made her happy.

"Did that happen?" Kit asked, even as he felt the answer in the drop of his stomach.

Tessa's smile crumpled, and that was answer enough.

Afterwards, they discuss what to do. Return them to the tower? Treasure them? Have them as family weapons along with Cortana? Save them for Mina, in case that she one day chooses to be a Shadowhunter, so a Carstairs can wield them?

They get nowhere.

Until Jem says, gentle in the way he always is to Kit, "Whatever the reason, they were meant for a Herondale."

Kit denies it vehemently, at first. He couldn't possibly. But Tessa softly adds that he was led to them, that he recognized them, that they are familiar to him. That he is a Herondale, their Herondale.

And that he is as much a Carstairs as he is a Herondale, because he is as much their son as Mina is their daughter, and—

And there's really not much Kit can say to that without breaking into tears, so he gives up and gives in, and sits down to polish the blades with Jem while Tessa puts on the tea.

(They are runed. Primed for the usage. They renew them, of course, after they've been polished and cleaned and sharpened back to their former glory, gleaming steel and a wicked edge to it. Merciless and vicious, and beautifully so.)

(They feel perfectly balanced in Kit's hands, the cold under his fingertips familiar and comforting, grounding. He thinks, as he settles his grip, that he could get used to this.)

(He looks up to smile at Jem, excited and bashful, and catches the melancholy gleam in his eye, the affection of his grin. And he finds that yes, these belong to him.)

The daggers:

Ash has the typical dramatic fae speech. Kit has the typical Herondale speech. Immovable object meets unstoppable force.

Banter. So much banter. So much bickering. They are a nightmare to be around.

Nobody can tell if they literally despise each other or would take a bullet for each other.

To be perfectly honest they don't know either and they have absolutely no desire to figure it out

Ash speaks like he came out of a damn Shakespeare play. Waxes poetry about everything. The perfect Victorian gentleman.

He speaks like Matthew and Will, okay. But like. With an indubitably straight face. All the fucking time.

It drives Kit up the wall.

(He doesn't know this, but that makes Ash get worse.)

Kit speaks like God mixed sarcasm, drama, and a fair bit of withering, scathing remarks into a bottle and then forgot to measure out the angst and the insults.

He speaks Herondale, is what he speaks.

Ash is somehow unperturbed.

(It drives him up the wall, too, but bold of you to assume he'd admit that on pain of death.)

By the time TWP begins, Kit can make bargains like the fae. Binding ones.

Not that he...actually knows this.

Yet another instance where the use of his abilities is purely instinctive.

They're in a pinch and he can't girlboss gaslight gatekeep his way outta this one, so he does the next best thing.

Bargaining.

"Let's make a deal," he tells the fae about to kill them all, and the asshole, predictably, pauses. Trust a fae to give into intrigue.

The fun bit comes when, once the deal is done with, the fae can't actually go back on it, both because they're a fae and because neither can Kit.

Subconsciously, he tied all his loose ends pretty tight, and the deal is exactly as he wants it to be.

And he keeps doing this. Over and over. Without fucking realizing.

Until one day he makes a deal with Dru of all people and then they find themselves in a bit of a situation when they realize neither of them can actually, like. Go back on it as they'd secretly planned to.

(Ash finds it hysterical. Kit can tell because his mouth twitched and his eyes darkened with amusement. Bastard.)

In the same vein, any type of promise, oath or vow between Kit and Ash is a mess. The world could literally end and the vow would still fucking stand.

This is how Ash ends up justifying giving a fuck about Kit to himself and the world, going all, "I am protecting my investment," in true antagonist-going-through-an-arc nature. Typical.

(Yes, this would subsequently turn into those “what do you mean, christopher is dying??? he made me a promise, how dare that utter nincompop—” “ASH WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING” “this is his own fault, really, he should have considered his options better before making promises with the fae”)

(This is particularly and spectacularly ridiculous because the promise was probably something along the lines of “hey, tell you what, if we make it out of this one alive, I’ll take you around the world myself” and now Ash is ready to conduct open heart surgery in the middle of a war In The Name of The Unbreakable Vow)

(Dru voice: They are idiots, your honor.)

Kit steals things from Ash to see how long it'll take him to realize they're gone.

It's a game they play

Except only Kit knows about it

It's a vindictive sort of pleasure at first, a purely spite-driven quest to chip away at Ash's sanity and glacier composure

Then it becomes a game

Ash is not amused.

Dru is.

She really, really is.

(Ash calls him sticky fingers and Kit just raises an eyebrow and goes, “I’m surprised you even knew that was a thing” and then they’re off again)

Kit lets Ash practice runes on him.

It's a really weird experience

Their relationship, if it can even be called that, has so many vitriolic layers of danger and tension and "I may or may not be the one to kill you one these days (real)" going on that it feels...oddly diminutive, comparatively

He's willingly—well, as willing as you can be when your freaky fae magic literally hauls you both into the woods in the middle of the night and you're still not entirely sure you're not actually there—sat by Ash's side for months now, discussing the most philosophical of things but not even knowing if he has a favorite meal. They've skipped rocks and they've hissed at each other because they’re seemingly not the yelling type and they've taken walks through the woods and one time Kit shoved Ash in a lake for no reason other than he could. They've told each other deep dark secrets under the guise of using them as weaponry. They've made each other vulnerable while being acutely aware that they're dangerous

Point is, they've kinda jumped the gun on this one. Sure, Kit doesn't even know Ash's birthday, but he does know what he'd kill and die for and that these things only align on the loosest of terms. Ash has no idea if Kit likes mangoes, but he does know what he hates and who he loves, and in the grand scheme of things, he thinks that kind of counts for more

Which is why, as Kit watches Ash practice the same runes on his foot over and over again, his skin sizzling softly, getting pinker and redder until the skin is burnt and blistered and the runes are still sloppy, still fading, he feels a profound level of annoyance

One that aligns almost perfectly with the tinge of concern in the back of his mind

Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, he snatches a hand around Ash's wrist. It's difficult to do, like threading through water, but he does it.

The skin under his hand is cold, not as much of that of the vampires that he has met, not as much as coming into contact with the shadow of a ghost, but enough that it would raise brows. It’s spring in Faeri now. His skin should be warm and clammy, like Kit’s, except it never is. Even when it snows, there’s no flush to his cheeks, no redness to his skin. There never is, unless he’s injured, which happens rarely enough that it’s a stele-only affair. Speaking of.

The pulse under Kit’s fingertips is strong and fast and steady, like nephilim pulses often are. It's faster than usual, though, hummingbird wings, a bit like Mina's. Except Mina's is slower, not faster, just like Tessa's. Tessa's is slowest, back home. Languid, almost. It took Kit a long time to realize his own pulse was weird like that, like Mina's, all smooth, dripping syrup, almost bored in its pace.

He thinks that's probably because he spent so much of his life ready to bolt at a moment's notice that he never knew what a resting pulse was until very, very recently.

He knows this is Ash's resting pulse, though, because it's not the first time he feels it. He even catches snatches of it sometimes, when he's in his dreams, like he's got an ear pressed right against his chest.

It doesn't jump at all with the contact. Just like it hadn't lurched with the pain. If anything, he looks a tad confused, in that wary, tense way they have around each other. Kit suspects his touch is more painful than the stele's persistent burn is, because touching each other is hard. It's like pushing through layers of power, through barriers standing between them, even though they can't see them.

Even so, Kit squeezes, tight enough to bruise the pale skin under his fingertips, to dig his nails in, pressing down on veins and capillaries, harshly enough for Ash's fingers to cease all movement, stele stuttering in place as smoke wafts gently from his flesh.

"Do me," Kit says, very slowly, very deliberately, a lick of an accent beginning to chase his words.

(Years in Devon will do that to you, he supposes.)

Ash doesn't really give any reaction between a momentary, curious smolder to his eyes, the beginning of a twitching brow that smooths out fast enough that anybody could chalk it up to their imagination. Kit doesn't. Kit knows. Kit waits.

Until Ash nods, decisive but subdued, because he always seems decisive but subdued, quiet and observant and dangerous by very nature, misleading in the delicacy of his bone structure and the demure look to his lashes, even though all his grace is coiled lethality.

The point is. He nods. And so Kit slowly, slowly lets go, working his jaw to contain a flinch at the shudder that works its way down his skin as he pulls back, threading through the heat of the water again, fingers squeezing reflexively. It doesn't hurt, not quite, but there's pressure to it, and it isn't comfortable.

(It gets easier the longer they touch, but boy will it take them a long time to fucking realize)

(When they do realize it, though, it's a gradual, conscious effort to ease their way through the current of pressure between them. They greet each other with small, careful touches, softening their way through it. Shaking hands for the fuck of it when they see each other. Bumping shoulders together. Brushing hands when exchanging things.)

(Eventually, it becomes easy to bear what becomes a moment of pressure. It's just a moment's pause, easy to adjust to, and though it's certainly not normal, it is for them. It's good enough.)

Ash reaches out and grabs Kit's wrist this time, his graceful fingers a little too stiff as they break through and cradle Kit's bone. He turns it over, slowly, the buzz spreading, the pressure aching. And then he begins pressing down his stele, making graceful shapes over shifting tendons and bumpy veins.

It happens many, many more times.

When Janus said it would be painful for Ash to bear runes, he didn't mean it in the normal way.

He didn't mean it in the "runes are generally painful, especially for newbies, buckle up" way.

He meant it in the "You have demon blood. This will be very difficult for you. It will hurt inmmensely. Buckle the fuck up" way.

Which, he was right, for the record.

“But Lucie and James also have demon blood and they’re doing just fine!” You might say. To which I’d respond that Tessa and Sebastian are drastically different examples of people with demon blood. Not to mention Ash has the blood of Lilith running through his veins. Lilith.

Also Ash is a freaking faerie, too, he and Kit are literally both one of a kind and my entire point is that I will die on this hill until Cassandra Clare herself comes and inevitably proves me wrong via The Wicked Powers. It’s okay. I know it’s coming

But until then.

It actually is physically painful for Ash to bear runes, especially at the beginning. He’d been trained as a warrior for most of his life, yes, and he was exceptionally good at it, but. Runes were, he soon learned, different.

Runes didn't come naturally to him in the least. Not like everything else had. It was harder for him to draw them than it ought to be. More painful, too, as they sizzled and burned their way into his body, leaving behind welts and red, blotchy skin. He'd seen the runes on Janus's skin, had seen how they were drawn upon it, and much as he tried to replicate them on his own, they didn't stick.

It bothered him. Constant practice was the only means to achieve perfection, of course, and so he would sit down with his stele for hours, pressing down as hard as he could, trying to sear the mark into his body.

It worked, little by little. The simpler runes began to stick, began to work. At a price, of course.

Namely, the pulses of pain that spread from the mark and throughout his entire body, chronic and sporadic and unstoppable. Apparently, some people were resistant to Marks. Apparently, Ash was one of them. For a variety of reasons.

Janus theorized as Ash came down with a fever when he got his first mark—Strength, of course—that it was a mix of resistance and his demon blood, plus the fae blood. It was like throwing a match in a powder keg and hoping for the best.

Ash pulled through, of course. Whether he would or not was never even a question. And as soon as he did, he began training again. That was never a question, either.

Janus wanted to give him the world, after all.

(The more permanent and powerful the rune, the greater the pain. The Voyance rune is agonizing to obtain under normal circumstances. For Ash, it's torture, fiery pain and tremors and firecrackers bursting through his spine. It's his skin peeling and itching, flushed and pallid by turns. It's the way he feels his entire body has been beaten black and blue, leaving him feverish and then boneless, hazy and disoriented.)

(It gets better. With time and practice and effort. Part of it is Ash getting adjusted, both to the pain and the sensation. Part of it is his body getting adjusted, striking a tentative and tenuous balance. Most of it, he thinks, is his will and his blood winning out over the part of him that belonged to his father.)

(He still practices frantically, though, both on his skin and Kit's, tracing all sorts of runes over their arms and legs and hips. Kit starts asking him for runes he needs, which is a tacit offering, an olive branch of sorts. Kinder than they usually are to each other. And hesitantly, against his better judgement, Ash always acquiesces.)

(He practices and practices and practices until finally his marks are perfect and elegant and looping over his porcelain skin, easy sprawls inked into him. They still hurt more than they probably ought to, but that's alright. Ash doesn't really mind pain or hurt anymore.)

(He's too familiar with it to care much.)

Ash has unusually sharp hearing (and a good nose).

Though less so than a full-blooded faerie like, say, Kieran, Ash has very keen ears. Better than most half-fae's, even, which is probably due to his mother being the Seelie Queen.

He's also got a very good nose, though not nearly as great as a downwolder's ought to be. Good enough to pick specific scents out, though, even complex ones.

Kit smells like summer to him. Summer rain and tarts, a tang of citrus and the bite of salt, either sweat or sea spray. Traces of sugar, caramel. He smells pleasant, headily so. Except when he's upset and his scent blazes into something charred and radioactive, utterly intoxicating.

Ash himself smells like snow and vanilla, the rust of blood of his father and his mother's dead flowers born anew, into the scent of a fresh bouquet. There's something subtle to it, enticing, almost enough to forget the bittersweet draw of Lilith's blood, licorice and tears and decay.

Ash and Kit are both faetally beautiful.

See what I did there? Faetally? Ey? No? Okay.

On a more serious note—Ash is gorgeous in the way porcelain is. He's enticing, meant to draw you in, even if he'll be your doom. He is, much like his mother, devastating.

Kit has always had startling eyes, the kind that command attention, that make people stare a bit too long. The kind of cheekbones that arch delicately and beautifully. The kind of plush mouth others cannot help but want to kiss.

And as he grows older, the appeal grows significantly stronger.

The fae blood in him is no joke. It strengthens as he comes of age, as his hair becomes spun gold upon his head, turns to aureate cascades under the light of the sun. As his eyes become the lighthouse that people would swim miles in the dark toward, just for the chance of taking a peak.

His mouth is tantalizing, his mole is inspiring, his freckles are constellations and his face is a work of art. It's Greek beauty, powerful and tragic and absolutely arresting.

It knocks people off their feet and onto their ass. It's charming and it's more than a little magic, too, enough that it takes some getting used to.

(Enough that, sometimes, Kit doesn't give them the time to.)

Tessa thinks Ash is a ghost.

Kit is a secretive, broody Herondale who keeps broody Herondale secrets. This is true. Even when he isn’t actively hiding things, he isn’t exactly forthcoming about them, because he doesn’t really think anybody cares (Tessa and Jem will change this, just you fucking wait)

But Kit is also a severely sleep deprived teenager who has night terrors and a very curious, very adorable little sister. Kit is that one brother who has to close his eyes because if he looks at Mina making puppy dog eyes, he’s caving

All this to say, when Mina wakes him up one day—she does this by jumping on his bed laughing and shrieking every other day—he blurts out Ash’s name instinctively.

He’s still in that in-between state, halfway under water and halfway gasping for air and pulling oxygen back into his lungs. When he’s like this, the real world and the one he sees every other night when he goes to sleep blend into a watercolor floor, into a vibrant haze. There’s Ash laying on a bed of roses and lilies, dandelions bursting through his hair, his eyes shut for once. 

(A very stubborn and deliberate way of telling Kit that he’ll always take the first step if he has to. Even if for all his forced nonchalance, arms folded behind his head, which is tipped back languidly, there are veins bulging at his runed forearms, popping at his neck. His pulse is over two beats faster than usual, and Kit can tell because he can see it jumping at his neck. His fingers are so still that stiff doesn’t even begin to describe it. His eyes keep moving behind his pale, bruised lids.)

(The strategy costs him.)

(But Kit does lay by his side, watching the way he reacts to the shifting of the blades of grass, or the sound of Kit shuffling in place, or the wind. Watching him deliberately not react to any of that, which is a reaction in and of itself to Kit’s trained eyes. Watching him letting himself be watched by not watching back.)

And then there’s Ash’s mouth twitching into that smile, mischievous and smug at once, a little pleased. He accomplished something by staying still all this time, leaving himself vulnerable, even if it was only an illusion. And he knows it.

And then there’s Mina curling into his side, giggling as she hides under his covers, like Jem won’t come lovingly drag them both out of bed by the scruff of the neck if he has to.

And there’s Kit muttering Ash’s name as their world fades into his own, and Mina scurries out of the blanket to blink dark, curious eyes at him.

“Ash?” she asks slowly, mouth clumsy around the new word, grin spreading in toothy delight when she sees that she got it right.

Kit ruffles her hair, watching her make a valiant attempt to flee with a shriek, and then says, because he can’t deny her anything, “He’s...a friend. One of the ones only I can see. Like Oscar.”

Not entirely true, but not entirely a lie, either. Enough of both to land on its feet, anyway.

Mina considers this for a moment, perched atop Kit’s chest like the world’s smallest queen, and then she nods decisively like that is very fair indeed. And that’s the end of that, as Kit snatches her around the waist and off the bed with him, her laughter filling the halls along with the smell of tea and coffee.

Little does our little Kitty know that Mina tells Tessa all about Ash—well, as much as a child who’s been speaking for all of 9 months can—very innocently.

Tessa pales a little at the mention of friends that only Kit can see, because her children do not have a good history with keeping ghostly friendships strictly friendly. In fact, they fucking suck at it and Tessa is going to have nightmares about the Jesse Situation for the rest of her prolonged existence.

But she decides to trust the process and trust Kit, most of all, because her boy may be a secretive, broody Herondale, but he’s still her boy. And she must trust that, if he does need her help or if he is, indeed, making his own Jesse Situation—Tessa might cave and turn to drink if she has to create mental folders for the Ash Situation, she really might—he will come to her. Eventually. Hopefully.

So for now, she kisses Mina’s forehead and says, “Ash sounds delightful, dear.”

(So imagine her surprise when, years down the line, she meets Ash and he’s a) decidedly alive, b) Sebastian Morgenstern’s son with the Seelie Queen, c) very attached to Janus The Serial Killer and d) Kit knew at least half of this. Kit knew him this entire time. Kit has known Ash Morgenstern for years and he never thought to mention it to any of them.)

(Fuck it, she might turn to drink anyway.)

(...At least it’s not another Jesse Situation?)

(No. No, it is not. It’s the first of many Ash Situations. Plural.)

(Will help them all wherever he is, because Tessa and Jem have their work cut out for them. And Clary, too. Hoot, hoot.)

Kit gives Ash his Enkeli rune.

I hear your skepticism, I do. But worry not. There are Reasons behind this.

Obviously, none of what happens in their dreams, short of them actually...dying—they haven’t tried that one yet—actually carries over to the waking world. Otherwise, they’d have a bit of a huge problem trying to keep their respective dream partner secret from everyone else.

Hence, when an actual conversation—a civil one! One that wasn't even dreary!—takes place, glossing over a lot of factors to keep the peace, Ash mentions that he doesn't have the Enkeli rune yet.

It's permanent, after all. Same as the Voyance rune. And he's mildly avoiding permanent runes, given how much they take out of him while he adjusts—not that he'll ever admit to this.

Nevertheless, in the silence that follows, broken solely by the creek gently singing a few feet away from the patches of grass and wildflowers where they sit, Kit says, "Want me to draw it for you?"

There's forced levity to his voice, injecting nonchalance into the statement violently, like that can change its meaning or its impact or maybe the hesitation and deliberation that must have undoubtedly preceded it. It's another one of their careful side-steps around the truth, which is that they shouldn't be what they are to each other, whatever that is.

And Ash smoothly offering up a wrist, the picture of trust and compliance, is an acceptance that they are something. And that they'll figure out what to do with that later.

Ash's fingers are lax and graceful, forceful relaxation, a point being made. His veins glimmer like currents of watercolor over the delicate bones of his wrists, vulnerable under the thin film of his pale skin. Kit's hand moves to cradle it before he's made up his mind to, slow and careful, pushing through the pressure with as much ease as he can pretend to.

It's his left wrist, bare and rid of the raised silvery lines of faded Marks, his pulse a steady rise and fall as Kit digs his stele out of his pocket. He thinks about his own Enkeli, resting over the pulse pounding at his right wrist, and wonders whether it was purposeful. If it was deliberate.

He thinks it's better if he doesn't know and presses stele to skin, watching it sizzle and burn, like it's a brand he's pressing over Ash's bird bones.

By the time he's done completing familiar, simple lines, something in Ash has changed. A slight lurch to his shoulders, a tightness to the line of his crossed legs, a vein popping at his forearm insistently. It's subtle, small, negligible.

Kit knows better than to disregard it.

His alert gaze has gone hooded, though it grows sharper in compensation, even as the smoke disperses gently, even as there is a flicker of something in the corner of his mouth. It looks uncomfortable. Kit wants to know what it is.

But he knows better than to ask and so he says, "Now you have one," and tucks his stele behind his ear, and holds out a winning smile.

Ash takes the out for what it is, and smiles back, a thing full of mockery and irony. Even so, he doesn't tug his wrist away. In fact, he hardly seems to breathe at all until Kit lets go, feeling the pins and needles sensation linger.

(When Ash wakes up, the black angles are gone, his skin bare and unblemished, the feverish haze of pain absent.)

(When he meets Janus for training later that day, the lines are back and they're there to stay.)

Just some general runes they have.

Kit has a Calm Anger rune on his right hip-bone. After Kit explains in detail how his powers awakened and, more specifically, the why, Jem suggests that the Calm Anger rune might be helpful. It's not a cure; after all, Kit doesn't need curing. But it's a crutch of sorts while he learns to hone and control his abilities, so he won't give himself away or hurt others.

(He reapplies it very, very often. Better safe than sorry.)

Both he and Ash have Mnemosyne runes, for similar reasons. They both had excellent memories to begin with, nothing and filing away pretty much everything they saw or heard. The runes just expanded on something that already existed.

(Kit started out with an Eidetic Memory rune; he didn't ever want to forget his time with Tessa and Jem, or Mina's childhood, for one. But for another, he also didn't want to forget the Blackthorns, even if it was masochistic and unbearable to remember them more often than not. When he realized he was forgetting his father, though, no matter how hard he tried to remember him, because he'd still been his father—Kit drew upon himself the Mnemosyne. Permanent and reliable. Painful, too, but worth it.)

(It just so happens his visions went from what could be waved away as bad dreams to more, too much, shortly thereafter. Irony.)

(The rune is under his right collarbone.)

(Ash, on the other hand, went straight for the Mnemosyne. There were too many things he needed to remember with as startling a clarity as he possibly could. He lived in the Faerilands, surrounded by deceit and bloodthirst; he was going to have the world, sooner rather than later; and, whatever anyone said, he was his parents' son. He couldn't afford to fumble.)

(Thus, as permanent a remembrance as he could find it was.)

(Ash's Mnemosyne is on the inside of his left bicep.)

Kit got his Enkeli rune from Jem after a couple of months of training, drawn upon the inside of his right wrist. (Ash's being on the inside of his left wrist. Ahem.)

Ash has a permanent Strength rune swirling on the outside of his right forearm.

Kit prefers the more temporary ones, which he often inlays over spots of his arms, most notably his biceps.

Janus was the one to draw Ash's Agility rune on him, early on in his training. It's on Ash's right shoulder blade.

(Kit's was given to him by Tessa, and it's on the left side of his ribs.)

Kit has a Flexibility rune on the crevice between his left hip and thigh.

Kit has the Equilibrium rune right under the crook of his right elbow. He acquired it after Jem planted him into the floor for the seventh time in a row via knocking him off balance. Kit will die mad about it taking several weeks for Jem to mention its existence.

(Ash got his briefly after he got his Agility rune. It made him even more of a pain to deal with than he already was, given his incredible ability with hand-to-hand and unshakeable core strength. It's on his right bicep.)

Ash applies Fortitude runes on the line of his left shoulder.

(Kit tends to go for his sides or the inside of his arms.)

Kit's Speed rune is on the line of his left shoulder, and he always applies it on the same place once it fades, comforted by the habitual familiarity.

(Ash's runs along the length of his right collarbone.)

When a Foresight rune is required, Kit usually puts it along the veins on the inside of one of his forearms.

(Ash places them along his left hip-bone.)

Ash's Stamina rune is on the side of his throat.

(Kit's is on the right side of his breast, over his lung.)

Kit has a Speak in Tongues rune curling around the back of his left ear.

(The Herondales in his memories speak Welsh often enough that he'd go mad without it. That's without mentioning all the Persian whispers in these halls. And, besides, Jem speaks in Mandarin often enough for Mina to get accustomed to it. Until Kit somewhat grasps the language, which he intends to do, the rune will do.)

They are both right-handed, thus their Voyance runes are on the back of their hands.

These are, of course, just some of their runes. But I wanted to write it down.

Now, onto goofier things:

Ash is the taller one of the two.

In a funny twist of fate, Kit is still smaller than his companion

Ash is quite tall. At least as tall as Alec, without a doubt. And he's got broad shoulders to go with it, too, which makes him look taller.

(Kit is lithe and lean where Ash is broad and firm. Nevertheless, they are both the picture of statuesque beauty.)

Kit, who is smaller than Jace, nevermind Ash, will die mad about this.

At least he knows for a fact that, even though Ash is also physically stronger, Kit can carry his entire weight, wings and all, with no problem at all.

(Don't ask.)

Kit makes fun of Ash's circlets.

Especially the bejeweled one in Ash's latest flower card.

He also steals it more than once, which is honestly as impressive as it is befuddling.

Kit has his ears pierced.

He got them pierced for his seventeenth birthday, as a present from his then friend and now girlfriend.

She got a septum, which Kit had a lot to tell Tessa about. (It takes him weeks to realize he's crushing. Tessa stares into the camera like she's in The Office all the while.)

He gets both his lobes pierced, a double helix and a daith in one ear and a tragus and conch in the other, because he's a Herondale. Go big or go home!!

(Thank fuck for iratzes because Kit should've really, really gone home. Tessa is disappointed but not surprised in the least. Jem is honestly not even disappointed; he'd expected this.)

On the same vein:

Kit paints his nails.

Usually, he goes for dark colors, like blacks, purples and blues.

Occasionally, he goes for more colorful stuff, especially when Mina suggests it.

Funnily enough, the polish is almost always chipped, despite Tessa painting them for him weekly.

(He bites and peels at them, or ruins them during training, picks at them when he isn't twisting and turning at his ring. Either way, they're chipped more often than not.)

(It's a quirk she's very, very fond of.)

(Especially because it reminds her of Lucie, with her ink-stained fingertips, and James, with the ring he never left alone. The ring that hadn't belonged to him for a time, given away to the only person to hold his heart in its totality aside from Cordelia, before it did belong to him once again, a melancholy reminder, and then it belonged to her.)

(It's comforting to see the children she lost live on in the children she gained.)

[gernades]

Ace is gone. He’s been gone for five weeks. 

Nancy has had a lot of time to think. 

She sees the places where he used to be- the kitchen, his house, the spot in his driveway where Florence is always parked- and can’t stop looking at them. 

“Nancy?” 

Nancy blinks and looks up. Ace’s mother is watching her, hands resting on the dough, eyes concerned. “Are you okay?” 

Today they’re making babka-chocolate bread, braided in sections and glazed with egg wash. Nancy looks down. She’s not very good at braiding, but it mostly looks like Rebecca’s dough. 

“I’m fine,” she says, a half-smile working its way across her face. “It’s just been a long week.” Another week without Ace.  She doesn’t know why she’s here, in his house- in his kitchen- but Rebecca doesn’t seem to mind. She never has.

Nancy’s here every other day, now. They’ve made bread and biscuits and a dozen Jewish desserts that Nancy is now addicted to. 

Sometimes, Thom joins them. 

( “He’s taken quite the shine to you,” Rebecca whispers on one such day, eyes sparkling. “He’s not like this with everyone.” 

Nancy doesn’t bring up the ASL textbooks sitting new and shiny on her desk at home. 

Talking about me again, Thom signs over his shoulder, and Rebecca laughs, flicks him on the shoulder. )

Now, Rebecca gently sets down her dough and wipes her fingers off on her apron. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

No, thank you, is Nancy’s knee jerk reaction. She pauses before letting the words come out. She’s been doing that more often, as of late. Sana-her therapist- would be proud. 

Nancy purses her lips and drags a finger through the loose flour on the counter. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just… going through a lot with my dad’s business, and... I can’t help but feel like I’m never going to be happy again.” 

The last part she doesn’t mean to say out loud. “I’m sorry,” Nancy says immediately, and lifts her head up. “That was…” 

“Oh, honey,” Rebecca whispers. Her eyes are shiny. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but I can tell that it’s been hard on you. You’ve always been so strong. Just like your mother.” 

“Hm,” Nancy manages, throat tight and vision blurry. When Rebecca bustles around the table and wraps her arms around her, she doesn’t pull away. 

Rebecca smells like soap and rosemary: she is warm and accepting and she makes Nancy’s heart hurt less. This will have to end eventually, but she can’t help but lean into it anyway.

                                                              *** 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the house,” Carson remarks later that night. 

They’re sitting at the dinner table, doing their best to eat what is supposed to be spaghetti, courtesy of Ryan. He’s still learning how to use basic appliances: his cooking is dangerous.

 Nancy wrinkles her nose and stabs at a coagulated lump of pasta. 

“Yeah. Nothing bad. I’ve just been… baking.” 

Ryan hums and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. Nancy and Carson watch in amazement as he gets it down without gagging. “You’re really good at it, too. That, uh, chocolate croissant thingy you brought home yesterday was amazing.” 

Nancy raises an eyebrow, amused. “The rugelach?” 

Ryan jabs his fork into the air. “Yes. So good.” 

“Spending time with Rebecca, I gather?” Carson’s voice is light and free of judgement. Before the whole Wraith thing, Nancy would have pulled up her walls, deflected the conversation. 

It’s a little different now, though, so Nancy just nods. “It’s just... nice to have someone to talk to who’s normal.�� 

Carson sighs and rubs her shoulder. “I understand that completely.” 

“Hey,” Ryan states, expression pinched, “is pasta supposed to make my stomach bubbly?” 

Nancy and Carson exchange a long, tired look. 

They take Ryan to the ER for food poisoning. 

                                                              *** 

George slams a palm down onto the table. Her engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon light. Nancy jumps. “It’s been quiet, Drew. Too quiet. I don’t trust it.” 

Nancy takes a long look around the Claw. It’s nearly packed to the brim with customers- their Yelp ratings have skyrocketed since the staff have actually started working again. “This is your idea of quiet?” 

George groans and slides into the opposite booth. “You know what I mean. We’ve had nothing supernatural happen for almost a month. It’s driving me crazy.” 

“Good,” Nancy replies mildly, and takes another bite of her crab roll. “I’m taking a sabbatical from sleuthing.” 

Sana was the one to suggest a break from anything stressful- like sports or large events! Avoiding murder and possession via the paranormal probably isn’t what her therapist means, but Nancy can read between the lines. 

George screeches. Half the restaurant turns to look at them. They turn back when they see who it is. 

“What?” She narrows her eyes and leans in. “Okay. I never thought I’d live to see the Hero of Horseshoe Bay gives herself a break.” She crosses her arms. “I’m proud of you, Nancy.” 

Nancy’s heart hums. She sends George a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

George smiles back. “Your lunch break was over ten minutes ago, by the way. I need you to clean out the grease traps.” 

Nancy’s smile drops. 

The grease traps are gross, hard work. They’re also the last normal thing Nancy did with Ace, which is equal parts sad and amusing. 

She grits her teeth and scrubs her cloth against the dirty metal. At least it’s cool here, in the kitchen, and away from the always-prying eyes of customers. 

The bell above the restaurant door tinkles faintly. Nancy sighs and dips her rag into the bucket of degreaser. 

Bess screams, high-pitched and excited. “Ace!” 

Nancy stands up so quickly that she knocks the bucket onto its side. No way. 

He can’t be back- it’s too soon, too late. Nancy needs to think more. If he’s back, she can’t go to his house again, can she?

Heart pounding, she creeps over to the window and peers into the restaurant. He’s surrounded by Bess and George- and, after a moment, Nick jogs in from the parking lot, smile blinding. 

Nancy wants to go see him. She does. Her feet seem to have other ideas, though. She can’t seem to move at all. 

Ace looks good. His hair is longer, and sun-bleached; his skin is tanned. Even from this distance Nancy can see the new freckles on his face. 

There’s a leather jacket, black and tight around his shoulders- and two new silver studs in his ears. He’s smiling. He looks happy.

 Nancy’s chest aches. 

“Hey,” she hears him say to George, “Where’s Nancy?” 

Nancy takes a half step backwards. 

“Cleaning the grease traps in the kitchen,” George replies, spreading her arms in a grand gesture. “The best job in the world.” 

Ace laughs. 

Nancy runs. 

She doesn’t really run- she simply makes a strategic, tactical retreat into the staff room and out the back door. 

There’s no time to overthink it- not yet, her brain and heart agree. Not yet. 

Nancy thanks her former self for parking her car at the very edge of the lot. Nobody notices as she pulls out onto the road, a full two hours before her shift is supposed to end. 

Ooh, she’s a little runaway! Bon Jovi croons on the radio. Daddy’s girl learned fast- 

Nancy grits her teeth and pushes her foot against the accelerator. 

All those things he couldn’t say! Ooh, she’s a little runawa-

Nancy spins the radio dial with fumbling fingers, and spends the rest of her drive listening to germanic opera. 

“Shit.” 

                                                               *** 

“Jesus,” Ryan says when he opens the front door. “You look worse than I do, and I spent three hours getting my stomach pumped last night.” 

Nancy pushes past him without a word. 

Ryan’s voice lowers, softens. “Nancy. Hey.” He reaches out, gently wraps a hand around her wrist. She stops walking. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Nancy says, but her words come out wobbly, uneven. 

Ryan scoots a little closer. “Okay, well… that’s a lie.” 

Nancy snorts. “Ace is back.” 

Ryan smiles, relieved. “That’s great!” He pauses. “Isn’t it?” When she says nothing, he squints his eyes, searches her face. “Oh,” he says finally. “I see.” 

Nancy stiffens, alarmed. “How did you-,” 

Ryan sighs and taps his cheek. “We make the same kind of face, you know. Genetics and all that.” 

“Shit,” Nancy says again, and tries very hard not to sink through the floor. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryan promises. “I wont say anything.”

“What’s going on?” 

Ryan and Nancy turn to face Carson, who is wrapped in a purple robe, fresh out of the shower. He takes one look at the expression on Nancy’s face and rushes over. “Is there another entity-,” 

“No,” Nancy says vehemently. She drops her head onto his shoulder, breathes in the smell of his aftershave. “I’m just not feeling well.” 

Neither of her dads press her for more- they simply stand like that, the three of them, for a very long time. 

                                                              *** 

        George: where the hell are u?? 

        George: hello? nancy?

        George: are u ok

        Bess: ACE IS BACK!!!! :D

        Bess: wait where r u 

        Nick: Did something happen? 

        Ace: hey. i just got back. where are you? 

“No,” Nancy says softly, and turns off her phone. “I am not good.” 

She needs a plan. Something to protect herself, and to spare everyone from the complications that one-sided feelings often bring. It’s been a good five weeks, if she doesn’t include the whole Ace thing. It’s been peaceful. Happy. 

She doesn’t want to ruin that. 

Nancy draws her knees up to her chest and stares out the window. I think I’ll just have to pretend. It’s either that, or avoiding Ace altogether- which would be impossible.

No more baking with Rebecca and Thom, either. That hurts more than Nancy wants to admit- but she’s already made up her mind. She’ll keep her feelings on the back burner, and do her best to keep things normal. 

With a sigh, she stands, and goes upstairs to take a much-needed nap. 

She dreams again. It’s the same one she’s been having every night for the past five weeks.

Nancy dreams of silk and cigarette smoke- because Ace always has to light one up after he has a joint- and of the ocean. The waves lap at the shore, rhythmic and quiet. It’s peaceful, here. Safe.

She dreams about a cliff, soft grass: warm, roving hands and a familiar mouth against her own. If she calls out his name in her sleep, that’s her problem.

 If she wakes up sweaty and teary-eyed, that’s her problem, too.

[myhauntedsalem]

9 Signs of Your Past Life

Have you live before?

The idea that our souls or spirits reincarnate reaches back at least 3,000 years. Discussions of the subject can be found in the ancient traditions of India, Greece, and the Celtic Druids. It’s a tantalizing belief that our spirits are not confined to the seven, eight, or nine decades of life on Earth but that we have lived before and that we might live again.

Do you believe that you have had a past life or lives growing up, working, loving, and suffering in roles very different from the one you are now playing out? Perhaps you were a different race, socio-economic class, or gender. Some even believe you could have been another living species entirely a dog, gazelle, or fish perhaps.

Those who believe in past lives suggest that there might be clues to what our past lives were in the various complex aspects that make up our current physical, emotional, intellectual, and psychological personalities.

DÉJÀ VU

Most of us have experienced the eerie feeling of déjà vu, the sudden, surprising feeling that an event we are going through at the moment has happened exactly this way before.

Déjà vécu, an event already experienced or lived through.

Déjà senti, already felt, perhaps triggered by a voice or music.

Déjà visité, a place so familiar we feel we’ve been there before.

While scientists and psychiatrists insist there are neurological explanations for these phenomena, others wonder if these strange feelings could be vague, fleeting memories of past lives. You enter a house or building, for example, in a town you’ve never visited before. Yet every detail of that place is familiar. You know what’s in the next room and up the stairs. You have the overwhelming feeling that you’ve been there before. Have you in a past life?

WEIRD MEMORIES

Your child may have memories of childhood events that we know never really happened. Are they just remembering a child’s fantasy, misunderstanding, or even a dream that they now interprets as reality? Or are they remembering something that happened to her before they were born into this lifetime?

Human memory is a fraught with error and incongruities, so the question is, is it faulty memory or a remembrance of lives past?

DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES

Recurring dreams and nightmares also have been suggested as being memories or at least clues of past lives.

These are not memories of places or events that have happened in this life, yet they recur in my dreams often. Are they memories of something important that happened in a past life?

Likewise, can nightmares be reflections of past life traumas that have clung to our spirits and haunt our sleep?

FEARS AND PHOBIAS

Where do your fears and phobias come from? Fear of such things as spiders, snakes, and heights seem to be built into the human psyche as part of our evolved survival instinct.

Many people suffer from phobias that are completely irrational. Fear of water, of birds, of numbers, of mirrors, of plants, of specific colors. The list goes on and on. People suffer from all kinds of bizarre phobias.

While several years on a psychologist’s couch might get to the root of those odd fears, those who believe in past lives wonder if they are carried over from a previous lifetime. Does a fear of water indicate a previous death by drowning? Could a fear of the color red suggest, for example, that a person was struck or killed by a red street car?

AFFINITY FOR FOREIGN CULTURE

You probably know a person who was born and raised in the United States but is an ardent anglophile, a person who is interested to the point of obsession with British culture. You might also know someone who can think of little else but getting dressed up and acting the part for the next Renaissance Fair or Civil War reenactment.

There are philes for virtually every culture on the planet, both modern and ancient, affecting people who seem to have no rationale for their obsessions. Why? Are they merely trying to find familiarity in a culture in which they lived 100 years ago? 1,000 years ago?

PASSIONS

It’s good to have things that we are passionate about, as long as they do not become obsessive and debilitating. From where do passions arise for books, art, antiques, fashion, gardening, theatre, cars, trains, aircraft, the paranormal or any number of other subjects?

Intense interest in a specific subject might be totally natural, of course, but might there be a past life connection in some cases?

UNCONTROLLED HABITS

The dark side of passions are those uncontrolled habits and obsessions that take over people’s lives and can even marginalize them in society. Obsessive-compulsives and hoarders fit into this category. A man who has to turn the light switch off and on ten times before he leaves a room; a woman who collects newspapers into six-foot-high stacks throughout her house because she cannot bear to get rid of them.

Each of us has at least one bad habit, from fingernail biting to gossiping to procrastination. The extreme forms include addictions to everything from television to Facebook to drugs. Again, psychological explanations can be found for these uncontrolled habits, yet those who believe in reincarnation say they might have roots in past lives.

INEXPLICABLE PAINS

Do you have aches and pains that the doctors cannot quite pinpoint or find a medical explanation for? You might be labeled a hypochondriac, a person who imagines his or her ailments. Or, as past life proponents suggest, those mysterious pains, sores, cramps, and more could be reflections of suffering you endured in a previous existence.

BIRTHMARKS

Birthmarks have been touted as evidence for reincarnation. In one fascinating case, an Indian boy claimed to remember the life of a man named Maha Ram, who was killed with a shotgun fired at close range. This boy had an array of birthmarks in the center of his chest that looked like they could possibly correspond to a shotgun blast. So the story was checked out. Indeed, there was a man named Maha Ram who was killed by a shotgun blast to the chest. An autopsy report recorded the man’s chest wounds which corresponded directly with the boy’s birthmarks.

In a similar way, various other physical traits, even deformities, have been suggested as having their precedent in a person’s former life.

[kibybun]

It's not over yet! Part 1 here and part 2 here!

Platonic Yandere Hawks x reader pt. 3!

Tw: Yandere, gore, body mutilation, animal killing, delusions

Enjoy!

💛Hawks takes out of the city, deep into the woods. There you help him fix up a cute little cabin and start your new life.

💛Admittedly, it took a month or two for you to adjust but now you love your new life with your big brother!

💛You changed your last name to Takami so the delusion that the two of you are related grow. Hawks also bleachs the ends of your hair to match his hair color.

💛For food everything is homemade. You bake, with his help, with some berries and herbs the two of you collected earlier in the day. Hawks also hunts wild animals for meals.

💛You've tried asking him to teach you how to hunt so you can help but he only replies with a "You're too young," "I can't let my 'Baby' sister get hurt".

💛So you stay complacent inside.

💛On the off occasion you wander outside and meet a friendly animal, Hawks makes sure no other animal wanders by. He ends up brutally slaughtering the little animal and showing off the heads to warn other animals to stay away. It didn't matter if it were rabbits, foxes, deer, or even other birds.

💛At night he shares the same bed as you, holding you close and making sure you couldn't get away even if you wanted too. Bedtime stories, snuggles, wing blankets, and lullabies. The best a big brother can do.

💛One night, after months of bo other social interactions that made their delusions grow, his hands wander your back. It felt so empty.

💛If you were his little sister, where were your wings?

💛He pondered this question for a few days. Why didn't you have your wings yet? Maybe you didn't have his quirk... No. You did. You're just a late bloomer.

💛Or maybe they were stuck beneath your skin.

💛He traces lines on your back where your beautiful wings would sprout, imagining them to be a deep red just like his.

💛Time goes on and he grows impatient, wanting to teach you how to fly and how to groom your feathers. He slowly starts killing all the birds he sees, plucking all their feathers and storing them away for later use.

💛He drugged you in preparation, heavy sleeping medication being put into your food and drink before bed.

💛Its now or never.

💛He carefully carves long divots right next to your shoulder blades, setting room for your new wings. He starts layering and placing in the bird feathers he collected into your back, using many if his own feathers to help keep the others in place. He could always regrow them.

💛Hawks applies healing ointment and bandages the bases of your new makeshift wings.

💛When you wake up all you could feel in your drowsy haze was that your back was in pain. You try to move but it only makes it hurt worse. You call put for Hawks, not knowing what's happening as well as scared.

💛Hawks smiles fondly at you saying you didn't need to worry, it was only your wings growing in.

💛Excitment overshadowed the pain as you try to get a good look of your wings. It hurt so bad sitting up and twisting to see your multiple colored wings but you didn't care.

💛Hawks explains how it's going to hurt for a while because your body is adjusting and how it's going to be a bit before you can move them.

💛A week or two passes and you're stuck in bed. The pain in your back didn't subside, it only grew to a insufferable amount. It left you paralyzed with pain.

💛Occasionally, the bases of your "wings" would ooze puss and blood, heavily indicating that it was infected.

💛Maybe Hawks should've waited a little longer, taking his time to wash the feathers before attaching them to you.

💛He begins to worry, looking for places to discreetly go and have your back healed. That's when he remembered the Shei Hassaikai group.

💛Hawks carefully takes you in his arms and sets off for the city in the veil of night in hopes of not being seen.

💛He arrives and enters the groups hideout. The people inside immediately take defensive stances, worried the former pro would attack.

💛They were surprised when he asks for help instead of a fight.

💛Overhaul approaches Hawks, wanting to take the opportunity of a possible business deal. He listens intently on what Hawks is asking of him befors asking what he gets out of it.

💛Given Overhaul's quirk, he could practically do anything. Hawks was going to take advantage of this.

💛In exchange of healing your back, giving your wings nerves and muscles, and inserting his DNA in you so the two of you ars related biologically, Hawks was willing to give them all the information the heros had on their little group and to let Overhaul test out his special quirk erasing tool.

💛Overhaul was conflicted on doing such a grotesque thing but agreed to do it, it would greatly help his group in the end.

💛Hawks was more than happy to carry you to the backroom, holding your hand the entire time.

💛He watched as Overhaul stumbled back in surprise at the horrific sight of your back. The area was agitated, rashes all over due to the feathers constantly rubbing against your back, and the thick puss mixed with blood constantly oozing out.

💛It was disgusting. Overhaul almost wanted to put you out of your misery but he couldn't compromise all the work he did to achieving a world without quirks.

💛He has Hawk's blood drawn, preparing to rearrange your molecular structure.

💛He takes off his gloves and begins, hives quickly covering his body. Your body disassembles, leaving all parts separated. He quickly separates a bit of your blood away from the rest, incorporating Hawk's and meticulously changing the DNA code for many more blood cells. After that he adds in the nerves and muscles into the makeshift wings, bringing life and feeling into them. As a final touch, he puts you back together and fixes the infection in your back.

💛You were barely conscious as you felt Hawks wrap his arms around you, gently as to not hurt you.

💛Your body didn't feel like your own. It felt as if your skin wasn't yours, your back also became incredibly heavily.

💛You suddenly became so hyper aware of everything on you. Every stand of hair, your breathing and blinking, your fingernails, the feeling of air on your skin. It felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time.

💛You were interrupted by a sharp pain in your arm. Looking over you see an unfamiliar man in a bird mask and hives injecting a serum into your arm.

💛You look to Hawks for help but he only gives you a reasurring smile.

💛A few moments after the syringe was emptied into your arm Hawks asks you to use your quirk. You try your hardest but nothing happens.

💛Both of the men are pleased by the results.

💛Hawks stays true to his word and tells Overhaul what he knew. The last time he looked at the investigation they had located multiple people in the group. By now they must've pinpointed the hideout. Hawks heavily suggests fleeing somewhere more abandoned and secluded.

💛With that, he flies away holding you tight and leaving you confused on why you didn't feel like yourself.

💛Your eyes were also incredibly irritated.

💛Once home, Hawks soothes you back to sleep. You needed rest after all.

💛When you wake up your eyes remain irritated. You also feel you back twitching which really bothered you.

💛You bring it up to Hawks, earning an estatic response from him. He picks you up and spins you around, saying how happy he was because you were finally going to be able to fly. To think, his little sister flying in the sky with him!

💛In the next few days to come you gain more and more controll over your new wings. You also gain identical eye marks to Hawks, as well as part of your eyes shifting to gold to mimic his.

💛The two of you really look like siblings now.

💛He teaches you everything you need to know about being a bird. He slowly teaches you how to fly, how you clean your feathers, and how to bird call. He preens your feathers as you do him.

💛Over time the two of you make your own language, composed solely of coos and chirps.

💛The two of you forgot about civilization, more than happy with just having each other.

💛You wanted nothing more.

Look out for part 4!

Kiby~💚

[snusbandxknifewife]

So @the-chick-of-the-air mentioned something about wanting to know what Cardan said to Randalin and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since. This is my attempt at writing what went down during that conversation, I hope you all like it!

~~~~

As Cardan Greenbriar drags his advisor into a separate room, all hints of a spoiled faerie boy are gone, replaced completely by the grace and danger of a High King who has been faced with treason.

“What vile, worm-hearted god spoke in your ear and gave you even the faintest idea that it was appropriate to enter the room of your wounded queen?” He hisses in the larger man’s ear. “And how, pray tell, did it convince you to stoop low enough to then question her sovereignty?”

A colossal, thorn-covered vine sprouts from the stone floor by the chamber door, actively shattering a brick as it moves to slam the door shut.

Randalin visibly swallows. “Your Majesty, please—“

“I must admit, Randalin, I thought you wiser than that,” Cardan continues. “I thought that you, for all your sniveling and spinelessness, would have enough foresight to see that your little plan could’ve never succeeded.”

The delicate pink roses in their little porcelain pot, set on the windowsill to capture sunlight, wither and die. Where their rotting petals fall, nightshade rises.

“I would’ve thought you would know my wife would never back down from a challenge. Especially one put forward by such a cowardly and insignificant man as you.”

Randalin stands, rooted to the floor by brambles growing over his feet, their thorns digging aggressively into his leather shoes. He watches, unable to move, as the boy king walks to where a cask of wine has been left on a table.

Cardan forgoes a goblet, instead gripping the neck of the wine bottle between his lithe fingers and turning it up, his eyes never leaving his advisor as he takes a long drink. When he sets the cask back down, wine as red as blood drips from his lips and down his chin, staining his moon-pale skin the same way castoff stains a wall during a murder.

“I would’ve thought you would realize that, even if it had worked, I’d find out about your meddling.” His voice is deadly quiet, his eyes swirling like whirlpools. “And I surely would’ve thought you smart enough to realize I wouldn’t appreciate someone taking away the woman I worked so hard to get back.”

“Your Majesty—“

“Have you ever been in love, Randalin?” Cardan cuts him off, his head tilting to the side and causing a stray drop of wine to fall onto his undershirt. “Have you ever looked into the eyes of another and felt your heart stop? Known that, as long as you live, no one will command your thoughts as this person does now?”

He steps closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor and the brambles at Randalin’s feet tightening with each step.

“Have you ever been given love, against all odds, and lost it?” He whispers in the shell of his advisor’s ear, a growl low in his throat as he does. “And were you then given that love back, only to find that someone you’re meant to trust is trying to rip it away once more?”

“The people of Elfhame will never accept a human queen.” Randalin tries, his face reddening with pain as a thorn succeeds in working its way through his shoe and into his toe.

“The people of Elfhame can all be damned.” Cardan smiles wolfishly, stepping back so he can loom over his foolish council member. “The land has chosen her, and it is the land’s support that proves a ruler’s worth here in Faerie.”

“Just because she said she was healed with the land’s help doesn’t mean we can believe her. Humans are liars, Your Majesty.”

Cardan Greenbriar walks away and turns towards the window, towards the land he and his wife will rule over until they choose for it to be otherwise. Beyond the gentle swaying of the curtains, a robin flaps by and the stars twinkle with the light of a thousand little suns.

“If you do not believe your queen’s word, believe Grima Mog, for she saw it happen.” The High King announces as he continues to look out the window, leaving the council member sweating behind him. “Jude stuffed her gutted belly full of soil and Elfhame chose to heal her. Flowers grew from the ground where her blood fell. The land answers to her, as it does to me.”

Randalin’s eyes widen. A human, a mortal with magic gifted by the land—

“How many people do you think my wife has murdered, Randalin?” Cardan’s voice is soft, the tone of a boy in love talking about his partner’s knack for making flower crowns. Not the voice of a ruler discussing his queen’s violent tendencies.

“I’m well aware that Lady Jude is—“

“High Queen Jude.” Cardan corrects, his voice void of all softness once more. “She is High Queen Jude. If you refer to her as anything else ever again, you do so at your own peril.”

“Your Majesty, if you would let me finish—“

“I shall let you finish a sentence when you begin to speak something other than nonsense.” Cardan’s tar-black eyes have the same devilish coldness in them that they had when he ripped that faerie boy’s wings at a revel so many moons ago. “Now refer to your queen by her proper title, or face the consequences.”

Randalin lets out a sigh and grits his teeth. “I am well aware that High Queen Jude is a woman with violent tendencies, but I do not know just how many lives she has claimed.”

“Nor do I.” Cardan smiles the smile of a man besotted. “She has a talent for swordplay that is unrivaled. Any night she is in my bed is a night in which I do not fear assassination, for I know my wife could kill anyone in her sleep.”

“Even you, Your Majesty.” Randalin tries to impart wisdom into his king, tries to show the boy just how dangerous this mortal girl is for both him and the kingdom.

“Especially me.” Cardan smiles as he catches Randalin’s eye, completely aware of what the older man is trying to say and also completely aware of just how wrong he is. “But she has had many chances, and she has yet to take them. Death at the hands of a god so sweet would be a gift, indeed, and yet I seem incapable of receiving such blessings.”

The brambles are growing up Randalin’s legs, cutting into his thighs and wrapping around his wrists as his arms stay by his sides.

The young man in front of him has danger etched into every line of his very being. The High King standing in this study is not the High King of days past, nor is he the High King one would ever wish to meet. Cardan Greenbriar is poison personified, malice dripping from his fanged smile and echoing in the light tapping of his fingernails on his elbow.

For the first time since hearing a doomed prince’s prophecy, Randalin feels true dread gather in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you think me a violent man, Randalin?” Cardan, who has always taken after felines in both his look and his mannerisms, seems far less cat-like than usual. It’s like his fangs hide venom, his body readying, not to pounce, but to strike.

“I’d never insult my king by suggesting something so rude, Your Majesty.”

“But you insulted your queen by suggesting that she abdicate her throne.” Cardan’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and his smile grows cruel. “So do humor me this once.”

If the fae had warning sirens, they’d be blaring in Randalin’s head right this very moment.

“No, Your Majesty.” A bramble works it’s way under his doublet, drawing blood the entire way. “I think you do not have a taste for bloodshed. At the very least, not one as strong as the High Queen’s.”

Cardan smiles as the council member finally refers to Jude by her correct title.

He steps away from Randalin once more, walking over to the bookshelf by the desk and pulling a random leather bound volume out, fingers tracing over the lettering on the spine and longing for a more familiar title.

“You know, I’ve read my fair share of mortal stories in my day,” he announces, outwardly calm even as the thorns continue to torture his advisor. “The humans have a saying, a warning of sorts, about how even the devil runs when a good man goes to war.”

He opens the book to a random page, completely ignoring the words as his nails drag down the binding.

“Now, for all my distaste in violence, I wouldn’t call myself a good man,” he continues with a small quirk to his mouth, just a little upward tilt. “I am cruel, I am petty. I delight in the suffering of those who wrong me and I’ll settle for hurting those who are lesser, if I’m unable to harm someone I feel truly deserves it.”

His foot starts tapping, a quiet beat to him but a deafening war drum to Randalin. His ears pick up the sound of a racing heartbeat and his smile grows.

“I tortured even the woman I love for years, albeit not in the ways she likely would’ve preferred, but what good is torture if someone likes it?”

He snaps the book closed and Randalin jumps as best he can in his thorny prison.

“I suppose that makes me more dangerous in war than a good man would be,” he thinks aloud as he slowly turns his gaze back to where Randalin appears to be in the process of soiling his pants. “Surely if the devil runs when a good man goes to war, he would sprint when a man of questionable morals joins the fray, don’t you think?”

“Please, Your Majesty, my recommendations were only voiced out of a concern for the well-being of the kingdom.” Randalin, a man used to lording over those beneath him, sounds dangerously close to begging. “I did not mean to offend you!”

Cardan laughs, a joyless and wicked sound. “But you have offended me, Randalin,” his eyes are wild and his grin reckless. “You have questioned my ability to choose what is best for my kingdom and you have insulted the woman who occupies my every waking thought. You have even made the grievous mistake of disturbing my wife in one of her extremely rare moments of weakness, a moment where she undoubtedly needs all her time and energy to rest.”

The nightshade occupying the rose’s former home overgrows it’s pot and begins spilling down the side of the windowsill, flowers reaching towards Randalin like little fingers.

“Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness,” Randalin’s voice almost catches in his throat. “I won’t ever suggest that High Queen Jude abdicate again. I promise!”

“Good,” Cardan says as he steps within reach of Randalin.

Randalin lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing forward.

And it’s all a moment too soon, for the High King lashes out in the blink of an eye, his long fingers wrapping around the advisor’s throat and pushing his head back against the stone wall with an audible crack!

“Because I am the man of questionable morals, and this is war,” Cardan continues as Randalin’s spine screams in agony at the angle he’s been forced into. “I, Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, declare war!”

His fingers tighten around Randalin’s throat, his nails already leaving bloody half-moons in the older man’s skin as he presses his forehead to the council member’s.

“I declare war on everyone who opposes my wife’s right to rule beside me as my queen and my equal,” his eyes are wild, barely containing his rage. “It is a war that is unending, a war that is complete and total, a war that I have no qualms about getting violent during.”

Randalin tried to swallow, but he can’t as the king’s hand digs into his throat even harder.

“I, a man without a love for swordplay, will take up a blade. I, a man without a taste for bloodshed, will slit a thousand throats,” he continues, “if that is what it takes for my people to respect my wife.”

Randalin’s vision swims in black, his face beginning to turn an impressive shade of purple as blood starts to gush from bramble-inflicted wounds.

“And as for you,” Cardan is close enough to see tears gather in his advisor’s eyes. “You who was bold enough to openly question the High Queen, I reserve my greatest act of violence.”

The nightshade from the windowsill has reached Cardan’s feet. It begins to grow up his legs, over his waist and down his arms, forming a crown atop his head as Randalin watches in horror.

“I will skin you alive and bleed you dry, forcing you to watch the whole time,” he leans down to whisper in Randalin’s ear. “I will break your bones and tear your flesh, and when I’m done, I will find a way to erase every mention of you. No book in Elfhame will bear your name, even the stars will rearrange when I tell them to.”

“Please—“

“And then I promise I will use your hollowed our skull as my wine goblet for the rest of my days, just because I can.”

Randalin’s knees quake as his body gasps for air.

Cardan lets him go, watching in disgust as the man falls into a pile of blood-stained brambles with a sob.

“I promise this on my honor as High King, and on the vow I made with my Wife, Jude Duarte Greenbriar,” Cardan’s voice is the voice of an executioner. “So help me gods, I will rip the world apart for her.”

“Your Majesty, how can I atone?” Randalin is reduced to weeping, his hands covering his face as he cowers at his king’s feet.

“Never question the High Queen’s sovereignty again, and see that anyone else who dares to speak treason against her understands exactly how far I’m willing to go to support her right to rule beside me.”

The nightshade around Cardan disappears, withering back into the pot before dying and being replaced by pretty roses. The brambles around the room fade into nothingness, only a broken stone and a few blood smears left to remind anyone that they were ever there.

“And do hope that I don’t have to resort to violence again,” Cardan smiles that cruel little smile he wears so well. “Jude is so much more adept at wielding the hospitality of knives.”

~~~~

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp

[justshekthings]

just for a moment - park jisung fanfic (part 1)

“Continuing to run you turn around with a huge smile across your face, locking eyes with the boy whos awestruck expression turns into a comforting smile. Somehow without even knowing each other's names you both felt as if you've managed to escape reality, like the two of you were the only people in the universe, a feeling so rare, a scene only in movies, an occurrence never forgotten and yet was just experienced by these two individuals, even if it was just for a moment.”

Park jisung  x reader 

Word Count: 8731

Reading time: 1h 7m

Italics = thoughts

“normal” = spoken 

*IMPORTANT PLEASE READ*

Authors note: Since this a fanfic, therefore fiction, there story is set in your last year in highschool with the rest of the dream members who are all the same age. The school year will also be following the korean academic year system, just for some realism. I also made up a few characters with a korean name generator so please don’t overthink! I will also be releasing this story 4 chapters at a time with 3 parts in total, making a total of 12 chapters #quickmaths. Apologies in advance if my uploads are slow or my grammar is awful. Make sure to like and comment any suggestions or thoughts, but try to be kind, it’s my first time writing a fanfic. 

Enjoy reading~

March: March, although somewhat an afterthought or rather a shadow of winter, left with only it’s remains, it sets the groundwork for the rest of the year. March plants seeds that grow from mere sprouts to full grown plants during the course of the year. 

It’s early March, the month when the snow starts to thaw in preparation of the well anticipated season of spring. The feel of the winter air has managed to remain in Seoul, resented by the thousands of students forced to return back to school for the first semester. One of those poor unfortunate souls is you, y/n l/n, an 18 year old girl and you’ve come back to start and, hopefully, finish your senior year at Seoul Highschool. Although what does seem to make your experience there a little more bearable are your two friends Seo Kyung-Hu and Hu Mee-yon, while those two have been friends since primary school, you only met them in Middle school when you first transferred and they being the only nice enough kids willing to approach you, the three of you clicked instantly and ever since your trio have stayed a complete set.

Unlike your two friends, you could care less about school purposefully staying up late in hopes of sleeping through your alarm and having a valid excuse to miss the first day of school. And your plan worked… to some extent. Your mother on the other hand was keen to send you to the school you paid money for, as you should. You were fast asleep dreaming about exo performing as ot9 was suddenly awoken by the screaming of your mother. “YAH Y/N WAKE UP AND GET TO SCHOOL BEFORE I TAKE ALL YOUR EXO POSTERS AGAIN!” hearing that was enough to make you jump out of bed and start getting ready, not without a few complaints of course. Walking into your washroom you take one good look at your face in the morning, “oh god” you’re at least grateful your skin decided not to break out on the first day of school however your face was still puffed and quite dull. You continued washing your face, brushing your teeth and putting on that god awful, ugly, disgusting, and horrific uniform, as you described. Objectively your uniform wasn’t at all bad however you had the tendency to well… overthink. (the uniform looks like the A-teen beige uniform)

It being 8:35 and school starting at 8:45, you speed walked and slightly ran to school attempting to cut the initial 10 min walk in half with at least 5 mins to spare just in case. Fortunately enough you managed to get there on time to check what your classroom was, before the bell. Room 215? Ok… WHERE IS THAT AGAIN?! Somehow the break managed to erase most of your memory of the school, although there wasn’t much worth remembering about your most hated location on planet earth. You run around frantically desperately trying to find your homeroom before a teacher, or worse a hall monitor. You stop in the middle of an empty hallway to text your friends where the hell room 215 is, until you hear a unfamiliar voice reach out to you, “Are you lost babygirl” WHAT THEEE it took a second for you to process what the guy had said until out of instinct you start to laugh uncontrollably with your eyes starting to tear up. You turn around, hand holding your stomach, “What did you just say?” you ask, unable to take the male standing in front of you seriously. He stares at you, seeming to enjoy that you understood his reference, “What so you’re telling me you’re not totally turned on by that comment?” With a slight over exaggerated gasp at the end of his sentence, obviously showing that he was joking. “No no your question was valid just-” unable to finish your sentence you rerun the moment that had just unfolded through your head, succeeding in making you burst out in laughter again. His voice cuts through your laugh, “No but seriously you seem lost” finally regaining your composure, you take a minute to examine his appearance, and his attractiveness, and realizing you’ve been staring for a bit too long you panic quickly trying to cover it up, “YEAH UM i'm lost do you know where room 215 is?” “New student?” “no just dumb” He laughs at your honesty and points you in the right direction like a true gentleman. “Oh my god thanks so much, hope I see you again cute stranger!” you end your sentence with a wink and then run off after getting a glimpse of his dumbfounded expression although close enough to hear him yell out, “The name’s YangYang!” 

The odds were in your favour managing to slip into class before your teacher arrived and you had a mini-mental celebration before choosing to sit in the empty window seat in the middle row with an empty seat beside you to limit the amount of human interaction you get. Sitting down in your seat and see the teacher walk in and start the generic beginning of the school year talk, you text your friends to pass the time, who were lucky enough to have their class together, while the class goes through the course outline. After waiting a few minutes at the front, you see both of your friends, Kyung-hu and mee-yon or as you called them kyuhu and mimi to simplify their names, walk out and you guys greet each other before the three of you walk in the direction of your neighborhood, talking about what you all did during the break, all the annoying teachers and most recent gossip. 

You’d notice that the first week of school would follow this routine, passing by quite quickly and finding it uneventful as your teacher didn’t give a lot of homework as it was the first week of school. During the first week you concluded that there was no one in your classroom, or in the school for that matter that piqued your interest except for the fellow that helped you on the first day but has managed to slip your sight every time you scanned your surroundings to find him. Although just as fast as the first week passed by, the weekend went just as fast, and based on how your school operates, it’d be the only free weekend you’d have in a long time. And much to your dissatisfaction, you found herself in the same situation from a week ago, tired, lazy and lacking any motivation to go to school. Despite this you actually made an effort to wake up early, too early, to get ready for school to escape the never ending nagging from your mother over calls from the office over your tardy attendance. After eating a good enough breakfast, you open your door expecting a cold breeze to meet you as it did last week but to your surprise the outside was bright and dry, with no traces of snow, almost as if the weekend magically changed Seoul from winter to spring. However the leaves on the trees would need a lot more time than a weekend to grow back to their former glory. Remember when I mentioned you woke up too early, you were exactly two hours early when you arrived at the school, which suddenly made sense to you when you realized that no one in your house was awake yet and the roads in your neighborhood felt deserted. After walking around the campus you finally settle on a familiar tree on the outskirts of the school grounds, its location the very reason why you and your friends chose it as your casual lunch location for the past two years. You set your bag on your lap hugging it like a pillow laying your head on it for support and almost immediately you start drifting off the sleep. 

Unbeknownst to you, your perfect sleep would be ruined by one Park Jisung, you see park jisung made the mistake of waking up 20 mins before school started not taking into account it was his very first day at the highschool and he was bound to get lost on the way to school and if he even managed to find the school, he’d have no idea where his classroom as he also missed orientation for all new students. Late and lost, jisung looked around the front of the building in search of someone to help him but since school had already started most staff and students were already inside. Although it would’ve been easier for jisung to walk inside the building somehow he noticed a figure under a tree not too far from him, jisung assuming it was a student figured it’d be easier to ask a student then suffer a scolding or even awkward small talk with a teacher. He runs up to the sleeping person under the tree and realizes it’s a girl from the long hair and skirt, legs criss crossed under a bag you is hugging and sleeping on. Reluctant to grab your attention, awakening you from your slumber, but he must do so if he ever wishes to get to class. “Excuse me?” Jisung repeats this a few times first with a shy voice growing in volume in desperation to wake you up. In your dream EXO OT9 were just about to sing love shot, one of the comebacks lay missed out on, when you heard a reluctant voice repeatedly saying excuse me disrupting your peace and not to mention exo’s performance. Jisung seeing that his voice was not enough to wake you up he starts to get physical. You try to ignore the voice hoping it’d go away until it actually starts poking your shoulder, now you have no choice but to let go of your perfect dream and wake up to respond to the thing that dares interrupt your nap. Jisung notices the girl moving, satisfied that he finally woke you up, he watches as you yawn and rub your eyes, cute he thinks to himself admiring the girl’s sleepy and adorable state. You open your eyes to see a timid but tall boy crouched beside you, finger still pointed after persistently poking you. “Yes?” glaring at the poor boy with the rudest voice you could muster expecting him to get the hint to leave you alone. “U-um can u help me?” Looking at the nervous state of the boy you empathize with his confusion seeing as you were in a similar dilemma a week ago. Softening your expression you say, “yeah what's up?” using a tone completely opposite of the one a second ago, causing Jisung to relax and become more at ease after noticing your change in attitude, “oh can u tell me where this classroom is?” Jisung points at his paper, saying Room 215. He watches your face light up, “Oh! That's my classroom you can just follow me!” And you give the boy an eye smile, happy that you can help him and possibly become friends with the boy. Jisung’s ears turn pink admiring how cute your smile is and touched by your hospitality. you stand up dusting off your skirt and checking if you had any dirt on your clothes or legs. Putting your backpack on and adjusting the straps you ask the boy what time it was. “Oh it's 9:00 am” Jisung says to you sheepishly hoping he doesn’t shock you by how late they both are, “OH SHOOT'' After hearing the time realizing just how fucked you were, acting quick you grab the new boy’s hand and start running towards the building. Jisung trailing behind the small girl is blushing due to the sudden skin ship and can feel his heart pounding due to the spontaneousness of the girl's actions along with the running not at all helping with his heart rate. Running across the field underneath the sunlight causes an increase in heart rate, a mutual feeling felt by the two, but you both recognize it as a mere adrenaline rush as you both try to take in the predicament you find yourselves in. Jisung staring at the hand who had taken his own so boldly, looked up staring at your hair that had turned from a raven black shade to a chocolate brown in the sunlight admiring how it swayed while you ran. Continuing to run you turn around with a huge smile across your face locking eyes with the boy whos awestruck expression turns into a comforting smile. Somehow without even knowing each other's names you both felt as if you've managed to escape reality, like the two of you were the only people in the universe, a feeling so rare, a scene only in movies, an occurrence never forgotten and yet was just experienced by these two individuals, even if it was just for a moment. 

April: April bears us spring, which in turn prepares us for summer. The weather is unlike any other, it follows the frigid temperatures of winter and yet precedes the intense heat of summer, the month is in equilibrium. 

You watch from the safety of the other side of the field as Jisung is teased yet again by his new found friend group. As cliche as it sounds he managed to land himself with the “popular kids'' group despite this school not caring much for social norms, even if there was a popular group it’d be them and they’ve accepted him wholeheartedly as if he spent the last two years with them. Much to everyone’s surprise Jisung was capable of fitting in despite him being the new kid and it being the last year, it was almost as if he was the missing part of their friend group. The group consisted of Chenle, Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, Haechan and Mark and they weren’t just popular, they were rich and attractive as well. “Oh how he’s blossomed” you say to yourself while admiring Jisung for coming out of his shell and express himself freely “Oh god please don’t tell me you just said that” “You sound like a pedo” As if on cue your two friends arrive at your spot under the tree, slightly creeped out by your confession. “YA I didn’t mean it like that!” you say pouting at your friends' judgmental remarks. “It’s just that he’s grown so much and it’s only been a month'' taking one last glimpse at Jisung having fun before turning to your best friends who have already started to eat. “Jisung was an innocent shy boy when you met him, your maternal instincts kicked in when you first saw him, so helped him out and get comfortable at the school and now you feel like you’ve raised him but now that he’s found a proper friend group you’re sad blah blah blah yes we get it.” Shocked and speechless at what Mee-yon just said, you shake your head looking down before resting your head on your arms placed on your knees while meeting their gaze, “Did I really sound like a pedo?” this time Kyung-Hu was the one to reply “yes you definitely did” nodding innocently while getting it to you straight. And with that final blow you hide your head in your crossed arms similar to a fetal position, accepting your defeat at their teasing. 

As you hear your friends move on to a new topic you just keep your head down too tired to raise it and decide to take a mini nap to hopefully make up for the 3 hours of sleep you got the night before. It wasn’t like you and jisung falling off bothered you that much you actually rarely thought about it, but for some reason today you were bothered. I guess we were never really friends. I guess more like friendly acquaintances? What about the time we hung out after school or skipped class together, did that mean anything? You sighed letting go of the memories of jisung and started falling asleep unaware of the glances from the same person you were just thinking about. You dreamed about the day you two met, after getting too tired to run the whole way there, since the two of you were already late you decided to just walk the rest of the way to your classroom while in the school, to give Jisung a mini school tour. “You just transferred here right?” “yeah I used to live in Inseon” “so why’d you decide to move here and transfer just a week after school started?” “My mom got an unexpected promotion she couldn’t refuse so we had to move to Seoul, but you sure ask a lot of questions'' you remember him teasing you for that “Well do you blame me? I’m curious.” You catch him off guard by your retaliation, “so do you miss it?” asking another unexpected question that causes a change in mood after bringing up his old home. “Of course I do, I grew up there, I had friends there and I had memories” you turned around noticing his melancholy expression while reminiscing and looked at him with concern, feeling sorry for the boy who was just staring at the ceiling almost as if he was trying to find something that was not even there. He notices the silence and makes eye contact with you realizing he must’ve worried you. “Oh but it’s better this way!” He says happily to ease your obvious concern and you stare at the nervous boy, eyebrow raised not convinced by his sudden change of heart. You let it go and the two of you walked a little bit more in silence before stopping, well at least you stopped, Jisung was absent minded enough to not realize you had stopped walking and bumped into back, you instantly looked up and stared at the boy directly over you. Jisung as the shy boy he was, panics and steps back slightly red which causes you to chuckle at his innocent behaviour. “Well here we are room 215” but before jisung was able to walk into the classroom, you turn around and stop him holding out your palm showing the universal symbol to stop, before extending it as a handshake. “Before you hear it from anyone else, I'm y/n” while grinning from ear to ear and jisung grasps your hand and gives you a light handshake, “hi i’m park jisung” returning you the same enthusiasm through a smile. After holding each others hands a little longer than expected, you let go awkwardly and enter the rowdy classroom filled with talking, laughter and pure ruckus. 

You didn't know one was capable of dreaming of a memory but you just did, and just as it was before, your nap was interrupted by noise, this time in the form of whispers, many whispers. You lift your head using your right hand to rub your eyes to adjust to the light and you meet eyes with the very boy you were dreaming about. “Jisung?” you ask with open eyes, confused and surprised. “O-oh hi y/n we meet here again” he answers, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly. His friends beside him, snicker at his awkward response and continue laughing amongst each other mocking him, jisung notices this and pretends he’s about to hit them so they’d stop making you feel uncomfortable. He looks back at you even more embarrassed to explain his presence in front of you, “so-” “Why are you here, and where's kyung-hu and mee-yon” You notice that your two friends are nowhere to be found and you become more and more anxious being alone with practical strangers. “Funny you should mention that, they actually-” “We went to get some snacks!” Although kinda mad at them for leaving you alone, at least they showed up before this conversation could get any more awkward than it already was. Jisung feels quite relieved sparing him from the awkward exchange however his friends can’t get enough of his uncomfortableness bursting out in laughter when he was interrupted, not once but two times. Jisung and his friends move themselves to the tree beside you guys resting under the shade after mee-yoon and kyung-hu return back to their seats. After waiting until they were at a comfortable distance you start yell/whispering at your friends, “WHat the fuck guys you dont leave me alone with strangers!” “Oh don’t worry at least you finally talked to him instead of staring at him all day. Plus we needed to get enough snacks for all of us and we all know one person can’t carry all of that food. So please consider this strawberry milk as an apology.” Kyung-hu offers you the drink with Mee-yoon nodding her head in agreement. “Ugh I guess this was worth that horrible experience”  you take your favourite drink after barely eating anything due to your lack of appetite. 

The bell goes off and everyone starts to leave the field and head under the main building including you and your friends and since those two had a class together you took a different hallway hearing footsteps behind you before realizing the only person that could’ve been behind you was someone in your class, god please kill me now. And before the awkwardness kills you, you turn around and break the silence “hey thanks for watching me while I slept I understand my friends prolly asked you to do it as a favour and I really appreciate it” Jisung looks up after staring at his feet initially scared to stare in your direction. “No problem, i'm sorry that woke you up from your nap under that tree, it feels almost like deja vu” Both of you shyly laugh at his reference to your first encounter reminiscing the past memory. “Tell me park jisung why is it always you that must ruin my napping time? What have I done to deserve such cruelty.” Your exaggeration and choice of words managed to put a smile on his face and even a chuckle out of him. “Hey that's not my fault you’re obsessed with sleeping under that tree.” “But it’d be a waste not to, the weather this time of the year is just right, you can feel the heat but it's not overbearing it comforts you, it doesn’t require you to add layers nor remove any. We don’t need to change, not one bit. I can’t afford to take these moments for granted.” Jisung stares at your back taken aback by your sudden seriousness, not to mention the topic being the mere weather. Coincidentally the roles were now reversed, it was now Jisung that was perplexed by the change of mood similar to how you were a month ago. Although he could tell your words held more depth than they let on and decided not to speak on the matter moving on with the conversation. “But seriously no need to thank me after all I do kinda owe you for helping me out, plus you’re my friend, actually my first friend at this school” flashing you a smile which eases the awkwardness of your conversation. “Friend?” you widen your eyes at the title, unaware he saw you like that considering the limited time the two of you spent together. “Yeah that's what you call people you care about right?” your eyes follow his figure with a speechless expression on your face as he passes by you and walks ahead to go back to class, but just before he walks in he steps back to look back at you, “are you coming, friend?” before winking at you, emasked in the sunlight coming from the classroom, changing his eyes a lighter shade, before completely walking into the classroom. He leaves you baffled and blushing at his new found confidence and you are still processing what just happened, did he just wink at me? You shake your head trying to forget his words in hopes of calming your heart rate and enter your classroom sitting in your seat, on the other side of the class. Despite how much you try to hide your embarrassment, you just couldn’t hide how pink your ears were, same as jisung who might have put on a brave front, is slightly regretting and yet at the same time, proud of what he said. Both of you refusing to look anywhere else but down and especially not at each other, lost in your own thoughts but if the both of you had just looked at eachother even if it was just for a moment, you both would’ve found out something crucial about each other. 

May: May does not only serve as the last stretch of spring but as a period of freedom. It enables the ability to be free enough to have dreams and independent enough to act on them. 

Unlike the last two months you and jisung actually managed to talk more, although more doesn’t necessarily mean a lot but considering you and him have only shared a few meaningful conversations over the span of two months, your current relationship was a huge upgrade. Disregarding the occasional partner project or pairing in physical ed, in which you and jisung had always chosen each other considering both of your friends were in different classes, you’ve developed somewhat of a casual and low maintenance friendship, that didn’t need frequent conversations but had few but worthwhile moments, all of which were cherished by the both of you, as they reassembled the same serenity the two of you shared the first day you met each other. The moments you shared rarely felt forced and if they were, due to the immature pressures of both of your friend groups, the two of you had no trouble slipping into your own world. As naive as it sounds the friendship the two of you shared was purely platonic, no doubt there were moments of butterflies and heart racing however it only lasted just for a moment, quickly fading away. However someone you were interested in was the guy that helped you on your first day, although all that you knew about him was his name, yangyang. 

You and your two friends approach the stands taking your seats to watch the soccer game hosted by your school after getting invited to sit beside jisung and a few of his friends to cheer on Jaemin, playing as a forward and Jeno, the goalie. As you look forward at the field and someone wearing the number 24 caught your eye. You found the haircut and build of number 24 familiar. You struggled trying to figure out just where you saw someone with similar features as 24, but it was only until he finally turned in your direction, getting a good look at his face. “That's him!” you accidentally stood up, hands covering your open mouth and jisung who was having a conversation with his best friend chenle, turned around to look at your stunned expression. “Hm? What happened?” You looked around embarrassed by drawing attention to yourself and sat back down awkwardly, leaning towards jisung who sat in the row in front of you to whisper, “do you know who number 24 is?” “Yeah that’s yangyang but what about him?” “Yeah I KNOW what his name is, but like who is he?” “I hope you realize how stupid you sound, but why are you asking me, I’M the new kid remember? Not the person who has been attending this school for the past two years.” Jisung raises his eyebrow to you confused as to why you don’t know who this guy was, expecting the both of you to have already met at least once. “So what you’re basically saying is that you got nothing?” “No I never said that, for your information yangyang is our age but he only transferred here last year from Germany. I guess he keeps himself lowkey, soccer is really his only extracurricular.” “bruh you should’ve just led with that, not with any of this new kid bs” “I think you meant to say thank you” Jisung gives you a deadpan look disappointed by your ungratefulness, you catch a glimpse of his face and laugh at how annoyed he is. Hoping not to make your friend upset, you lean in and stick out your tongue playfully in a teasing manner before flashing him your signature smile, “Thank you Jwi~”. Taken aback by his nickname (jwi means mouse in korean) along with the hint of aegyo in your voice, blood rises to his cheeks and to his ears but before you properly see it, he covers his face with his hands while looking down although his ears, like always, were giving him away. 

But before you could tease him the announcer's voice filled the outdoor stadium, “Ladies and gentlemen the game between Seoul Highschool and Apgujeong Highschool is about to commence!” Suddenly you hear everyone in the stands start screaming yelling to the top of their lungs. “We will first introduce the starting lineup of the home team, starting with co-captains Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno!” You, jisung and both of your friends stand up and start cheering on the duo running onto the field, as you have become quite friendly with jisung and his friends so it was only fitting for you to support them. After their introduction you paid no attention to the remainder of the names until, “Now introducing number 24 yangyang!” Your head that was previously resting on your palm was raised after hearing that familiar name and you lean in trying to get a closer look at him before going beside jisungs ear. “Ya” Jisung, scared by the sudden noise, flinches back leaning on to chenle, who was too distracted talking to Renjun to notice his best friend but jisungs reaction does cause you to grin. Pointing at the smiling boy on the field, you say “Do you know what class he’s in?” “Oh him?” He takes a double check looking you up and down weirded out by your enthusiasm and interest in the soccer player. “Yes we were literally talking about him like 10 seconds ago” you rolling your eyes at his forgetfulness, you find it hard to believe he could be this oblivious knowing he was acting like this to tease you. “Yeah I know what class he’s in” you glare at the boy already knowing you’d have to do the most for him to finally spill the tea. “Uh would you like to tell meee?” you, not caring if you seemed desperate. “Lemme think, hmmm yeah no i'm good” “YAH PARK JISUNG'' you see his amused expression before coughing to regain your composure and trying another strategy “Can u please tell me~” you try to act as soft and cute as possible and although aegyo tears away at your soul, you know jisung couldn’t bare the sight of it. “STOP OH GOD” He tries to cover your face so he wouldn’t need to watch your aegyo any longer but you being determined, keep dodging him so he could see every cute action you’d do. “Please jisung~” “OKOK FINE JUST PLEASE STOP!” You quickly change your expression to a serious one which slightly scares jisung “so tell me what his classroom is” you say in a threatening tone while stabbing his ribs with your fingers causing him to flinch away, he sighs and slouches showing his surrender, caving into your antics, “fine it’s room 105” “Thank you! See that wasn’t so hard now was it?” You happily smile at him but you can see he obviously didn’t reciprocate the same feelings of joy and instead glaring at you. “Easy for you to say I have to bleach my eyes and tend to my wounds” Jisung cries out while holding the ribs you just stabbed, you roll your eyes yet again and scoff at his over exaggeration. “You’re such a kid.” “I'm legit older than you soo you’re the child here” him feeling proud at his comeback, looks up to catch your reaction but you’re pouting, hand crossed over your chest upset by the undeniable fact, which he finds kind of adorable. “Anyways why are you so interested in this guy anyways? Do you like him or something” jisung asks with his eyebrow raised while poking your leg suggesting that you do hold feelings for the boy, you feel your face become slightly hot by his suggestion. You swat his hand away and say, “N-no, the answer is no. How can I even like him, I hardly know anything about him. I’m just...” “you're just?” you start glaring him for interrupting your sentence and for teasing you. “I’m just interested” you finally end your sentence returning a playful wink to jisung just as he did a month ago. “Uh huh” Jisung says with a suspicious tone before turning around showing his back to you and properly watching his friends play in their first game of the season. Not satisfied with his answer you decide to talk a bit more, “what, can’t a girl be interested in a guy? I can’t just sit around dreaming about the day he approaches me, when I want something, whatever that may be, I go get it! Plus don’t you have anyone you’re interested in?” Still refusing to turn to you, you assumed he was just ignoring you, not paying attention to your question but jisung’s act backfired when you noticed his ears turn pink after hearing what you asked. “Heoll~, our jisungie has a crush?” (heol is korean slang for omg) you start shaking his shoulders out of excitement of this discovery. Still not looking at you, jisung puts his head in his hands to hide his embarrassment, amused by his timidness, you try to make him turn to you but he won't budging, unable to look at you to spare himself further embarrassment. In truth jisung didn’t have anyone he was interested in, so he was confusing himself but it was probably the question itself and the possibility of him having a crush that made him embarrassed, or at least that’s what he told himself.  “Yaaaaa jisunggg tell me~” You say in a teasing voice but realizing your strategy wasn’t gonna make him turn your way, you smirk hoping that if anything were to get him to turn around it’d be this. So you start tickling him hoping he was even ticklish which fortunately he was, severely ticklish at that too. He starts to spasm due to the tickling laughing uncontrollably using his hands to block your hands and move away from your grasp. “YA STO-” turning around to yell at you, unaware at how close you got when trying to tickle him, he stops mid sentence finally realizing the lack of distance between the two of you. He takes a small gasp interrupting what he was going to say, speechless by the sudden eye contact, but it’s too late your eyes were already locked. “Ah there you are~” you say that in such a gentle tone that it was more of a whisper, inaudible to anyone besides you and jisung. Once again you guys find each other in the sunlight, which lights up both of your eyes making them seem as clear as honey, unaware of everyone standing up, cheering as yangyang just scored a goal. Both of you too lost in each other's eyes to notice anything else besides the smallest details in each other's iris’. However the gaze is suddenly broken when you look around and realize the cause of celebration, clueless to jisung's lingering gaze. “Oh my god look yangyang just scored a goal!” You tell the boy in front of you eyes glimmering with admiration, much to jisung's displeasure. Jisung was slightly upset at the soccer player who was the reason for breaking your eye contact, along with the fond expression brought to your face when looking at yangyang rather than himself. And although jisung might never admit it, deep down he’d wish for you to look at him like that even if it was just for a moment.

June: After months in the cold waiting for the arrival of summer, at last June has arrived. The month does not only represent a drastic change in temperature but in emotions as well, this month is when mere feelings can finally develop, for better or for worse. 

“I like you” the words you hear coming out of your newest friend, whom you’ve become quite close to and bonded with over the past month. “Yangyang I-” “it’s okay you don’t have to answer, I just wanted to tell you” The boy says before winking and smiling at you with confidence. In the distance you could hear his friend Hendrey call out to him in a distance and you see him turn around to wave at his friend and turn back around, “anyways y/n I kind of need to go now, my friend is calling me” He says scratching the back of his neck, reminding you of another male friend of yours, using his thumb to point back to hendrey. He runs off to his friend, not forgetting to turn around, giving a cute wave before Hendrey wraps his arm around his shoulders walking off to who knows where. Now you’re left alone dumbfounded, behind the school building with a stunned expression, while physically you look as if your mind is blank your thoughts were far from that of panicking at your friends sudden confession. In retrospect you were kind of expecting this to happen as at some point considering your relationship was never just friends, you yourself started talking to him with slight romantic interests involved. Although it was, at least for you, a bit too soon. Still baffled by recent events you failed to notice the running footsteps of two boys come from behind you. “YA CHENLE GIVE THAT BACK!” You remain stuck in your headspace as both boys suddenly stop when they notice your strange figure and start whispering to themselves. “Yah isn't that y/n?” Chenle says to the jisung who steps closer to get a better look at you standing alone, he turns back to his friend “Uh yeah I think so?” There’s a second of silence as the boys try to figure out the odd circumstance, before Chenle says, “oh well HAVE FUN!” sticking out his tongue and running away while laughing uncontrollably hoping jisung doesn’t try to go after him after successfully figuring out his password and stealing his phone. “YA” jisung lets out a heavy sigh giving up trying to get his phone back and turning towards the dazed girl, shaking your shoulder a bit to get you out of your trance “Y/n?” “H-huh? Jisung? W-what're you doing here?” “I should ask you the same thing, I mean you're all alone out here” “Oh I was? I guess I didn't notice.” You shake your head trying to forget yangyang’s confession and bring yourself back to reality not noticing jisung turning his head to the side to hide the slight blush after seeing you in a confused state. Confused as to why he had suddenly spaced out looking in another direction, “Jisung?” You ask him while tilting your head cutely, an action jisung was still able to see in his peripheral vision which made him want to keep his head turned away even more. It was now you trying to get his attention so you smile realizing the irony of the situation,”Y-yeah?” “You wanna go to class now?” You say smiling before walking ahead of him with a slight skip in your step. “Yeah sure” you hear him say awkwardly following you to class. The two of you walked in silence from that moment on side by side, you taking a few glances to check up on him as he did with you and whenever you two did make eye contact you both gave each other a smile that although a bit awkward, was comforting in some way. 

It was almost a week after yangyangs confession and since then you’ve fortunately managed to avoid him, still confused with what your answer, but it wasn’t whether or not you had feelings for him or not because you knew the boy could make you laugh, smile and give you butterflies at soon as you laid eyes on him, but you felt as if it was rushed. You considered it as only a crush than deep feelings for a committed relationship, simply put it was too early. And yet you knew you’d regret rejecting him because you didn’t want your relationship to end, rejecting him would risk losing, what would've been a perfect relationship due to your own indecisiveness. Ugh I hate feelings, you trying to decide your answer, was exactly what caused you to get lost during your late night walk you took to clear your head. Realizing that you’d been spacing out, you take a look at your surroundings and you had absolutely no idea where you were. “Oh shit” although what you could recognize is a neon sign at the end of the street that spelled out Convenience Store with a couple tables and seats at the front for eating. Feeling your stomach give a loud growl, you unlock your phone just to check if you have time to spare to eat some ramen, before your mom yells at you for staying out too late, 9:00 only? “OK! Lets go!” you celebrate to yourself, pumping a fist in the air before skipping towards the store and greeting the cashier. While you run your finger through the shelfs scanning the inventory trying to find your favourite ramen, “cheese ramen, cheese ramen, cheese ramen” All of a sudden you hear the door of the store open due the iconic bell and you hear a voice, a male voice greet the cashier as well, “Good evening~” FUCK! You instantly recognize the voice cursing inwardly at the chances you’d bump into him at a convenience store of all places. You immediately move to the next aisle, away from the entrance praying that he wouldn’t see you hiding behind the end of the aisle. “This literally cannot be happening to me” “What can’t be happening to you?” you let out a shriek, jumping back startled to hear ANOTHER voice. Please don't be him, please don't be him, you open your eyes that were shut due to fright, to look up at the stranger that just scared you “J-jisung?” “Yeah who else?” You wonder why you didn’t recognize his voice initially but you see his confident grin while looking at your distressed state, it somehow pleased him to see you like this. “So you gonna answer my question or are you gonna keep on staring at me?” Realizing you must look completely crazy, you fix your posture to look at jisung straight in the eye, “none of your business.” And you walk away from the boy taking your former spot using the aisle to block anyone’s view of you. You occasionally peek your head out just to check on the whereabouts of the mystery boy and jisung takes notes of this, standing behind you, hovering like the giant he is. He chuckles at your childishness, “who are you hiding from?” He asks out loud not caring if anyone heard him, you panic quickly putting your hand over his mouth to shut him up. “Jheez can u be any louder? Plus did I not make it clear, none. of. your. business.” Jisung pouts at you before licking the inside of your hand causing you to let go of him and give him a look of a disgust while you try to wipe his saliva off your hand with your sweater, but all he does is flash you a playful smile satisfied with your reaction. You roll your eyes at jisungs shenanigans and turn around to continue your spying seeing that the boy stayed by the cashier examining the gums and candies. Jisung follows your gaze tryna figure out just who you’re so afraid of before realizing who it was and his smile then turned into a thin line. “Him?” “Ya what do you mean him? That's yangyang!” You hit jisung offended by his reaction to your crush. Jisung flinches pretending that your hit actually hurt, “yeah did I stutter?” you ignore what jisung just said, too focused on predicting the movements of yangyang, maybe focusing too hard that just when you thought he was going to leave without noticing you, you two accidentally make eye contact and you quickly hide behind the aisle hoping he didn't see you. With your chest going up and down, you struggle to control your heart rate placing your hand on your chest to hopefully help lower it down. Jisung widens his eyes seeing you so flustered, “why what happened?” he looks at you, concerned thinking you’re having a heart attack. “He saw me” you slide down now sitting on the floor with your legs folded in front of you while you hide your face in your hands breathing into them, trying to calm yourself down. “What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do” you continually repeat those words slightly scaring jisung in the process, although after seeing you in this condition he realized he needed to help in some way. “Okok just stay here” patting your head before walking off leaving you to curl up on your own. Jisung walks down the aisle that yangyang just saw you in, already meeting face to face with the boy that had walked in your direction trying to check if it was really you or a hallucination. He stops when he sees jisung, taking a step back confused as to why he’d see him there of all places, “Jisun-” “Oh hey Yangyang funny seeing you here, isn’t it a bit late tho? Based on what jeno and jaemin were talking about I swear you guys have soccer practice in the morning tomorrow at 6, no?” Jisung interrupted yangyang, rambling on about a made up soccer practice, jisung thought of on the spot, while putting his arm around the clueless boy's shoulders pushing him until they made it out of the store and before yangyang could process what was happening. “O-oh they never told me we had practice” “oh well good thing you heard it from me, tho you might wanna double check just in case, ok?” “y-yeah ok, but wait-'' but before jisung could hear his question concerning you, and then be forced to answer it he turned around and walked away allowing the convenience store door to shut thus ending their interaction, leaving yangyang completely dumbfounded as to how he ended up outside of the store instead of inside looking for you. Jisung gives a sigh of relief upon returning to the scared figure on the ground in front of him, “It’s okay now” you hear those comforting words escape his mouth and you lift up your head to look up at him, “is he gone now?” Suddenly, jisung feels heat rise to his cheeks when looking down at your curled up body, resembling a scared child and somehow your question triggered a protective instinct in jisung, who felt the need to protect you from all the things wrong in the world well at least all the things that you couldn’t protect your own self from. Finally calming down after your nervous breakdown you stand up wiping away the dust on your clothes before turning to jisung with a smile on your face, “Now let's go eat some ramen!” 

Both of you walk out of the convenience store after finding your cheese ramen and his spicy one, cooking it using the hot water at the store. You both sit down on one of the tables in front of the store met with a cool breeze that cooled the two of you down a bit from the summer heat. After taking a few bites and many loud slurps from the ramen, the two of you take your time to chew creating a moment of silence so jisung turns to you, “so you wanna tell me what happened in there?” You feel obligated to give him an explanation especially after how he helped you out, swallowing your food you lay your chopsticks down and explain to him the situation of yangyang confessing to you and you being nervous and confused. “Heol, yangyang actually likes you? Whaa” You throw a piece of your trash at him offended by his question, “Ya what do you mean actually liked me, what is their not to like” you say while flipping your hair back confidently, “Mhm you keep telling yourself that” his comeback slightly surprising you but you stop there not trying to take anymore insulting comments. “Ok but I was really nervous back there, if I wasn't so antisocial or if I actually understood my feelings then maybe yangyang and I would’ve already been dating and doing whatever couples do.” Thinking about the possibilities you pout and shove a bunch of noodles in your mouth to chew angrily, showing just how stressed out you were. Jisung lets out a laugh which earns a glare from you after being charmed by your inexperience and instead of making fun of your fantasies with yangyang, he empathizes with your situation thinking of a mature answer to help you out. “Do you seriously think anyone understands themselves? Because they don’t. People may put on a convincing facade but trust me when I tell you everyone is just as confused as you are. We’re teenagers for god sakes, we’re supposed to be going through this. You may not know what you want now, but in the future you will and how are you ever gonna figure it out unless you try? I have no idea what you’re feeling right now but I do know it’d be a waste to push those feelings aside because you’re scared. You’re the only thing stopping yourself and for whatever the reason is to why you're scared, whether that be getting hurt or getting embarrassed, just know it's natural and what’s meant to happen will happen but only if you allow it to.” In awe of jisungs words and yet curious as to how he developed all that wisdom. You stare at him, trying to read his face trying to understand what he was thinking. Instead you notice the soft glow of the neon sign on his features, his hair and face slightly lit up. You soften your expression while examining the details of the boy in front of you, who’s sitting with a slight slouch while spacing out, looking down at his ramen that makes you giggle inwardly because it looks like he’s glaring at his own food. You notice just how innocent and vulnerable he looks, and yet on the contrary you are unable to understand his thoughts now matter how you try. You find yourself spotting traits about jisung that you never realized before, like the glimmer in his eye or the sound of his sniffle while eating hot noodles, or how his cheeks puff out in the slightest and his hands inter cross when trying to focus. Even if he was sitting right across from her, he felt beyond reach and in the perspective you found jisung in, he was what they call picture perfect. If only I could just read his mind, even if it was just for a moment. However you stop yourself from staring at your friend for any longer and look down to take in his words, the same words that caught you off guard. You take a minute to absorb jisungs advice and just as quickly as yangyang said those three words to you, three words of the same nature slip out of your mouth, delivering the long awaited answer you were trying so hard to figure out, “I like yangyang.”

If you were able to read this far, I love you~

[cherryonigiri]

Ushijima with an artsy musician s/o pt. 2

A/N: PART 2 OF MY REQUEST FOR AN ARTSY S/O!!!! WOOOOHOOO. Also my inspo for the outfit is this: https://www.lulus.com/images/product/xlarge/2746842_387482.jpg

Thank you all for 400 followers!!!I cannot believe I hit this milestone. I started this blog way back in 2018 (2 years ago????) and then proceeded to post very sporadically and let it gather dust. I honestly thought that I didn’t have time for writing in college but I’ve had amazing people (both on tumblr and IRL) who convinced me to come back and I’m so happy I did. Writing has made me so happy, especially with all that is happening right now. I love y’all so much 💖💖💖  -alice

The sweet tones of your instrument float through the ballroom, intermingling with the gentle chords played by the pianist next to you on stage. Some of the gala attendees have paused their conversations to turn towards the stages, enjoying the lovely melody that dances in the air. You spot other members of your boyfriend’s team mingling with the guests, enjoying their downtime at the Schweiden Alder’s end-of-year gala. You have yet to spot Ushijima yet, but for now you’re content to immerse yourself in your performance.

You’d been surprised when the Alder’s event team had reached out to you to perform at their gala. At first, you’d been skeptical, thinking that they’d only asked you to appease your boyfriend. You’d brought it up with Ushijima over dinner, and he’d been puzzled as well. It seemed that he’d only briefly mentioned you were a musician, let alone asked the staff to include you at the event. Reassured, you’d graciously accepted the opportunity to perform at the gala. Ushijima was equally as excited, albeit more for the opportunity to show you off to his teammates, as well as his coaches and sponsors. When you’d first started dating, the media had a field day, with many articles accusing you of dating Ushijima for his wealth and popularity in a bid to help your own career. That had made the two of you scoff, you’d held your ground in the realm of music with ease long before the two of you decided to publicly announce your relationship. Being invited to perform at the Adler’s gala was one of your more relaxed gigs — you were flying out to Vienna next week to teach a masterclass and perform as a guest with the philharmonic. And Ushijima was proud, knowing that you’d won every performance opportunity with your own merit — if anything you were doing his team a favor by playing at their event. 

Finishing your final piece, you gesture to the pianist, waiting for them to stand up before you both bow to the audience. Light applause mingles with the clinking of champagne glasses as you make your way off the stage towards a small back room. The pianist, a close friend of yours from your time at music conservatory, wishes you a good evening before exiting the room to head home for the night. Meanwhile, you busy yourself with putting your instrument back in your case before turning to the navy jumpsuit hanging on a nearby rack. Ushijima had taken you as his date to the gala, and you’d arrived wearing the sleeveless navy blue number, matching his team colors, before changing into something a little more comfortable for the performance. You’d just finished packing your instrument when you hear the door creak open. A pair of broad arms wraps themselves around your waist, while familiar olive hair brushes your cheek as your boyfriend nuzzles the side of your neck. 

“Well done y/n, I loved your playing, as always,” Ushijima murmurs. 

You turn to give him a light kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, ‘Toshi, I had fun playing for your teammates.” You chuckle, remembering Kageyama’s awed look at the beginning of the gala, when you’d revealed you would be performing later in the evening. “Can you help me zip this up?” gesturing to your clothes. Ushijima nods, and you are careful to move your hair away from the zipper. You pull out a pair of silver earrings and a necklace, Ushijima had surprised you with the set of jewelry on the day of your second anniversary. Passing the necklace to your boyfriend, you focus on putting on the earrings. Ushijima’s hands rest gently on the back of your neck as he fiddles with the chain. A pair of warm lips replace his hands once he finishes securing the clasp, and you can’t help but giggle at the affectionate gesture. 

“Someone’s very touchy feely today,” you tease and you turn around to face Ushijima. He hums in agreement, offering his arm to you as he leads you back into the ballroom. You’re immediately spotted by Kageyama, who walks up to you with wide eyes that sparkle with awe. The setter’s date, you learn, is Kageyama’s former high school classmate Hinata Shoyou, and a player for the Black Jackals. As you converse with the two longer players, Ushijima watches you laugh, a small smile making its way onto his face. He’d originally been dreading this event — being pulled aside to appease rich sponsors was not his cup of tea — but watching you perform had turned it into a pleasant evening. When it came to you he could never contain his pride, he was always amazed at how hard you worked each and every day to continue to improve your craft. His teammates were usually busy, and he’d been unable to convince any of them to accompany him to your concerts (although that would soon change, he already had received texts suggesting that the team should attend one of your future performances as a ‘bonding’ exercise). It’s nice to see you get along with Kageyama and the rest of his co-workers — perhaps he would invite them over for dinner some time. Hinata is shouting something about how your playing was ‘gwah’ and ‘swoosh’ when Kageyama decides to drag him away, telling the orange haired man to “stop bothering Ushihima-san’s girlfriend.”

As the night goes on, your cheeks turn red as you continue to sip from the champagne glass clutched in your hand. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, seems to have a much better tolerance, with a barely noticeable flush tinting his cheekbones. His arm is a constant through the night, always wrapped around your waist with his thumb gently tracing circles on your waist. Even as you stumble your way through the front door, complaining about high heels and aching feet, his smile stays. It stays as you both get ready for bed, when he watches you wipe the make-up off your face. It stays as you change into one of his ratty t-shirts from high school. It stays as you drift off to sleep pressed against his side in bed. It stays, as he falls asleep, his body curled around you in a tight, yet gentle embrace. 

**Please drink responsibly and don’t drive after ingesting alcohol - y/n and Ushijima took a rideshare home like the responsible adults they are.

[silverlightqueen]

Ruin My Life - Part 8

RML masterlist

(fratboy!Jimin - smutty smut !!! A N G ST & a lil bit of fluff ig)

Summary - y/n goes on another night out and runs into a familiar face... not one we expect either. Jimin is a dick, y/n gets her own back, Joon has a crisis and Tae... well ion wanna spoil anything👀

Word Count - 11.5k+

Warnings - oh god here goes um explicit sex, penetrative sex, ‘sir’, explicit dirty talk, sub!reader and dom!male (I don’t wanna give anything away lol), spanking, oral sex (male and female receiving), degradation, edging, multiple orgasms, pussy slapping, fingering, it is FILTH lol, with discussion of alcohol too

a/n: y’all I know it’s been a while but I hope this was worth the wait lmao um unedited as usual but I really hope y’all like it, lmk what you think and hmu if you wanna be on the taglist x

silverlightqueen masterlist

taglist💕: @keylowmonie @jennafromhome @btrombley13 @parkjammys @chubschimmine @flowingwiththewater​ @magicalpjm​ @sakurauchiha2018​ @kyrie1707​ @simonemothjensen​ @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @p-yoon​

‘You ready yet, y/n?’ Chen calls from the living room, as I pull on my heels. ‘Yeah, just one second!’ I call back, tucking my phone into the pocket of my jeans, and tottering down the hall to the living room where Mija, Chen and Jackson. ‘It’s already 10.30. I’m always waiting on you, bitch. Why ain’t you ever waiting on me?’ Mija demands, and I laugh. ‘It just wouldn’t work the other way around,’ I reply, and she rolls her eyes. ‘You look good, though, I guess,’ she says, and I grin, doing a little twirl. I’m dressed in a pair of light-wash blue jeans, tighter than tight, with a sheer black bodysuit and a pretty black bralet beneath, lacy and all, black heels on my feet, a thick, black lace choker around my neck. ‘Damn, Chen, I might have to steal your date tonight,’ Jackson jokes, Mija slapping his arm gently. ‘Kidding, babe, kidding,’ he says, Mija rolling her eyes. ‘She looks better than me, anyway, so I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say, admiring Mija in the little black dress she has on, a pair of my black heels (because god knows I have endless pairs) on her feet. ‘And y/n’s not my date, Jackson, she’s got the wrong sexual reproductive organs,’ Chen says, making all three of us laugh as he takes my phone and lip-gloss from me, putting them into his jeans pocket instead because I don’t like carrying stuff around in mine. ‘I mean, if I was straight, I’d totally go for you, y/n, you’re hot as fuck, but, sadly, I am as gay as you are hot so…’ he trails off, and I shake my head at him with laughter, proud of how far he’s come in speaking about in his sexuality. 

We’ve become a little group of four these past couple weeks; Mija, Jackson, Chen and I. Both boys are from KPN (which means that Mija and Jackson were getting it on in the frat house whilst I was crying on Chen), and it’s useful having them as friends, as they help us avoid the rest of their frat (and god knows I need to, Eunwoo furious at me leaving him with blue balls). Mija and Jackson aren’t exclusive, but they’re kinda dating, I guess. Since that night, we’ve been out to different bars and clubs with them, and each night has ended in them two fucking in Mija’s room whilst Chen and I watch various Disney films in my room. We’re nearly all the way through the Pixar films. I’m happy for Mija, having noticed how much Jackson makes her smile and laugh, but I can’t help but think about her and Tae together. I did really want them to work, but as long as she’s happy with Jackson, I’m happy too. I’m also really happy for Chen too; he came out to his brothers last week and they were nothing but supportive, not a single one of them cracking the ‘don’t fall in love with me, bro’ joke. It’s gotten around to the rest of the university too, but he hasn’t let the gossiping and rumours affect him at all, secure and happy within himself.

‘Right, let’s go,’ Chen says, all of us trooping out of the door and down to where the Uber is parked in front of our building. We all pile in, Jackson sat up front with the driver whilst Chen is forced to sit between Mija and I who sing along to the music obnoxiously loud, documenting the entire journey for our Snapchat private stories (we love wannabe vloggers). When we arrive, Chen and Jackson flash their VIP cards at the bouncer, who lets us in instantly with a smile, having seen us several times over the past few weeks, ignoring the protests and complaints from everyone waiting in the queue. We head over to our usual booth in the corner, always kept empty, and I don’t bother keeping an eye out for KPN, knowing that they’ve all gone out to another bar across town. However, what I don’t expect to see is the ASP boys dancing in a huddle in the middle of the dance floor. Jungkook spots me and subtly nods at me, a small smile on his face, obviously not wanting his hyung, who dances opposite him, to notice. I give a small wave back before ducking behind Chen, sliding into the booth hastily. ‘ASP?’ Mija asks, scanning the dance floor, and I nod just as she spots them, a dirty look appearing on her face. ‘Whatever, it’s fine, let’s just ignore them. They don’t matter anyway,’ I say, Mija nodding in agreement. ‘Well, he doesn’t matter; the rest of them do,’ Jackson says, earning eye-rolls from Mija and myself. ‘Shut up, Jackson,’ Chen says half-heartedly as he waves over a waiter who takes one look at us and nods, already knowing our drinks orders; a Mai Tai for me, a gin and tonic for Chen, a Jack and coke for Jackson, and a vodka and coke for Mija.

‘Right, what kind of night is it tonight, y/n? A looking-to-be-dicked-down night or a night-out-with-the-squad night?’ Jackson asks, rubbing his hands together. ‘Hmm, I’m not sure yet. If you guys can find me some good dick, then the former. If not, then the latter,’ I say. ‘So we’re second choice?’ Mija asks indignantly, and we all laugh. ‘What about that boy over there, by the bar? Tall, skinny, blond hair,’ Chen suggests, all of us looking over. ‘Hmm, too tall. I’d look like a midget next to him,’ I say, all of us searching the bar again. ‘What about him? The one in the booth, muscles, blonde hair. He doesn’t look too tall,’ Jackson suggests, and I shake my head. ‘He’s too muscly. I don’t like that many muscles,’ I say, and Jackson rolls his eyes. ‘That one? At the door?’ Chen says, and I shake my head again. ‘I like a toned guy. You know I’m not into dad-bod,’ I say, Chen shaking his head. ‘That one?’ Jackson says, motioning to a guy who dances near our booth. ‘Um, yeah, he seems alright. Cute, I guess,’ I say, and this time Chen shakes his head. ‘More my type than yours. He’s definitely gay,’ he says, Jackson sighing in annoyance. ‘That one over there?’ Chen suggests. ‘I’m more into light hair than dark,’ I say. ‘That one?’ Jackson asks. ‘Na, he looks too… serious. I like a guy with duality,’ I say, and Jackson lets out an annoyed noise. ‘You’re too fussy! How are we supposed to find you someone?’ he exclaims. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I guess I just have a refined taste,’ I say, and Chen and Jackson shake their heads, Mija silent. ‘Well, I guess none of these lot are gonna live up to your standards then,’ Chen says, and I shake my head definitively. ‘So that means it’s a night-out-with-the-squad night! We need shots!’ Mija exclaims, all of us cheering in agreement. ‘We’ll go get them,’ Chen says, grabbing Jackson’s arm and pulling him out of the booth.

‘Babe, you’re not gonna find a carbon copy of Jimin,’ Mija says the second they’re out of earshot. ‘What?’ I exclaim, taken aback. ‘You want a light-haired, toned-but-not-muscly, taller-than-you-but-not-too-tall guy with duality? You basically explained Jimin, babe, and as much as I know you’re still into him, you’re just not gonna find a guy like that,’ Mija says, and I sigh, resting my face on my hand. ‘I know, I know. I can’t help it. No one even compares to him,’ I breathe out, and Mija gives me a sad smile. ‘You’ll find the right one, y/n, and it’s just not him. Give it some time. But in the meantime, it’s not like you can’t sleep with a remotely attractive guy, even if you don’t fall in love with him at first sight. It’s been a while since you got dicked down, babe,’ she says, and I nod in agreement. ‘When the boys get back, we’ll do some shots, get super drunk, and then you can go dance and get yourself a man,’ Mija says, and I nod with a grin, liking the sound of her plan. The boys appear then, holding twelve shots between them, and we do three each before downing the drinks we already have, ordering more. Less than half an hour later, the four of us are sufficiently drunk, and so Jackson and I manage to convince Chen and Mija to get up and dance relatively easily.

We meld into the group of dancers in the middle of the room, Mija and Jackson grinding against each other as Chen and I dance modestly (in comparison, anyway) together. Every few minutes, I’ll feel hands on me, and I turn to see what it is the person looks like. Every time, I’m not too keen on what I see, and so shoot Chen a look, who then steps in claiming to be my boyfriend, scaring all the boys away. Chen is very intimidating, I’ll say that; tall, handsome and serious-looking, I wouldn’t mess with him if someone paid me for it. And then, one of the times, I’m surprised when I turn to see a girl. ‘Hey, sweetie,’ she says, body pressed up against me. We’re the same height, with the same body shape, probably able to pass for sisters if we had to. I turn to face her, her hands still on my waist, and smile at her. ‘I’m sorry but I’m straight,’ I say, and she sighs. ‘I’m sure I saw you earlier, sat in that booth, and you looked like you were into girls,’ she says, and I let out a laugh, the two of us still dancing together. It’s weird; I don’t feel at all uncomfortable or intimidated by her, just going to show that girls know how to accept it when they’re told no. ‘You’re probably getting me confused with my friend,’ I say, motioning over to Mija, ‘she’s bi.’ ‘Oh, yeah, it’s her,’ the girl says, before she spots Jackson. ‘Boyfriend?’ she asks, and I shake my head. ‘They’re not exclusive. If you’re into boys too, I’d go for it if I were you. I doubt they’d say no to a third… party,’ I say, and she laughs. ‘I might just do that. Thanks, girl,’ she says, giving me a quick hug before sidling over to Mija and Jackson who instantly let her move in between them, all three dancing together.

I laugh to myself, and before I can even say anything to Chen, Taehyung appears before me. ‘y/n! Babe!’ he exclaims, pulling me into a friendly hug. ‘Hey, Tae!’ I reply, my words probably muffled in his (solid) chest, my makeup most definitely transferring onto his top (thank god it’s black). ‘Can I just say that you with that girl nearly made me hard,’ he says with a mischievous grin. ‘Urgh, Tae, what the fuck?’ I exclaim, trying to hold back a laugh at his complete honesty. ‘Sorry. But come get a drink with me, it’s been a while,’ he offers, and I think it over. What have I got to lose? As much as he can be an idiot, he’s a good guy at heart, and he and Mija don’t have any hard feelings as far as I’m aware, so I don’t see why it’d cause any problems. And it’d definitely make Jimin jealous too. I check over my shoulder to see where Chen is, and he’s dancing with the guy Jackson pointed out earlier, the gay one, and I mentally cheer him on. ‘Yeah, sure,’ I say, letting Taehyung wrap a large hand around my wrist and lead me through the group of dancers up to the bar. He obviously doesn’t have a VIP card, but he manages to get through the crowd to the bar quickly, flirting his way through, shooting people smirks and winks. When we reach the bar, he orders us both a rum and coke along with a shot each, both of us downing the shots as soon as we get them. Honestly, if I continue hanging out with all these frat boys, my liver is going to be fucked before I’m thirty. We head over to the booth where I was sat earlier, still empty, and sit opposite one another. Tae’s eyes wander easily, shamelessly trawling all over me, repeatedly pausing on my chest before continuing. I don’t bother pulling him up on it, knowing there’s no real intention behind his actions. He’d never betray Jimin like that; we might not be a thing anymore, but you don’t sleep with your friend’s ex… or kind-of-ex either. It’s literally like a law… right?

‘You’re looking good, y/n. Really good,’ he says, and I smile, loving a bit of praise here and there. ‘Thanks, Tae. You don’t look too bad yourself,’ I reply with a grin, and he laughs, his adorable boxy smile appearing on his unfairly handsome face. He’s dressed in a black shirt that strains against his broad shoulders and chest, and plain black slim-fit jeans that accentuate his ass perfectly, a pair of black and gold Gucci dress shoes on his feet. ‘Don’t lie to yourself, you know I look better than ‘not too bad’, babe,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes. ‘You don’t need me inflating your head any more than it already is,’ I say, and he chuckles, leaning forward. ‘So you agree?’ he asks with a glint in his eyes. ‘You’re infuriating,’ I say, and he leans back, grinning. This is how our conversation for the next hour continues, going back and forth. Just when I think I’ve steered the conversation away from flirting, he throws a curveball and almost gives me whiplash from a flirty comment. And, horrifyingly, I feel myself starting to enjoy it. And then it all gets ruined.

‘Hey, Tae,’ Jimin says, both of us jumping at the sound of his voice. He stands at the side of the booth, hands in pockets, veins in his arms corded tight, and his voice sounds tense and strained. ‘Oh, hey, hyung,’ Tae says, completely at ease as he leans back in the booth and smiles easily up at the other boy. ‘Have you checked your phone? Kook’s been texting you,’ Jimin says, not even sparing a glance at me. I don’t mind, though; if we made eye contact, I’d most definitely shoot him a death stare. ‘Na, I haven’t. I’ve been distracted,’ Tae says with a grin at me, and I grin back before taking a sip from my drink. ‘Well, he was asking if you wanted to get in the Uber with us,’ Jimin says, ignoring Tae’s comment entirely. ‘Who’s us?’ ‘All of us. Me, Kook, Jin hyung, Yoongi hyung and Namjoon hyung,’ Jimin says impatiently, and I wonder why Hobi isn’t here. ‘How will we all fit?’ ‘For fuck’s sake, Tae, do you wanna come or not? We’ll get a seven-seater,’ Jimin says in a tone that indicates it’s obvious, and I can’t help but agree. Tae’s being purposely difficult to piss him off, and I’m not quite sure why. ‘Na, I’ll hang around a bit longer, and make my own way back. You guys go ahead,’ Tae says, and Jimin hesitates. ‘You sure?’ he asks, and Tae nods with a definitive, ‘I’m sure,’ and so Jimin goes to join his hyungs and Kook who stand waiting a little while away, all of them waving when they spot me looking. I wave back with a wide smile, genuinely happy to see them all after such a long time, and when I turn back to Tae, he’s on his phone.

‘D’you wanna get out of here yet, y/n? Or hang around a while?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Where would we go?’ I ask, and he chuckles. ‘y/n, don’t be cryptic, you know what I’m asking you,’ he says, and I can’t lie, I’m tempted. ‘But…’ I trail off, not wanting to say it. ‘Jimin?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘I don’t think it’s an issue. As much as you probably don’t want to talk about it, he said no to you. You two weren’t exclusive or committed to each other, and he turned down the opportunity to turn the relationship you had into something more. That was his choice. Now this is yours,’ he says seriously, and I really don’t know what to say. Because this isn’t just me deciding whether or not to go home with Tae, it’s me choosing to move on from Jimin or not. If I do this, I am admitting to myself that it is well and truly over with him, and I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet. Tae instantly notices my hesitation, and sits back, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You’re still not over him, are you?’ he asks, and I nod, knowing there’s no point in lying. ‘Well, this might not change your mind, but my room is right next to his, remember?’ he says with an impish grin, and I laugh before remembering something.

‘Mija,’ I say, and his face hardens. ‘What about her?’ he asks. ‘You two were kinda… you know?’ I say, and he lets out a false laugh. ‘She wasn’t… she wasn’t interested. And it was only like two days. And, I told you, didn’t I, that we didn’t sleep together that night? So there’s not like there’s really any history. But, I’m not going to lie to you, because you’ve told me the truth, I guess I kinda have had feelings for her for a little bit, but it’s obvious she’s not interested,’ he says, motioning over to Mija who dances with both Jackson and the other girl, the three of them in their own little world. ‘So this could be beneficial for me too. It’ll help us both get over each other’s best friends, and you can make Jimin jealous,’ he says with a grin, and I can’t help but laugh. ‘Okay, get an Uber,’ I say. ‘I already have,’ he smirks, and I swat at him, Tae laughing maniacally as he ducks from my hand. ‘Go tell your friends that you’re leaving, I don’t want them worrying about you and then murdering me when they find out I took you,’ he says, both of us getting up from the booth.

I head through the crowd of dancers and when I reach Mija, I tug on her arm gently, a smile breaking across her face when she sees me. ‘Tae’s just asked me to go home with him,’ I say, and her eyes widen. ‘Tae?’ she demands, and I nod. ‘If you don’t want me to, I won’t, but-’ ‘No, no, go for it! Go get that big, big dick, babe! Just text me and stuff, keep me updated,’ she says, and I feel my heart going out to Tae after hearing how she really doesn’t have any feelings for him at all. ‘You sure?’ I ask, and she nods. ‘Go get your shit wrecked!’ she says, pushing me gently towards the door, and I laugh as she re-joins Jackson and the other girl who sends me a wink and mouths, ‘have fun with your cute ass man’. I hold back a laugh at how similar she and Mija are and turn to find Chen. It doesn’t take long, easy to spot the two tall and handsome men dancing together and I push through the crowd. ‘Hey, y/n! This is Taeyong,’ he says, and I smile at drop-dead gorgeous man, who shoots me a smile in return, making my heart flutter with how handsome he is. And then, because I’m stupid, I say, ‘We both got Taes!’ Taeyong laughs and Chen quirks up a questioning eyebrow. ‘You’re going home with Taehyung?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘You sure that’s a good idea?’ he asks, and I shrug. ‘Life’s too short to worry about things like that,’ I say, Taeyong laughing again, and I decide I like him. If you laugh at my jokes, you’re guaranteed to be in my good books. ‘Okay, then. Keep me updated, and stay safe,’ Chen says, pulling me into a quick hug. I head towards the exit of the bar where Taehyung waits for me patiently, smiling when he spots me a few feet in front of him. ‘Uber’s here already, let’s go,’ he says, putting an arm around me and tucking a hand into my back pocket, hand curving to fit the curve of my ass. We head out, people still queueing outside to get in, and Tae opens the door of the Uber for me. I get a flashback to that night with Eunwoo, sat in the back of an Uber with another handsome man.

When we arrive back at the frat, Tae leads me up to the front door, holding it open for me. He clasps my hand and pulls me up the stairs, the two of us giggling the entire way up because of how tipsy we are, but the light atmosphere between us disappears as soon as his bedroom door shuts. I’ve never been in Tae’s room before, surprised to see that it’s quite clean and very lavish, the wardrobe open to reveal designer labels after designer labels. ‘Something else interesting you, y/n?’ he asks, now sat atop his silk bedsheets, leaning back on his hands and watching me amusedly. The youthful, light-hearted boy in him has disappeared now, leaving behind a formidable and intimidating man. I shake my head, and he chuckles. ‘I asked you a question, darling,’ he says as I put my phone down on his bedside table, beside his own phone. ‘No, Tae,’ I reply, and he stands up, holding out a hand which I place mine in. ‘It’s sir to you now, babe,’ he says, pulling me up against him, and pressing his lips gently to mine. The kiss coupled with the fact that he’s just told me to call him sir already has my pants dampening embarrassingly, and I let out a gentle whine into his mouth. ‘I would’ve said to call me daddy, but I don’t want Jimin barging in here all angry, ruining the mood,’ he grins, pressing his lips to mine again, our mouths moving in sync. He tastes delicious, like alcohol and something else, something unique that I can’t quite put my finger on, and my senses are flooded with the smell of him, his expensive Gucci perfume and something distinctly Tae, the deep and attractive smell I’ve smelt before.

He breaks away from me then, arms still around my waist, and asks, ‘I’ve heard Jimin talking about you and him like twice, but I don’t want to just assume, so I wanted to ask what your limits are.’ My heart melts at how sweet he is, but then I realise; I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had to explain it because Eunwoo was pretty vanilla anyway, and Jimin just always seemed to know. ‘Um, I’m open to most stuff, just nothing too extreme or painful. I don’t mind degradation, or light bondage, or, um, edging and denial,’ I say, hesitating with each word. ‘Anything else?’ he asks, and I think for a moment. ‘You just do your thing, and I’ll let you know if it’s too far. I’ll just say a safe word,’ I suggest, and he nods. ‘What word?’ he asks. ‘Um�� how about… pickle?’ I say, thinking back to that dreadful night I threw up on top of a pickle, and he nods with an amused grin. ‘Namjoon hyung told me about that. Gross,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘Pickle it is, then. Now… I think you’re wearing too many clothes,’ he says, voice lowering, before he presses his lips back to mine again. He walks me back to the bed and gently pushes me, causing me to land amongst his silk sheets. I kick off my heels as his fingers come to the buttons of my jeans, eyes locking with mine for another confirmation that I’m okay with this. I nod with a smile, and he makes quick work of the buttons and the zip, pulling the tight jeans down my legs and throwing them across the room. He flicks open the clasp to my bodysuit lazily, fingers grazing my core, and my breath catches in my throat. A grin spreads across his handsome face as I sit up and he pulls the bodysuit over my head, throwing that to where my jeans sit too.

‘Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous, y/n,’ he mutters, eyes drinking in my body clad in just my pants, lacy bralet and choker. ‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ I whisper, and he laughs, coming down to briefly press his lips to mine. ‘God, you’re such an annoying bitch sometimes,’ he says jokingly, and I roll my eyes. ‘No, I’m not kidding. Always turning me down, like you don’t find me as attractive as I find you,’ he says, hands skimming over my sides before he stands at the edge of the bed, undoing his belt and pulling his jeans down just past the bulge in his boxers. ‘I’ve been dying to just shut you up,’ he says, pulling his boxers down so his hard (and huge) length springs up against his stomach. I take a deep breath at the sight, before my eyes flit up to his, an arrogant smirk on his face. ‘I’ve been dying to have you choking on my cock so you can’t lie about how you don’t fucking want me when I know you do,’ he says, his words coaxing a whimper from me. ‘Come on, babe,’ he says, pumping his length with a grin, ‘show me why Jimin’s had blue balls since you cut him off.’

I sit up, taking him into my hand and pumping him gently before I gently lick the tip, swirling the tip of my tongue around him a few times. He grabs my hair, pulling my head back so I our eyes meet, and his eyebrows are raised. ‘I didn’t tell you to tease me, babe. Don’t push your luck,’ he says, and I nod, before taking him as deep into my throat as I can. He lets out a low groan as I work up and down his length, bobbing up and down and taking more and more of him in each time. His hands wander up and down my shoulders and neck with a possessive grip, letting out low groans and grunts every now and then. I haven’t even managed to take him all the way in when he pulls out of my mouth, and I look up at him in confusion, wiping at my chin as he tucks himself back in and rebuckles his belt. ‘You’re good, babe – great, in fact – but I’ve changed my mind. I wanna make you feel good,’ he says, pushing me back against the bed. I crawl further up until I’m near the headboard, Tae climbing over me. ‘I wanna make you shout my name so loud he can’t even sleep next door,’ he whispers in my ear. I press my lips to his skin, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw and neck as his hand strays down to between my legs. He pushes my thighs apart, his hand disappearing into my pants and cupping my core, having me breathing raggedly against his skin. He swipes his fingers along my dripping wet slit, and I let out a whine, hearing him chuckle lowly. I bite and suck on the skin of his neck and collarbones as his fingers lightly dance around my folds, sending gentle waves of pleasure through me. ‘You want it, babe?’ he asks, and I hum against his skin as I leave marks, hoping he’ll get the message. ‘That wasn’t an answer,’ he growls, fingers stilling in my pants. ‘Yes,’ I breathe out, and his free hand comes to my throat, pressing gently. ‘Yes, what?’ he asks, dark lusting eyes locked with mine. ‘Yes, sir,’ I whisper, and he grins.

‘Tell me what you want, babe,’ he says, moving off me. ‘Your fingers, sir, please,’ I breathe out, earning a kiss from him. ‘Hands and knees,’ he says, and I swiftly turn over, hands and knees pressing into the soft silk. ‘Such a pretty ass, huh?’ he says, big hands caressing my ass. ‘I wonder how it looks all nice and bruised up. Shall we find out, babe?’ he asks, his hands pausing, waiting for an answer. ‘Yes, sir,’ I reply dutifully, and he chuckles lowly. ‘Belt marks or hand marks? Has Park ever used his belt on you?’ he asks, the smirk audible in his voice. ‘No, sir, never,’ I reply. ‘Do you wanna try it babe, or just hands?’ he asks softly, and I smile at his checking in with me first. ‘Hands, please, sir,’ I say, and he breathes out a laugh. ‘Okay. Just hands,’ he says, before his hand comes down and lands on my ass, the slap resounding around the room loudly. He lands a few more slaps, earning gasps and whimpers from me, and each of them gets harder and louder. ‘Mmm, all nice and red, just for me,’ he whispers, pressing kisses up my spine, and my knees become weak at the feeling.

He pulls my pants down to my knees, the cold air hitting my core instantly, and I shiver at the feeling. ‘God, you’re dripping, babe. Is this from sucking my dick, or being spanked?’ he asks, hands running over my ass and down my thighs, completely missing the area I need him most. ‘Both, sir,’ I reply, and he chuckles. ‘I always knew you were a slut deep down,’ he says lowly, sending a shiver through me. Without warning, he plunges two fingers into me, a moan of his name falling from my lips at the burning stretch. He lands a harsh spank on my ass, with a deep ‘it’s sir to you.’ He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of my core, gentle whines and moans falling from my mouth. ‘Good, babe? Does that feel good?’ he asks. ‘Yes, sir, god, yes,’ I reply breathlessly, arms shaking with the force of holding myself up. After a minute or so of mind-numbing pleasure, one of my arms gives way, nearly having me face-plant the silk pillow covers. ‘Oh, are poor baby’s arms getting tired?’ he asks teasingly, turning me over onto my back. ‘I can’t complain, I get to see this pretty face now,’ he says, and I smile shyly. He spreads my legs again, and settles between them, his position reminding me almost of a kid laid out on their stomach, watching the TV.

‘Such a pretty little pussy, sweetheart,’ he says, almost teasingly, as he eyes my glistening core. ‘I wanna taste you, babe, can I?’ he asks, voice deep, and I moan at his words. ‘Please,’ I breathe out, and he chuckles under his breath. ‘You’re such a pain in the ass. Please what?’ he demands, sounding exasperated. ‘Please, sir, your mouth,’ I whimper, and he laughs again, his breath warm against my core. ‘Louder. I want him to hear you,’ he whispers, and I laugh internally at his pettiness. ‘Please, sir, I need your mouth, please,’ I beg louder, and he lets out a satisfactory chuckle. ‘Better,’ he says before licking a bold stripe up my core. I let out a loud moan as he begins to lick at my slit like he hasn’t eaten in months. ‘You taste fucking amazing,’ he says between licks, loud whimpers and moans falling from my lips. I wind my fingers into wavy, soft brown locks, pulling him closer between my legs, and he slides my thighs up over his shoulders, giving him better access. ‘Sir, fuck, feels so good,’ I moan, and he laughs against my core. ‘Rub it in a bit more,’ he prompts, and I’m more than happy to oblige. ‘Sir, please! I…feels so good,’ I cry out, not holding back as he practically devours me. I try my best to stay still but I begin to squirm in his sheets, and he loses his patience. ‘y/n, stop fucking moving before I make you cum until you’re sobbing,’ he threatens and I stop myself from moving. ‘Actually… maybe I’ll do just that,’ he says with a devilish grin, going back to his ministrations, twice the speed and force. Broken moans, whimpers and whines fall from my mouth every few seconds as he brings me closer and closer to my climax, and when he adds two fingers alongside his mouth, I hit my orgasm with a loud moan, back arching up off the bed.

Once I’ve come down, I meet his eyes, the sight of his chin and mouth covered in my release making me wet once more. ‘You okay?’ he asks, standing up at the foot of the bed, and I nod, eyes flitting down the bulge in his jeans. ‘I’ve just made you cum, and you’re already eyeing my dick like a deprived little cockslut. Was that not enough for you?’ he asks, and I shake my head, biting my lip gently. ‘Fuck, come here,’ he says, and I crawl down the bed. ‘Help me out,’ he says, kicking his shoes and socks off, and I unbutton his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and leaving his chest bare. His muscles are defined, not as much as Jimin’s, but still noticeable. His shoulders are broader, and strong, and his waist is small, an enticing v-line visible above the waist of his jeans. I unbutton his jeans and push them down his legs, the boy kicking them away. He unclasps my bra and I pull my pants off, leaving both of us completely naked. He picks me up and sweeps all the papers and stationery off his desk, putting me down onto the polished wood. He reaches into one of the drawers as I press kisses to and pull on the skin of his collarbones and neck, leaving marks in my wake. He pulls out a condom, slipping it on hastily, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

‘Ready?’ he asks, and I nod, resting my hands on his biceps as he slowly pushes into me. We both let out moans at the feeling, and he gives me a little while to adjust. ‘Can I move?’ he asks. ‘Yes, sir, please,’ I reply, and he grins, beginning to slowly rock his hips back and forth, pulling nearly all of the way out before sliding all the way back in. ‘God, you’re so tight. He can’t have been fucking you that well,’ he says, voice deep and husky, and I want to point out that that’s not how the female body works, but I can’t get the words out, waves of pleasure washing over me. ‘Faster, sir, please,’ I whine, and he smirks, increasing his pace slightly. And that’s when I hear it. The desk starts to hit the wall, quietly at first, but Tae continues getting faster and the banging noise gets louder and louder as he does so. On the other side of the wall is Jimin, and the thought makes me moan out loud. ‘You like making him jealous, babe?’ Tae asks, and I whimper into his shoulder as his thrusts get faster and faster. ‘Moan for me, babe, get him mad,’ Tae prompts. ‘Sir, feels- oh! Feels so good, fuck!’ I moan, throwing my head back as his fingers begin rubbing at my clit, his other hand gripping my waist so hard I’m sure I’ll wake up with bruises in the morning. ‘Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you, y/n? Letting me fuck you next door to your ex,’ he growls against my ear, and I whimper at his words, already nearing my high. ‘I can feel you clenching, y/n, you gonna cum for me, baby?’ he says, the pet name making me clench even harder, and he moans out. ‘Sir, fuck, I’m gonna…’ I trail off, so close to my climax. And then he pulls out.

‘Tae,’ I whine, and he lands a slap to my core, not too hard, but hard enough that it catches me off-guard, making me let out a little whimper. ‘Don’t complain,’ he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the desk. He leans down and presses his lips to mine, catching my mouth in a sloppy kiss as he pulls me away from the desk and towards the wall, pushing me up against it. ‘Jump,’ he says against my lips, and I do so, wrapping my legs around his waist once more, and he holds my body in place between his and the wall. Without warning, he pushes in and doesn’t start slowly, going at an almost painfully fast pace. My head falls back against the wall, making a noise, and I realise that Jimin will be able to hear that I’m being fucked against the wall because of how thin these walls are. ‘God, you’re fucking gushing,’ he says, the tops of his thighs practically soaked with my arousal. ‘All for you, sir,’ I moan out as he fucks into me, strained chuckles falling from his lips at that. ‘How would Park react to seeing you like this? Getting fucked by his best friend against the wall, moaning like a little bitch for me. Getting your pretty little pussy fucking pounded. He’d be a bit angry, I think. And hard,’ he breathes out, his words punctuated by moans from me, the image of Jimin’s angry face clear in my head.

‘Are you imagining I’m him, y/n? Imagining I’m your daddy?’ he asks, and I don’t answer, not wanting to admit that Jimin’s face has been in my mind since I walked into his bedroom. ‘I’m gonna take that as a yes. But it’s me, y/n, I’m the one making you feel this good. Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you,’ he says, grabbing my chin and turning my face so our eyes meet. His jaw is clenched, sweat dripping from his forehead, lips swollen and eyes dark and dilated. He moves one of my legs, so it’s bent between our bodies, and it allows him to thrust in even deeper, hitting the spot that makes me shout. ‘Fuck, sir, feels so good!’ I cry out, my eyes beginning to water as he fucks me relentlessly, filling me up completely as I tangle my fingers into his hair, gripping tightly. ‘Harder,’ I barely manage to breathe out and he laughs, doing as I wish, grunting from the effort. ‘Such a dirty fucking girl. Little bitch wants her pussy torn in half, huh? God, you’re so hot, y/n, so hot and fucking filthy. Hearing you and Jimin that night, fuck, I was so hard. I wanted to do what he was doing to you, wanted to make you scream like that,’ he admits, balls slapping against my ass as he thrusts into me ridiculously hard, knowing he’ll leave me sore tomorrow.

One of his hands rests at my neck, fingers pressing gently against my skin as his other hand begins to rub at my clit, bringing me ever closer to my climax. He begins to suck on my nipples sloppily, and I rest my head against the wall at all the different sensations. ‘You gonna cum, baby?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Moan my name,’ he whispers in my ear, before pinching at my clit gently. It pushes me over the edge, and I reach my high with a scream of his name, Tae continuing to fuck me through my orgasm as I clench around him in a tight grip. ‘Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,’ he groans, pulling out of me. ‘Can I cum in your mouth?’ he asks, furiously pumping his cock, and I nod, getting to my knees shakily. I rip the condom off his cock and put my mouth around it, revelling in the deep moan that falls from his lips. His eyes are locked on me as I suck him off harshly, bobbing my head as quickly as I can and taking him as deep as possible, and when I start playing with his balls, it’s game over. I feel his dick twitch as he throws back his head and moans out, ‘fuck, y/n, you’re so good. Shit!’ He pushes my head down onto his cock as he reaches his high, hot thick spurts of his cum hitting the back of my throat as my lips stay around the base of his cock, and he gently rocks his hips back and forth until he’s finished. He slowly pulls out, breathing deeply, and looks down at me with a smirk. ‘Show me, baby,’ he says, and I open my mouth. He groans at the sight of me before saying, loudly enough for Jimin to hear, ‘swallow it, baby. Every last drop.’ I do so, opening my mouth again to show him, and grins, pleased.

He helps me get up from the floor, pressing another gentle kiss to my lips. ‘I need to go for a wee,’ I say after a few seconds, heading into his en suite, quickly weeing, washing my hands, cleaning my makeup off and splashing myself with water, and when I come back out, he’s dressed in just a pair of loose checked pyjama bottoms, torso and feet bare, and hair a fluffy mess. ‘Here,’ he says, holding out a t-shirt of his. ‘I don’t have any underwear for you, though, unless you wanna wear boxers? Sorry,’ he says, and I smile. ‘It’s alright. Scientifically, it’s better if you go bare at night anyway,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘That scientist deffo just made up fake research to get his wife to go bare in bed,’ he says, and I burst out laughing as I pull his t-shirt on, the material soft against my skin. He climbs into bed and I climb in beside him, the boy instantly pulling me into his arms. I reach for my phone, knowing Tae’s watching as send Mija a text to say I’m safe and going to sleep, before locking it and putting it back. ‘Goodnight, babe,’ he says, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. ‘Goodnight, Tae,’ I reply, falling asleep quicker than ever before.

I wake up to find myself wrapped up in his arms, head tucked beneath his chin, cosy and warm beneath his soft silk sheets (did I mention they’re silk? Sorry, but I’ve never slept in silk sheets before and I already know what my next online order is gonna be). Almost as though he feels me stirring, he wakes up too, pulling me closer to his chest as he yawns. ‘Morning, babe,’ he says sleepily, and I can feel the vibrations of his words against my back. ‘Morning, Tae,’ I reply, turning in his arms to face him, and he shoots me an adorable boxy smile. ‘Sleep well?’ he asks, and I nod, snuggling into his warm and cuddly body. ‘Up for round 2?’ he asks, smirking, and I sigh. ‘And that is my cue to get up and shower,’ I say, beginning to move out of the bed, but he pulls me back in, whining like a baby. ‘No, y/n, cuddle me. We’ll watch a film or something, and then you can shower,’ he says, and I’m tempted. So I agree.

I cuddle back into him and he chuckles under his breath, reaching for his laptop. We both sit up against the headboard, Tae pulling me between his legs so he can cuddle me whilst I find something for us to watch on Netflix, finally settling for The Duff. It’s not Tae’s type of film, but he doesn’t complain, content on playing with my hair and listening to me laugh in all the right places. It flies by, and it feels so comfortable to sit here with him, that I almost forget that it’s Tae. And not Jimin. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Tae asks, knocking me out of my thoughts. ‘Pardon?’ I ask, caught off guard. ‘The film ended a few minutes ago, and you haven’t turned off the next one so I’m assuming you were daydreaming,’ he says, and I laugh, feeling embarrassed. ‘Oh, no, I, um, yeah, I was daydreaming. I zoned out,’ I say, Tae chuckling. ‘Okay, y/n. Oh, before I forget, do you wanna be my date for this fancy end-of-year party that we’re doing? I know it sounds dumb, but it was Joon’s idea,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘I’ve already had two offers, but I’ll, um, I‘ll let you know,’ I say, and he snorts. ‘Who asked you already?’ he asks. ‘Namjoon and Jungkook,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘Well, whatever. You don’t have to say yes to me, as long as you say yes to one of us. It’d be nice to have you there,’ he says, and I smile. ‘Thanks, Tae,’ I say. ‘Do you wanna go have your shower now? I’ll get you some clean clothes of mine out for afterwards,’ he says, and I turn to face him, kissing him gently on the cheek. ‘Thank you, you’re the best,’ I say, heading into his en suite. I strip off Tae’s t-shirt, put my hair up in a bun so as to not get it wet, and climb into the shower, turning on the water. I realise a couple seconds later that the shower gel isn’t in the shower, but on a shelf on the other side of his en suite. With a sigh, I climb out of the shower, leaving the water running, and then I hear Tae’s bedroom door slam.

‘What the fuck, Taehyung?’ I hear a familiar voice say angrily, and my blood runs cold. ‘What?’ Tae asks nonchalantly, and I supress a laugh. ‘What do you mean, what? You know exactly what I’m talking about, you fucking bastard. How could you sleep with her?’ Jimin demands, and Tae laughs. ‘Is she your ex?’ Tae asks, and Jimin’s silent. ‘Is she your ex, Jimin?’ Tae repeats, and Jimin sighs. ‘No, but you know it’s different with us,’ Jimin says, and Tae laughs. ‘If you don’t consider her your ex, if you don’t even have the decency to claim her as your ex, then I don’t see the issue. She’s just someone you used to have sex with, and you have no right to be angry about me having sex with her. End of,’ Taehyung says, and Jimin huffs. ‘No, Tae, it’s not end of. You know it’s different with me and y/n,’ Jimin repeats, and Taehyung laughs. ‘No, Jimin, I don’t know that, because you don’t tell me. You haven’t told me what’s different about the two of you. You won’t tell anyone, so how are we supposed to respect something we don’t know? As far as I see it, she liked you and you didn’t like her back, so you rejected her. That’s it. So why would you be angry about us sleeping together? If you had feelings for her, I’d understand, but you didn’t, because you would be dating her if you did. So explain it to me,’ Taehyung says, the other boy silent.

‘Just… I just wanna know one thing,’ Jimin says quietly, making me strain to hear him. ‘I can’t guarantee I’ll give you an answer,’ Taehyung replies, and I have so much respect for him in that moment. ‘Does she… does she still wear my ring? On her left hand, ring finger, is my ring still there?’ he asks, and Taehyung lets out a gentle pitying laugh, sounding sorry for Jimin. ‘I don’t know, Jimin, I didn’t pay attention to the jewellery she was wearing,’ Taehyung says as I look down at my left hand, pulling his ring off my finger. I turn the water off, both of them falling silent, and feign obliviousness. ‘Tae!’ I call. ‘Yeah, babe?’ he calls back, and I stifle a laugh at hearing a loud thumping noise, knowing Jimin’s definitely just whacked Tae. ‘Can you pass me my phone? I need to text Mija about something,’ I say, opening the door very slightly and sticking my left hand out, making sure Jimin can clearly see that his ring is not on my finger. He presses my phone into my hand, and I reply with a thanks before shutting the door. After a few seconds, I put my phone down and put the shower back on. ‘There’s your answer. She doesn’t wear your ring. Now is that it, or do you want me to ask her to give it back to you?’ Taehyung says. ‘Whatever,’ Jimin says, sounding tired, and then I hear the door open and close, signalling his departure. I carefully get back into the shower, the water running down over my face, and burst into tears, sobbing as though my heart would break.

‘y/n, there are people at the door for you!’ Mija calls, and I jump up from my bed, walking past Mija in the corridor. ‘Who?’ I ask. ‘Go find out,’ she replies over her shoulder. I roll my eyes as I step into the living room, seeing Namjoon, Yoongi and Jungkook stood at the door. ‘Um… hey?’ I say, heading towards them. ‘Hey, y/n. I asked Mija if you were busy, and she said no, so I thought it’d be nice if we came and did that Netflix binge watch night we planned,’ Namjoon says, and I grin at the heartfelt gesture. And then I spot a laptop under Namjoon’s arm. ‘What’s that for?’ I ask, and he looks down at it, looking back up at me with an almost sheepish expression. ‘Oh, I just brought it with me,’ he lies, Yoongi and Jungkook both looking as though they’re trying not to laugh, various bags and packets of junk food in their arms. ‘Don’t lie, Kim, what’s your ulterior motive?’ I demand, narrowing my eyes at him. ‘I… y/n, I need your help,’ he says desperately, stepping past me into our apartment. I exchange an amused look with the other two boys, and Yoongi rolls his eyes as Jungkook shakes his head. ‘With what?’ I ask, letting the other two in.

‘This party. I bit off more than I can chew. The venue need a deposit in the next two days because someone else wants to book it for that night, but the boys aren’t paying for their tickets; if they did, we’d be able to cover the entire cost, deposit and the actual payment. We’re only charging £15 a ticket but they’re all just being cheap. The uni’s contributing £200 to the venue but we’re not getting that for another two weeks, and that doesn’t even cover the deposit. Everyone’s bugging me about the theme, and I didn’t even think about having a theme in the first place. The boys are all telling me to scrap the whole date thing, but then it’ll get crashed and we won’t get our deposit back and we’ll have to pay for the repairs at the venue. My DJ cancelled because he’s in court, so now I’ve gotta find a new, cheap DJ. The venue need an exact number for catering because they won’t cater for us if it’s too late notice, but I don’t have an exact number yet because no one will confirm. And that’s just the start of it,’ he says, and I blink, trying to digest what he’s just said. Right,’ I sigh, ‘get that laptop loaded up, you two get Netflix on, and let me sort out this mess.’

I set myself up on the middle of the sofa, my laptop on my lap, Namjoon’s on his and Mija’s on hers (she decided to join us), Yoongi and Jungkook sprawled out across the floor, eating and watching Scream Queens. ‘Right, first, we need to get this deposit. How much is it? And how much is the actual venue?’ I ask, and he winces. ‘It’s £300 for the deposit, and £500 for the venue itself,’ he says, and I take a deep breath. ‘Okay. Us five, the other four, that’s 9 of us. If we each put £15 towards it, that leaves us with £165 to make. So we have to get enough people to pay that, or we resort to some sort of fundraising,’ I say, and Namjoon sighs. ‘There are 40 of us. Minus us seven boys, if we can get them all to pay their tickets, then we’ll cover it easy; we’ll make the full 800 for the deposit and the venue, and the uni funding can go towards a DJ and decorations,’ he says, getting his phone out. ‘Will they each pay that though?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘I’ll put it on the group chat, and see what we get back. I’ll pay for whatever we don’t get,’ he says, and Mija puts a hand out to stop him. ‘No. Let y/n send a voice note,’ she says, all four of us looking at her confusedly. ‘If y/n and Namjoon asked you for £15, which one of them would you be more likely to give it to?’ Mija asks. ‘y/n,’ Yoongi replies instantly, Jungkook hesitating but then nodding in agreement after a few seconds. ‘Wow, thanks. I’m so honoured you guys care about me,’ Namjoon says sarcastically, none of us paying attention to him. ‘If you say that you’re helping Namjoon with party planning because… I don’t know. Think of a sexy reason for it,’ she says, and I laugh. ‘What do you mean, sexy reason?’ I say. ‘You don’t need a sexy reason, the frat is pretty much whipped for you anyway, y/n,’ Yoongi says, and I frown. ‘I don’t even know the others,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘Some of the first years were asking us why you haven’t been around recently. Trust me, the whole frat loves you. Except maybe Jimin hyung,’ Jungkook says, before his eyes widen, realising what he just said. ‘Sorry, noona, I didn’t mean it to come out like that,’ he says, and I wave him off, willing myself not to cry. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine. Just pass me your phone, Joon, let me send a voice note,’ I say, and he gets his phone out, getting up the ASP group chat and handing it to me.

I press down the button and begin talking; ‘Hey guys, it’s y/n here. Namjoon would have sent this voice note but he’s losing his voice so I’m not letting him speak. He’s over at mine and we’re just party planning and stuff, and the venue needs a deposit in the next two days. If we all pay for our tickets now, we’ll cover the deposit and the venue costs, and the uni funding comes through in two weeks so we can spend that on a DJ and decorations. It’d be really helpful if you and your dates can pay the £15 each for a ticket, otherwise this party won’t go ahead, and it’ll be a real shame if we can’t celebrate Namjoon’s last year as head of the frat. We’re gonna set up a new bank account or PayPal or something, and send the details in so you can transfer all the money into that one. Thanks, guys.’ I look up at the others after recording it. ‘How was that? Was it okay? Shall I send it?’ I say, and Namjoon nods. ‘It was perfect. Send it now, I’ll set up the PayPal,’ he says, beginning to tap away on his laptop. I send it, and await a response. Jungkook and Yoongi both reply saying they’ll pay the £30 for their tickets for themselves and their dates, to prompt the others to do so too. Tae replies next, saying he will too, followed shortly by Hoseok and Jin. Some of the other frat members start to reply as well, and I send the PayPal details in. We watch as the funds get bigger and bigger, and when we reach the deposit, we all (except for Yoongi) start jumping up and down in a circle, screaming in joy.

‘This probably isn’t the best time to ask, y/n, but I still don’t have a date to this thing, you interested in coming?’ Yoongi asks as we take our seats again. ‘Um, I’ve already been asked. By Namjoon. And Jungkook. And Taehyung,’ I say, all three boys raising their eyebrows. ‘Taehyung? Did he ask you in the club… or after the club?’ Namjoon asks interestedly, all three of them looking amused and interested. ‘Um, in the club,’ I lie, slightly embarrassedly. ‘Those clothes look familiar,’ Yoongi says, and I kick myself for not taking off Taehyung’s sweater earlier. ‘Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why don’t you ask Sana instead of me, Joon? I heard something was going on with you two,’ I ask, Namjoon instantly beginning to blush. ‘What? Who said that? Because it’s completely false. Anyway, we’ve got things to do,’ Namjoon stutters, and I stifle a laugh, Yoongi and Jungkook looking as though this is the first they’ve heard about Sana. Feeling for Namjoon, I change the subject, asking if anyone wants something to drink.

When I’ve come back with everyone’s drinks, I move on to my next task. I dial Chen’s number and wait ‘til he picks up. ‘Hey, y/n,’ he says. ‘Hey, bitch!’ I reply, and he laughs. ‘What’s up? You good? How was last night?’ he asks, and I try not to laugh. ‘I think I should be asking you that. But anyway, we’ll fill each other in another time, I’ve got an emergency,’ I say. ‘What’s happened? Shall I come ‘round? Are you and Mija okay? Shall I get Jackson?’ he asks, panicking. ‘Chen, no! We’re fine. Maybe emergency wasn’t the best word to use. But can you come ‘round actually? We could do with your help,’ I say. ‘What am I getting myself into?’ he asks, sighing. ‘Party planning!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m down. Ask Mija if she wants me to bring Jackson,’ he says, and I do so. ‘No, he’ll just wanna go have sex,’ she says, and I stifle a laugh at the boys’ faces, surprised at hearing of Mija and Jackson because no one knows that they’re kinda dating. ‘She said no, he’ll just want to have sex. Bring yourself and food, bitch,’ I say. ‘How about pizza? Or Chinese?’ he asks. ‘Oh, my God, how can I choose? Surprise me, you know what I like,’ I say. ‘Alright, I’ll be there in like half an hour,’ he says, the line cutting off after that.

‘Right, Chen’s coming. He’ll help us sort the DJ. What else do we need to do?’ I ask Namjoon. ‘A theme,’ he says, and I exchange a look with Mija. ‘Are you doing suits and evening dresses and shit?’ she asks Namjoon, who nods. ‘Masquerade,’ Mija and I say at the exact same time. ‘Masquerade?’ Joon asks. ‘Classy, sexy, mysterious and fun all in one,’ Mija says. ‘What kind of decorations would we have though?’ Namjoon asks, sounding sceptical. ‘We could just do a colour theme. Something classy like… rose gold and white! We could get a flower wall, a balloon arch, centrepieces. We could do a sweet bar, a chocolate fountain, a photobooth, a-’ ‘y/n! We only have £200 to spend on all this stuff. There’s no way we can afford all that. Stop getting so carried away,’ he says, and I grin. ‘Is that a challenge, Joon? Because I will make it my life’s mission to get all of those things. I’ll get them or I’ll die trying,’ I say, Namjoon raising an eyebrow. ‘That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?’ Yoongi asks. ‘No, I like the energy, noona! I’ll help,’ Jungkook says, mouth full of chocolates. ‘You’re all gonna help. We’re gonna make this party the best ever. What are the others doing right now? Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung?’ I ask, purposely leaving Jimin out, and none of them point it out. ‘Nothing, I don’t think. Why?’ Namjoon asks. ‘Get them here now,’ I say, exchanging an excited glance with Mija, ‘we’re about to throw a party-planning party. Mija, call Chen and ask him to get enough food for nine.’

‘What the fuck?’ Tae asks as he steps into our apartment. Jin and Chen are sat at our tiny dining table, both of them on the phone getting quotes from various decorations companies for balloons, centrepieces and flower walls. Namjoon is sprawled out on the floor, on the phone to the venue and discussing different menus. Yoongi’s sat in the armchair, Mija sat on the arm of it and leaning on him as they both look at Namjoon’s laptop, trying to write up a seating plan so we can order or make place holders/keepsakes, having planned for each table to have a different designed item. Jungkook is beside me on the sofa, phoning up the frat members one by one to confirm their attendance, ask who their date is or urging them to find one, and getting those of them that haven’t sent the money for the tickets to do so. I’m making various spreadsheets and charts, writing up the different menus Namjoon repeats out loud to me, the quotes that Chen and Jin are getting, the dates that the boys have, the ones that have paid and the ones that haven’t as Jungkook lets me know after each phone call, contributing to Mija and Yoongi’s seating plan by letting them know who doesn’t like who. ‘Yeah, it’s a bit hectic,’ I say as he shuts the door behind him. I turn back to my laptop and type up the numbers that Chen reads out to me, and a few seconds later, I feel Tae’s hands on my shoulders.

He didn’t tell me anything about his conversation with Jimin after I came out of the shower, just acting as though nothing had happened, the whole time I got changed and when he drove me back to mine and Mija’s accommodation too. Mija eyes us, an amused grin on her face; I told her about what I’d overheard, and she said that she appreciates Tae speaking to Jimin the way he did. I’d also told her about the details of mine and Tae’s night together, trying to spot any signs of jealousy, but there was nothing; she truly has no feelings for Taehyung. Which is totally fine, of course, because she doesn’t need a man, and she’s happy with Jackson anyway. ‘Hoseok hyung couldn’t make it, but what can I do to help?’ he asks, leaning down and burying his head into my neck, some of the others watching us interestedly. ‘Um, Chen knows a guy who does DJing, but can you set up a playlist for him to use please?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘Of course,’ he replies, sitting down on the other side of me and getting his laptop out of his bag.

Slowly but surely, we manage to tick things off one by one. Chen strikes gold and finds a decoration company that’s about to shut down and are selling all of their stock at a fraction of the original prices, and so he makes arrangements with the owners for us to go and pick up what we need in two weeks’ time, on a Sunday. The shop is a two hour drive away, but we decide it’s better to go there than spend five times the money at a closer shop. In total, the decorations we’re looking for come to £50, and I could kiss Chen for finding such a fantastic shop. Jungkook gets all of the boys to confirm and pay for their tickets, and all of them promise to find their dates asap. We collectively decide on the least posh menu and Namjoon promises the venue that he’ll get back to them on how many of each dish they’ll need to prepare. Yoongi and Mija sort out a sufficient seating plan, putting the seven boys and their dates on the same table, meaning if I go, I’ll be sat on a table with Jimin and his date, mostly Jeongyeon, a thought that makes me feel sick to my stomach. We all contribute to the playlist, Tae noting down the songs that we all shout out every couple minutes or so.

‘Right, and we’re done,’ I sigh, falling back against the sofa after a few hours of solid work. ‘What have we got left to do?’ Jin asks. ‘We’ve gotta find a company that sells or rents out chocolate fountains for cheap, either hire a sweet bar or do one ourselves, depending on which one is cheaper, pick up the decorations, write up some kind of online invitation with the date, time, venue, theme everything, and send it out to the boys and their dates with plenty of notice so they can get their outfits. I think that’s it,’ I list off, Namjoon making notes on his phone. ‘y/n, you’re a godsend. Thank you so much for your help, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you,’ Namjoon says, and I grin at him. ‘I gotchu, Joonie. Now, can you guys leave because I got an early lecture to go to in the morning?’ I say, the others laughing as they all begin rising up from their seats. I watch with interest as Jin and Chen exchange social medias, and Tae and Mija laugh about something together. The boys all bid me goodbye one by one, Jin and Tae hanging back. ‘y/n, I don’t have a date to this thing yet, are you planning on coming? Because I want you to be my date?’ Jin says, and I take a moment, looking up at the ceiling. ‘She’s already had four offers, buddy, you’re too late. Namjoon, JK, Tae and Yoongi all beat you to it,’ Mija says, and Jin’s mouth falls open. ‘Seriously? Fuck, I don’t know who I’m supposed to take,’ Jin sighs, and I laugh. ‘I’ll keep your offer in mind, Jin, thank you for asking,’ I say, and he nods. ‘It’s alright, y/n, just make sure you say yes to one of us,’ he says, and I nod, waving as he leaves, Tae still hanging around.

‘You okay, Tae?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘I, um… there’s something I need to tell you, y/n,’ he says, making me panic. ‘Um, okay,’ I say, not sure what else to say, and Mija disappears into the kitchen, obviously not wanting to intrude. ‘I don’t know much about what happened between you and Jimin, but what I do know is that you have a right to be aware on what’s going on in his life at the moment. So I thought I should tell you that Jeongyeon came over earlier, a little while after I dropped you off back here. I don’t know if he called her over hoping you’d see her, like as revenge, or because they’re together or something, but I thought you should know,’ Taehyung says, slowly and hesitantly, and I don’t feel shock or hurt. I’m just numb. ‘Thank you for telling me, Tae,’ I say. ‘Are you not, um… surprised?’ he asks, and I shake my head with a sad smile. ‘He slept with her Tae. That’s why I cut him off. He slept with her that night he took me out and that party happened out of nowhere. Whilst I was tidying and throwing up, he was upstairs in his room with her, knowing full well I could’ve walked in at any second. So, no, Tae, I’m not surprised,’ I say, and Tae’s mouth falls open. ‘Does… does he know you know?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘I found out the next morning. I slept in Joon’s room for the night, and saw her coming out of his room in his clothes when I was hiding in the bathroom. When I confronted him on the football pitch, he confessed, and I told him I already knew,’ I say, and Tae sits down beside me, taking my hands into his. ‘y/n, I’m so sorry. He’s scum,’ Tae says, and I don’t have the energy to partake in the Jimin slander. ‘Just promise me you won’t tell him you know. And please try to act normal with him. I don’t want to ruin anything,’ I say, and he shakes his head. ‘Of course, of course. I won’t breathe a word, and I’ll try my best not to throttle him next time I see him. I should head back actually, but I’ll see you later, y/n. I’ll text you soon, and we’ll go for coffee or something,’ Tae says, and I nod. We bid each other goodbye, and he leaves, Mija walking in seconds later. ‘God, I really hate Jimin sometimes,’ she says, sitting down beside me and pulling me into her arms, and I sigh, resting my head on her shoulder. ‘So do I, Mija,’ I reply tiredly, ‘so do I.’

[khhunniewriting]

White Roses Over Red Roses (2)

[ Mafia AU ]

10 Years Later

Dok2 stared out the window of his private jet. He had always enjoyed the view that welcomed him every time he visited Hawaii. The beautiful water, the sand, the lush green... it was all so relaxing at one point. His focus was reclaimed by the woman beside him.

“Baby what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he refused to share his thoughts with anyone. He had done so in different ways with two people and they both ended up betraying him. Never again would he allow himself to get that close and vulnerable to another person. From now on he would act coldly, mercilessly, and swiftly.

The woman huffed in disappointment but did not pry further. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his before cuddling up to him. Being set aside like that was a small price to pay for the luxurious life she lived in exchange.

\\\

At the beach, Dok2 got a lot of attention from onlookers who found it odd that there were so many people around him keeping a perimeter. It was easy to see he wasn’t just any ordinary visitor. He only stayed for a moment having business to take care of. 

“I’ll be don around midnight,” he informed his female companion as he left her to sunbathe in the lounge chair she had occupied from the moment they got there. “The men will take you back to the room when you are ready.”

“Thank you,” she pursed her lips asking for a goodbye kiss.

Dok2 complied meeting her lips in a quick peck before taking half the men with him. They walked along the vast beach heading to the boardwalk when Dok2 suddenly stopped. In the distance, he spotted a familiar figure that while he wore mirrored lenses, he would still recognize anywhere.

Donggab walked along the beach holding his five-year-old daughter’s hand. She was happily walking barefoot in the sand pointing out at the water she so desperately wished to go in.  Unfortunately, in Donggab’s eyes, she was too small to be going in such a vast body of water. 

“When you are older princess.”

“How much older?”

“Fifteen.”

“That’s three lifetimes,” she nearly shrieked when she heard the large number. Her hair whipping back and forth, covering portions of her face as she tried to look up at him.

Donggab chuckled picking her up and positioning her to his left side. He made sure to smooth out her white dress so it properly covered her. “For you, it seems that way because you are only five years old but look at Daddy.”

“How old are you Daddy?”

“Older than I look, princess.” He kissed her forehead causing her to giggle as his facial hair tickled her. As his sights turned back ahead he too caught sight of his past. It would be a lie if he said he wasn’t worried. 

He kept it hidden from you but he had once run into one of Joonkyung′s men who informed him of his orders to retrieve you. Luckily Donggab was good friends with the man. He did not have to say anything, the man backed off on his own warning him to go farther. 

Donggab’s eyes shifted towards the boardwalk searching for his men. The way Dok2 stood his ground suggested he would not leave without speaking to Donggab so he went up to him holding onto his daughter tightly.

“Hello, Joonkyung.”

“Donggab,” Dok2 acknowledged him then looked to his innocent young daughter as she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. She looked so much like you yet undeniably his as well. 

“Daddy you know this man?” 

Her voice was equally calm as his making Joonkyung believe perhaps Donggab’s tone was hereditary. 

Playing off the hostility he felt towards Donggab, Joonkyung nodded deciding it was best to keep from alarming the child. “I’m an old friend of your father... and your mother.” Dok2 hesitated a bit to bring you up but he was sure this was your daughter.

“Really?”

Dok2 assured her it was the truth before looking back at his men and asking them to disperse a bit. “Isn’t that right Donggab?”

“Yes,” Donggab played along. Although Dok2′s presence was alarming he didn’t present an immediate threat. He genuinely seemed interested in the fact that Donggab was now a parent. “Princess this is a friend of Mommy and Daddy’s from before you were born.”

“What is your name?” Dok2 asked the little girl as she seemed to loosen her grip on her father.

“Shin Hayan.”

“Nice to meet you Hayan.” Before Dok2 could further the conversation his jaw dropped in awe at the sight of you.

It had been ten years yet you managed to become even more beautiful than he last remembered. You wore a similar dress to Hayan’s with your hair tied back in a loose ponytail, decorated with a white ribbon. Soft tendrils of hair framed your face giving you a look of effortless beauty.

“Mommy,” your toddler whined as you picked her up and propped her on your hip. The two-year-old had been enjoying her time walking hand-in-hand with you. She didn’t want to be carried but you insisted.

Donggab’s men struggled to catch up to you without looking suspicious as you picked up the pace. They did a better job of not drawing attention to themselves, you, or either of your professions than Joonkyung who preferred people knew what he was all about. 

You couldn’t help but panic inside when you spotted Joonkyung with your husband. The closer you got the faster your heart raced, pumping blood and adrenaline throughout your body. It was certainly not good for the baby but it was beyond your control at the moment.

“Mommy look it’s your friend,” Hayan pointed out.

A knowing glance from Donggab told you all you needed to know. “I see,” you tried to sound as happy as you could considering your position. “Hello, Joonkyung.”

“Hello Y/N,” he smiled genuinely for the first time in years. Being in front of his first true love made it inevitable. “So you have two daughters Donggab- Hayan and ...”

“Rose,” Donggab put Hayan down so he could take his younger daughter from you. She was much shyer than Hayan, turning away from Joonkyung and laying her head on Donggab’s shoulder to avoid the stranger. “And soon I’ll have a son too.”

Joonkyung nodded seeing the small swelling of your belly. He also noticed how Donggab’s guards seemed to tense every time he looked in her direction. Surely Donggab, being the caring person that he always was, had asked them to be extra careful with you in this condition. “You always did want a big family Y/N, I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” your hand unconsciously rested on your belly. while the other looked for Donggab’s in need of comfort. “What brings you here.”

“Business as usual, I actually think Donggab is here for the same reason.”

“Seems like it.” Donggab had come to that conclusion as well. It was bound to happen sometime, after all, he had gone into the same business as his former boss. 

“Why don’t we go together?”

Donggab gave a single nod not allowing you to talk him out of it. “Hayan, Rose go back to the hotel with Mommy while Daddy goes to his meeting.” At his command, a few of the guards broke away to come to your aide and assure you three, or four, made it back to the hotel safely.

“Bye Daddy,” Hayan gave him a kiss on the cheek before taking a hold of the guard’s hand. Rose did the same but in silence causing Donggab to chuckle at possibly the only person who could be considered quieter than him. 

When he stood back up you wrapped your arms around his neck hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Desperately you pleaded, “Donggab don’t go with him.”

“Everything will be alright.”

“Please think about your children.”

“I am,” he kissed your cheek. Lastly, he whispered into your ear something he did not want anyone else to hear. “Most of all I am thinking of you.”

You smiled up at him before giving him a quick kiss on the lips despite the audience of your ex. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You reluctantly let go of him only giving Joonkyung a slight glance. “Goodbye Joonkyung.”

He watched you leave for a moment thinking of what he would have done to Donggab had he not fathered three children with you. A part of him still thinking if he should do that. “You are one lucky bastard Donggab...appearing when I can no longer do anything to you.”

“What’s stopping you?” he asked as they began walking to the boardwalk their men following close behind.

“Despite what you think I really did love Y/N.” He knew he judged him for having multiple women but no one truly knew what went on in his heart. “Seeing her today confirmed I still love her.”

Donggab’s jaw clenched.

“I love her too much to hurt her.”

“For a moment I doubted that but you were surprisingly cautious around Hayan.”

“She looks so much like Y/N, I knew immediately she had to be hers- that she would be nearby. For ten years all I wanted to do was see her.” He was not disappointed. In fact, he wanted to see you again. “I want to ask her so many things.”

The idea of you two talking didn’t sit well with Donggab. He dismissed the idea of it ever happening. “I don’t think that will be possible.”

\\\

You sat up when you heard a loud bang from outside your bedroom. The sleep quickly washed over you as you looked over your two girls making sure they were safe. They, of course, could sleep through anything and remain still in bed beside you clinging to each other. 

It was difficult to get out of bed when you could barely bend at the waist. Eventually, you managed to slip out of the room in your nightrobe and slippers searching for what had caused the noise. You called out for the guards but no one responded. The penthouse was huge so you thought nothing of it until you heard the loud bang again. This time it was followed by Donggab’s grunt.

“Donggab!” You shouted as you saw your husband being slammed against the wall by Joonkyung, a stream of blood coming out of his ear.

“Y/N, go back inside.”

You did the opposite and ran towards the two of them. “Stop this Joonkyung!.” You pushed him off and away examining Donggab’s face. “Honey you’re bleeding.”

Donggab shrugged a bit out of breath. “It’s the least I can do.” 

“What?”

It was decided between him and Joonkyung that this was the only way they could settle their pent up aggression and resentment. Donggab would pay back his debt for having taken you while also getting payback of his own for having to hide his feelings and watch him use you for so long. 

‘You two are so stupid,” you began to tear up. They were both unpredictable and in the heat of the moment, anything could happen. If Joonkyung ended up killing Donggab you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself, much less three children. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Shhh...baby it’s okay.” Donggab held you close comforting you.

The scene only made Joonkyung more uncomfortable about everything. He was being forced to watch the extent of your love for his once best friend and partner. 

He had no visible wounds but he was aching all over. “We’ll call it even for now.” He picked up his jacket with a groan feeling the possibly cracked ribs being pushed further out of place.

You looked over at him full of relief yet wondering what he would do if you were to run into each other again. “For now?”

Joonkyung sighed, “If he ever messes up, if he ever cheats on you, or runs off with another woman... I’ll find out. I’ll kill him and I’ll come for you.”

Donggab chuckled as if that were ever a possibility. “Over my dead body Joonkyung.”

“Another possibility,” Joonkyung held his side as he left chuckling.

The guards came back in after having honored their boss’ orders and staying out of the fight. They helped you get him into another room in the penthouse where you tended to him while they watched over your girls.

Donggab held onto your hand as you undid the buttons of his shirt. “Sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know it sounds crazy but somehow I think I’m still friends with Joonkyung.”

You nodded understanding him. “You felt guilty and regretted-”

“I would never regret what I did that day.” His hand went up to caress your cheek. “I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Donggab.”

He smiled up at you wishing he could sit up and kiss you but he too had suffered from a cracked rib. So he went for the alternative, “Can you kiss me now? I would kiss you but..” He trailed off pointing to the big purple bruise on his side.

“Serves you right,” you reprimanded before kissing him like he asked. 

“Aish-” he groaned nearly cursing when he got kicked in the abdomen by his unborn child. 

“You felt that?” you beamed. This was the first time your son had moved so prominently. Your attention went fully to your belly forgetting your beaten husband. From now on you no longer had to live with the worry of Joonkyung looming over your relationship. 

-end-

A/N: I can’t resist giving my readers what they want. BTW did you notice the names ???

[imababblekat]

Imagine Optimus/Smokescreen/ Megaton Being Reunited With Their Missing S/O

((A/N: Oof this is a long one, but damn if I’m not happy with it!))

S/N: 

Angst

Mentions of Torture and Trauma.

Characters For Ask:

Tfp Optimus/Tfp Smokescreen/Tfp Megatron

~

Optimus:

when Optimus had lost his partner during the war he was devastated

he felt it was his fault, even when he constantly warned you of the high risk that came with being in a relationship with the Autobot Leader and yet you still said yes

both of you did everything you could to keep your status on the down low, not even trusted friends knew, so whether it was specifically because of your ties to him, or you just happened to be unlucky wasn't clear, but the Prime hoped it was the latter, because if it were the former he'd never be able to forgive himself

when he and some of Team Prime reach a crashed pod the Ratchet had picked up on the scanners, he's on the tips of his peds, blasters glowing and ready to fire when they see the Decepticon insignia on the side

upon closer inspection by Arcee and her claim that inside is an Autobot and not a Con, he of course goes to take a look at the potential new member

his optics go so wide, and his spark just drops at the familiar sight of the bot inside, especially when he takes into account just how beat up their frame is

his teammates are calling his name, trying to snap him out of his trance when he finally comes to only to tell Ratchet to quickly prepare the medbay and open a bridge back

everyone's very confused at how stiff he is, even if just slightly, and while they've known him to have calm urgency for them, his friends can't help but also notice just how much urgency he has for the person in his arms

after Ratchet's fished fixing them up, which was no easy task as the doc said they were in very very bad shape, Optimus spends quite a bit of time around their sleeping form

he'll check on them with passing glances if he's busy, but any free time he's allowed is spent standing by their side

he has no choice but to tell the others the truth, and when they find out that this unfortunate Autobot lying with dark optics on the medslab is there leaders partner, they all but understand the seriousness of this situation

the moment they start to come through, Optimus is right there beside Ratchet to help assist, anything, for his reunited s/o

he's completely thrown back by how they lash out, screaming and nearly cutting Bulkhead and anyone with in a close enough proximity to them

Optimus knows of bots coming back and ready to brawl after having been knocked out in battle, but this, this was just heart wrenching to see, especially how they're optics reflected no remembrance of him

all of Team Prime feel a heavy weight settle upon them once the new member calms down enough to recognize their leader and explain what had exactly happened to them; the torture of having to watch their whole squad killed of in horrifying ways one by one by the Decepticons, and the un-imaginable torment that they themselves had physically and mentally been put through

Optimus feels so many emotions; guilt, regret, sadness, anger, enraged, and many more along similar lines, but as any Prime, he doesn't show it on his face

however, Optimus will allow himself the simple, yet not so simple act of a hug to his broken and beaten partner, taking them into his large frame and shielding them from the world as he wished he had done in the beginning

Smokescreen:

Smokescreen still remembers the day he met his partner during training for the Elite Guard, how they both graduated together, how they both been assigned guard duty at the Iacon Hall of Records, and how terrified but determined to fight his companion looked when the Hall had been attacked

he hadn't seen them since then, not even when he searched the ship he'd woken up on as thoroughly as he could

while the young guardsmen hoped they were still out there somewhere, a pit in his intake said otherwise

after all, he hadn't heard from anyone else from their squadron

working with Team Prime has helped to keep his mind from wondering what had happened to them; always cheery and ready to go, and as such was the same when his team had been alerted of a crashed Decepticon pod just a few states over

as enthusiastically as ever, he went racing through the ground bridge with Bumblbee and Arcee close beside him, transforming and ready for battle

when no battle occurred he'd admitted to being a little disappointed, though that disappointment was quickly thrown out the window when Arcee suggested checking the pod

. . .he really wished he hadn't been the one to check it

inside, looking way beyond repair, was someone he hadn't thought so deeply about in a long time

Smokescreen is frozen to the spot, optics locked on the mangled Autobots form, and if Ratchet didn't have a monitor on their spark pulses, one would think it had come to a stand still, yet, it was quite the opposite, pulsing at a very rapid pace

Ratchet's inquiry about what's happening to Smokescreen is only replied with Arcee demanding the medbay be ready immediately as they have found a wounded alley, and Bumblebee has to practically drag Smokescreen from where he stands as they cross the bridge, his optics set dead on the limp form in Arcee's arms

the whole time his partner is in recovery, Smokescreen is by their side

at first Ratchet grumpily tells him that they'll make it and he's needed else where, but when even the promise of a mission to raid some Decepticon's doesn't cause the young bot to even twitch, the other's become very concerned

it takes some coaxing from Arcee to get Smokescreen to finally speak, but when he does his voice just sounds so broken, they can tell he's trying to keep it together, and all of their frowns collectively deepen when the kid tells them that this bot right here was not only his best friend, but his partner

when his partner does finally wake, Smokescreen feels his whole self just light up, and he smiles so bright, breathlessly stating that he can't believe they're awake, but when he goes in for a hug, he suddenly feels a sharp pain in his side

it doesn't take long for him to realize that he's been stabbed, but the real pain of it all is that it was his partner who did the heinous act, their optics petrified with fear and no recognition what so ever

after being patched up by Ratchet, Smokescreen demands to see his partner, even though they had attacked him moments prior

he's led to one of the garages of the base, two of his teammates standing guard by the sides, and feels his spark break even more when Optimus informs him that they locked themselves in the room after remembering Smokescreen just a little too late

the only information the Prime was told by the other Elite Guardsman, was that during the attack on Iacon Hall of Records, they had been tortured for information

at least, that's the PG version of it; Optimus lets Smokescreen know that it would be best if he were spared the details the Prime now carries on his shoulders

and honestly, while a part of Smokescreen demands to know what exactly happened, the other part of him is still frozen and deeply scarred by the gruesome, gaunt image of his partner in that pod

Megatron:

Megatron, though very lost from his once sane mind, still recalls the day his partners base of operations had been invaded by Autobot soldiers; no one was reported to have survived

when he was told their body hadn't been recovered or found however, he held out hope that perhaps they were still some where in the midst of all this chaos

he'd sent multiple search parties out, always saying that this they held valuable information, but never stating that they had also been his partner

eventually he had to call it off, a big part of his Decepticon army being needed at the climax of Cybertron's downfall

then he'd always mentally apologize, wishing, hoping, that his partner were still out there to forgive him for not continuing his search

now, he doesn't look back on those days even once; his mind corrupt, and not even the Decepticon cause he once faught for still exist, not in purity anyways

Soundwave reports to him about an Autobot shuttle crash landing near by, and while he typically wouldn't deal with something so trivial, he can't help but indulge himself in the thought of welcoming an Autobot to this planet in a not so nice fashion

his drone's take the first peak, ready and armed in case the occupant decides to jump out with aggression, only to state that inside is a Decepticon

this has him suspicious, so with a great stride, Megatron walks forward to investigate, only for said stride to quickly falter, and his broad shoulders to go slack

there they were, the person he'd given up searching on and had all but practically forgotten about, lying in stasis with a broken frame

had Soundwave's report not shown the spark of his partner, one would automatically assume they were dead by how ghastly they appeared

Megatron waste no time lifting them effortlessly from the pod, comming for Soundwave to open a bridge and for Knockout to be ready for operation

Knockout feels pressure the whole time he's repairing the broken Con, due to Megatron standing right behind him, watching his every move and any sign of discomfort from his partner

the red doc feels that if he so much as breaths on them, Megatron will erupt, though he has no idea why

Megatron always ask for the status of the wounded soldier whenever Con's come to him with reports; everyone curious as to why, but no one dare ask after what happened to Starscream when he did

the night his partner wakes, he can't help but be thrown back when they're first action is to lunge at anyone near by, and then cower when he approaches

he supposes that he does have quite the frightening appearance and assume that’s why, but after his partner explains what happened to them, all the torture, all beatings, all of the relentless nights of their brain and body being twisted and burned for information, Megatron quickly dismiss his original theory

the War Lord can only stand there, rigid and lips a tight line, taking in the sight of his damaged partner, and the sounds of there breaking vocalizer as they sob and try to keep it together as they continue to explain everything to Soundwave for record

Megatron's servos, hidden behind his back, constrict into violent fist, as scenarios begin to play out in his mind of the exact things he's going to do to the next unfortunate Autobot who happens to walk in his line of sight

~xXx~

[ansheofthevalley]

Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old - chapter five: Hold on to me [part III]

Summary:  Jon is left shaken by visions of smoke and stone. But he's also shaken by the words said the previous night; guilt, anger and hurt weight heavy in his heart. And a truth he's not ready to share yet, not even say aloud. But the truth always finds its way to the light, even if it hurts, even if it makes you feel helpless.

A/N: you can also read here

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning skies were heavy and grey, and the winds were strong and cold. A storm is coming, Jon thought. He woke up in the middle of the night, haunted by dreams. The one that woke him up was more of a nightmare, his worst nightmare. He was in Winterfell, that much he knew, but it was almost unrecognizable. He was in the courtyard, surrounded by stone and smoke. Up in the air, unnerving screeches made the earth under him tremble. He wanted to run but it was as if he was a tree, his feet planted on the ground like old roots. He was alone, surrounded by smoke and shadows. He heard another screech and it rattled his bones. He felt a wave of fear wash over him as a stream of fire came from the sky and set the whole courtyard ablaze. When he woke up it wasn’t the heat of the flames he felt, but the cold winds of the winter night.

The feeling of dread that the nightmare brought with it kept Jon awake; now, the sun was slowly rising in the sky. A brand-new day. And more problems to deal with, the voice in his head reminded him. Since his mind was tormented, he figured he’d have a bath and go over some of the battle plans he had discussed with Davos. But not even hot water and the impending war against the dead could give his mind focus. His mind was everywhere. What if I made a mistake? What if this isn’t the way? He found himself thinking. That nightmare had left him shaken. It felt as real as the wooden piece sybolizing the Knights of the Vale he had in his hand, it felt as real as the wind finding its way into the room. It would have been easier if it was just the nightmare that made him feel that way, but alas, things were always more complicated. Words spoken in an empty solar, with a crackling fire as the only witness. Sansa, angry and hurt. But he also was angry and hurt. Angry at her, because he couldn't understand her, and angry at himself because somehow, he had hurt her, and seeing her hurt, again, after all she’s been through hurt him too. It would be simpler if he could just forget their argument, but his mind wouldn’t let him. Every word, every look, was printed on his mind and haunted him by repeating themselves over and over again.

“Why did you do it?”

“We already told you, he was a threat to our House”.

“He was a threat to all of us the minute he decided to stay”

“The reason I never told you about the Vale is because if I asked for his help, I knew I had to repay Littlefinger in some way. I knew what he wanted since the day we retook Winterfell, he told me himself”

“That was reason enough to send him back to the Vale”

“You need to keep men like that close to you. If they’re close, at least you can know what they want, what they do. He betrayed everyone he knew. Would you had me sent a man like that away, to plan Gods know what?”

“Yes. If it meant you were safe, then yes. Especially after I left”

“You think I kept Littlefinger around for fun? His face reminded me of every single thing I’ve been through”

He could see now that she was right. They were both right. Lord Baelish was a threat, and the more time they gave him to scheme and plot against them, the more likely he would've succeeded. But his cousins had stopped him, for good. But now, he realizes he wished he had done it himself, with his own hands. After every single crime he committed, after every atrocity, he wished he could have beat him to a pulp, until there was no more of his hand that blood and bone.

“What did you do?”

“I slept with her”

The way her body was tensed, just like a bowstring ready to be set loose. And her eyes, Gods, her eyes. He prayed to the Old Gods to be kind enough with her, for her to never encounter hurt and pain ever again, and somehow, and he delivered both at her feet. But she was quick to transform that pain into icy anger and lash out at him.

“So you decided to play the game? A game you obviously have no idea how to play?”

“You think this was a game for me?”

“It sure feels like it. First you gamble with our home and lands, then with our own lives. And now you tell me you gave yourself to her”

“I didn’t give myself to her”

“Right, you just bedded her. The North surely will thank you for that”

“You say all you want, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t do this to help the North, for the people. I’m not asking you to understand"

There could be ice between them, Seven Hells, the Wall itself could stand tall between them, but it would melt eventually. Her ice quickly transformed into fire, mimicking his. And lately, that fire has been growing, burning him slowly, painfully.

                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few more hours, he decided it was time he visited Bran and Sam and tell his friend the truth. The castle was fully alive, with kitchen maids coming and going, the clash of steel against steel as people trained in the courtyard, the eerie song of the dragonglass the blacksmiths were working with in the smithy. It felt familiar. War shouldn’t feel familiar, he thought. But it’s all you’ve known since you left, a voice responded. With these thoughts, he headed towards the library tower.

He knocked the heavy wooden door twice, each followed by a “wait, please” and “just a minute”. He thought Sam was surrounded by books and parchments, so he just opened the door instead of knocking the door for a third time.

“Please, be careful with the door!” Sam

“I’ll be careful” he answered, trying to calm down his friend

“Jon, it’s you” the former brother of the Night’s Watch said with a sigh of relief. “I thought it was Maester Wolkan. We’ve been gathering all the documented reports of the Others” he explained while looking at the floor, it was covered with books. There were parchments all over the table, some with ripped edges and yellow, marked by time. "I don't think he likes me very much. The library is like you're seeing it ever since I arrived" his friend continued, with more of a tint of guilt in his voice.

"He doesn't hate you, Sam. He's just used to having this place to himself" Bran said, always keeping his eyes on an old tome about the Age of Heroes that must be, at the very least, a couple of centuries old.

"As you can see, we're trying to find any piece of information about the Night King. Bran told me of his vision, of how he was made. So I thought that maybe we could find something in these books" he explained, "even if it is in the form of legend or tale".

"It goes back to the war between the Children and the First Men" Bran remarked. "Any information we can come across would most likely be written in a story, like the ones Old Nan used to tell us. Stuff of legend".

"Every single thing counts, even those you might come across as a tale. Every new piece of information we have will makes us understand him and his army, it will help us find a way to defeat him" Jon assured them.

"I really hope so" Sam said. "I'm sorry Jon, if you came to see if had any news, I'm afraid we can't give you any", the way his shoulders were down, how he looked down at the floor and how he looked, with a creased doublet he was trying to cover up with his cloak and like he needed a good night's sleep, or maybe ten; it all made Jon realized his friend has been working non-stop.

"Sam, it's alright. I already told you that the information you gave me means a lot. Don't stress yourself if you can't find anything more. We'll fight with what we have" Those last words that came out of his lips reminded him of another time, a night before a battle. He had said those words to Sansa, to assure her that no matter the odds, they would win. And they almost lost that battle, they almost lost Winterfell. He had already lost Rickon that day, right in front of him, and he almost lost Sansa too. If it weren't for her and the Knights of the Vale, he wouldn't be alive, he was certain. But it's not going to be like last time, he thought. We have more men and we have Daenerys' dragons. We can do this. I can do this. He gave his friend a reassuring smile, and he returned it.

"So, what are you doing here? Not that you're not welcomed, it's just that I figured you'd be out there in the courtyard or planning for the war. You know, what commanders do" he added with a small smile.

"I wanted to talk with you Sam" he started "We both did, actually" he said, looking at Bran.

"Why don't you sit, Sam?" Bran suggested. He did as Bran told him and sat in a stool that was near the table.

"Alright" he looked first at him, then at Bran. "You're scaring me" he laughed nervously. "What happened?"

Sam's question lingered for a few moments. He wanted to get out of there. He's my brother, I have to tell him, but Gods, I don't know how to do this. How do I tell him his father and brother were killed, he thought. Killed by fire. We both saw how Mance was fed to the flames when Stannis was at the Wall. I know we both remember the screams. I've seen men die, he reflected. I've seen women and children die. I've seen people kill each other. I've killed, yet still, it's the image of Mance, tied up in that pyre, screaming, while flames danced around him one of the images that can't leave my mind. A horrible way to die, a cruel way to die. How can she do this to people? he thought bitterly. Stand there and watch people be consumed by the flames? Are all Targaryens like this? Am I like that, too? If not, what will it take for me to be numb to it all?

"You know what happened at the Reach?" Jon asked.

"Yes. Apparently, Highgarden was assaulted by Lannister forces and now House Tyrell is dead" he recalled. "Some say Cersei made my father Lord Paramount of the South" he said this with some disbelief in his tone and a little wonderment in his eyes. "Though there's no surprise there, my father uniting forces with the Lannisters" he continued.

"Do you know anything more?" it was Bran who asked him this.

"Not really, only the rumors. That Olenna Tyrell threw herself out of a tower, that she was killed by Jaime Lannister, that the Lannister forces took all the gold and food from Highgarden, though the last one is probably true" .

"Nothing more? That's all you heard?" Jon insisted.

"Yes. There's quite a distance from the Reach to here. Rumors don't travel fast in winter, I suppose" he tried to talk in a jesting tone, but Jon noticed the tension in his voice. "Why are you asking this?"

"Because we need to tell you something. About your father and brother" Bran answered.

"Oh, Gods, they died, isn't it? They died in battle?"

"Sam, I want you to listen to us carefully, alright? I need you to listen carefully to what Bran and I are going to tell you" Jon tried to calm down his friend. He only nodded, unable to get words out of his mouth.

Bran began explaining. "Like you said, the Lannister army assaulted Highgarden. Jaime Lannister was the commander and your father and brother fought beside him. After the battle was won, the Lannister army started taking all the gold and food they could find so they could send it to the capital. Just as they were leaving the castle, they were intercepted by a horde of Dothraki riders".

Sam went white. The tales about the Dothraki and their ability to kill were known in Westeros, only now some had died by their blades and a few, a lucky few, had lived what it's like to meet a Dothraki in battle.

"Daenerys sent his men to intercept them?" Sam whispered.

"Not only that," Jon answered, never daring to look at his friend "she was there with one of her dragons".

The silence was deafening. If he didn't dare to look at his friend before, he could not dare, for the life of him, to look at him now. He only listened. There was a light sob.

"And what happened?"

"Daenerys burned all the food that the Lannister army took from the Reach. And, as if the horde wasn't enough..." Jon couldn't continue. Even as the words were about to leave his mouth, he couldn't help but imagine the massacre that it must have been. It made him sick, it made him angry.

"What happened?" Sam came closer to Jon, begging him for more information.

"She ordered her dragon to breath fire across the fields" Bran answered.

It was at this moment when Jon dared to look at Sam. His eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. There was sadness in his eyes, but there was also anger, disbelief, heartbreak. So much for him to handle.

"Your father and brother survived the battle" Jon quickly added. "There were a number of soldiers that also survived".

"So they're alive? Are they her prisoners? Did you see them at Dragonstone, Jon? Did you see them?" Sam asked frantically. Now Jon regretted telling him that. I'm getting his hopes up, only to hit him with the truth, he thought.

"Daenerys had the Dothraki take all the survivors to one spot, so she could talk to them. She talked to them about bringing peace to Westeros, how the Seven Kingdoms were suffering under Cersei's reign. She then told them to bend the knee and join her. Anyone that refused her offer would die" Bran told him.

"My father didn't kneel" Sam guessed. "He's a proud man, he'll do things they way he sees it's best, no matter the consequences".

"He didn't kneel, so Daenerys sentenced him to death" Bran concluded.

A few seconds passed before Sam talked. "You know, he wasn't a kind father. He was mean and always expressed his dissapointment in me" he revealed, with tears falling down his cheeks. "But he was still my father. He was still my mother's husband, and Dickon's and Tallas's father. I know he loved them, and they loved him".

Jon meditated on his friend's words. All his life, Sam was humiliated by his father, and now here he was, crying for his death, crying for his family. I don't dare to break my friend's heart, he thought, but he needs to know. He remembered all the times he mentioned his brother Dickon at the Wall, back when they were stewards. He always spoke of him with love and care.

"That's not all, Sam" Jon finally said. "Your brother... He stood up for your father. He refused to bend the knee too".

Sam just stared at him, his mind still processing what Jon's words meant. More tears fell down his cheeks. The silence was unbearable.

"I'm so sorry, Sam" Jon was quick to add. "I found out about it when I got here. She never told me a word of what had happened at the Reach" he explained.

"How" Sam whispered.

Jon looked at Bran. He could see something akin to worry glimmer in his eyes.

"How" Sam repeated, louder. "How did it happen? Was it beheading?" he inquired.

Jon couldn't help but gulp before answering his friend's question. "Dragonfire" Jon whispered.

Jon didn't know how much time it has passed until Maester Wolkan walked in again. "Your Grace, there you are. Lord Tyrion wishes to have an audience with you-"

"Not now, Wolkan. Tell him I'm busy" he said as he walked to the door.

"He told me it was an urgent matter"

"Tell him that right now I'm busy. Can't he talk with Sansa?" her name brought the memories of the previous night back to his head. One thing at a time, he reminded himself.

"He told me it was you he wished to speak to"

"As I said" his tone was harsher this time "tell him I'm busy. Anything that he wants to discuss with me, he can do so with the Lady of Winterfell".

"Yes, Your Grace" the Maester said with a light bow of the head and left.

Jon closed the door softly, as if it were made of glass. He turned around to see Sam sitting still, looking at nothing and quietly sobbing.

"Dickon" he started "He was good. He was good and kind and brave. And now he's dead. They're both dead" he stopped himself, as if he was coming to terms with the idea. "They didn't deserve to die like that, Jon. Nobody deserves to die like that" his friend stated.

"I know Sam, I know. And I will talk to her about thi-"

"And she comes here, talking about uniting the people, about leaving wars behind, about knowing what her father was" Sam interrumpted him, his voice becoming more frantic with each word "but she can't do that. She's not able to do that. She truly lives up to her House words" he spat.

The silence that befell the room was something tangible. Jon felt uncomfortable, he felt sorry for his friend. This is a mess.

"She doesn't deserve that Throne. What's the difference between her and Cersei Lannister? Or Stannis? He burned people alive, Bran told me he burned his own daughter. A man like that didn't deserve to rule. Cersei killed hundreds with wildfire. What's the difference between wildfire and dragonfire?"

"Sam, I will talk to her. I will confront her about this. I will get justice for your family, I promise" Jon knew he couldn't live up to his promise the moment the words left his mouth, and also did Sam.

"Justice? What justice, Jon? They're already dead. And we need her armies and her dragons" he said, resigned.

Bran's voice surprised him. "Jon" it almost sounded like a plea.

He looked at his cousin, then at his friend. He made up his mind. "We're going to win this war, we're going to defeat the Night King" he assured him. Bran called out his name once more, but Jon only looked at him. "And after we do that, you're welcomed to stay here, at Winterfell. You and your family. Your mother and sister, they can come here, once we recover from the war"

"Thank you, Jon, but you don't need to-"

"After the war, Daenerys will go south, to continue her conquest, but she won't have the North. I'll go to war, if it comes to that" Gods be good, he thought. There's no turning back from that. And I don't want to, he realized. "You're right, she doesn't deserve to rule, she does not deserve to rule over these people. We all fought so hard for our homes, many brave men and women died. We lost so much. And I'm not going to let it be in vain" he took Sam by the shoulder. "I already lost two brothers for the North's cause, I won't lose another. You're family, Sam"

Sam was really touched by everything Jon just said. It was with tears in his eyes that he replied to Jon "Daenerys is your family, too, Jon".

"She's not family. She might be my father's sister, but the Starks are my true family, you are my family". As he said those words, he felt as if a rock was lifted from his body, he was now weightless, nothing was pulling him down. "And there's nothing I wouldn't do, nothing, to keep my family safe" his grip was tighter, now.

Sam didn't say a word, he was letting Jon's words sink in. After a minute, his face transformed, even though there still were tears in his eyes, he was now smiling, a small thing really, but the smile was there. In a second, he pulled Jon into a tight hug. "Thank you, Jon. For everything" he said, tears running free down his cheeks.

They separated after Sam's words. He then went towards Bran. "Thank you, Bran. Thank you, both of you, for telling me this".

"Sam, do you want to have some time alone? Maybe we could send for Gilly and little Sam" Bran offered.

"You're very kind, but I think I'll retire to my chambers, if it's alright with you, Bran"

"Of course, go" Bran said and with that Sam was out of the Library Tower.

Jon felt free, that whatever that was holding him down now was gone.

"I hope you understand what you just did" Bran said, his eyes boring into his, like trying to figure out his future.

"What? With Sam?"

"No, the promise you made. To make the North independent"

"Well, first we have to defeat the Night King" he reminded Bran.

"Sansa's right. You gamble too much with things you shouldn't gamble with. It's too much of a risk"

Those words twisted inside him like a knife. "Sansa" was all Jon managed to say, whisper really. "What do you know about what Sansa said?"

"I know she didn't take too kindly to the nature of your relationship with Daenerys"

"Did you..." Jon was afraid to ask, afraid to know that Bran had seen their fight, afraid that he might know some things he wasn't ready to say out loud.

"Yes, I did. But only because I was worried about Sansa" he assured him. "I asked Wilton, the guard that stays at my door every night, to take me down to the Godswood at the Wolf Hour. When we were near the pools, we saw someone was there, sitting in front of the carved face. Wilton managed to see red hair, and told me it was Sansa, so I told him to take me to her. The wheeled chair is not the most sutile thing in the world, so she heard us coming. She stood up quickly, straightened her skirts and passed her hands across her face".

"Thank you, Wilton. I'll stay with my brother" she said in a dutiful tone.

"Of Course, I'll be right there by the entrance, my lady" and with that Wilton disappeared into the remnants of the night.

"What are you doing here this early?" she asked him, the dutiful tone in her voice gone. Now he could see the real Sansa, tired and conflicted about something.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I came down to see if I could have a vision. Maybe at the Wolf Hour I'll be luckier. You?"

"I just needed some air, and some space" she was staring at the snow below her feet as she said this. "These last couple of days... It's been hard"

They stayed in silence for a while, enjoying the cold breeze of winter and the smell of fresh snow paired with the Weirwood. The smell of home.

He knew something troubled Sansa's mind, but still, he didn't expect her sister to be so direct. "Did you know about Jon and Daenerys?" her voice was stern and cold, almost as cold as the breeze.

He looked her in the eyes to respond. "Yes, I knew. And I talked to Jon about it. He told me he wanted to tell you himself"

“I just…” her breathing was ragged, as if she were running around like when they were kids, hiding behind the old trees of the Godswood. “I just don’t understand how he could do something like that” she confessed, confused and… there was something else, something Bran couldn’t quite place.

“He told me he did it so Daenerys would commit to our cause”

“Yes, I know. He told me the same” his sister told him. “But, Gods take me, I cannot understand” her voice was like ice, but there was something underneath.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“How am I supposed to tell the lords and ladies that Jon has not only bent the knee, but is also the long-lost son of Rhaegar Targaryen, and on top of that, that he’s been… consorting with Queen Daenerys Stormborn” she looked utterly lost. She looked scared, the first time he’d seen her like that since their reunion.

“It won’t be easy. Many will plot to leave. They won’t say anything in front of Daenerys, they’re afraid of her” he revealed.

“Well, she does have two full-grown dragons” she added, bitterly. “How am I supposed to protect our people? Some will label Jon a traitor, because they won’t understand, and they will plot against him, against us. But once everyone knows about Jon, I’ll have to protect all of them, the ones that will remain loyal to us and the ones that won’t from a Targaryen that’s known for burning her enemies alive”. She let out a heavy, trembling sigh. “With each day that passes, I feel like things are getting harder to control, like they’re getting further and further away from my reach, and I don’t… I truly don’t know what will happen if I fail” she confessed to him. She turned to him. Her eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. “I cannot fail, Bran. Not after all that’s happened” she whispered as a single tear fell down her cheek. "We're a pack, and the pack survives".

They remained in silence; he was taking in Sansa's words, his sister seemed to find comfort in the cold air of the night.

“You said it won’t be easy, but will we make it? Will we be able to fight together?” she asked him.

“Like I said the day Jon came home, two things could happen: he will have the support of the North and the Vale, or he will have the support of Daenerys Targaryen. I haven’t seen anything that showed me him having the support of both the lords and ladies and Daenerys.”

She set free some of the tears that she was holding back, her eyes lost, looking at something only she could see. After a few moments, she seemed more composed, free of whatever that was holding her down. “Do you want me to stay with you while you have your visions?” she offered, changing the subject.

“You should get some rest. The lords and ladies will need to borrow strength from the Lady of Winterfell”. This comment made her chuckle.

“You know, every time I come here, my mind just takes me back to when we were children” Sansa told him.

“When we played hide and seek…” he added with a little joyful tone in his voice.

“Knights dueling for the princess’ hand” she said, smiling at the past.

“Or at being wildlings” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh no, you, Arya and Rickon played at being wildlings” she reminded him. But just as she said their younger brother’s name, her face turned somber.

“I miss him, too” he said. “I’m sorry you had to see that”.

“I didn’t see it happen, Jon did” she responded. “After all that has happened to us, I thought I could handle it, that I could see Rickon like that” new tears began to fall down her cheeks. “But the truth is I only saw as Father was murdered. I didn’t see Robb or Mother. And I thank the Gods for that. Because I don’t know what would be of me if I had to witness all of it”. She stopped to dry the new tears that were falling down her cheeks.  “After we were all settled, the day we retook our home, I went to my chambers and cried myself to sleep” she continued.

“You couldn’t stop thinking about Mother and Father” he said. She just looked at him, her eyes unguarded and vulnerable.

“I miss them so much” she remarked.  After this, silence took over, leaving each of them to their thoughts. A few minutes passed before Sansa spoke again, memories pouring out of her mouth. “Mother caught me crying the night before we left for King’s Landing. I told her that I was afraid. Even though it was all I ever wanted, I was afraid. And she wouldn’t be there with me, nor you or Rickon. And what she said to me…” she smiled. It was a sad smile, remembering their parents was a hurtful thing. Still, after all these years.

“What did she say to you?” he asked.

“Hush, my love. You are a Stark of Winterfell. We might not see each other in a while, but remember you are strong, and brave. Remember our words: Winter is coming. You are a strong little lady and someday you’ll be a strong woman,a strong Queen. But also remember you’re a Tully: Family, Duty, Honor. Those are your words, too. Trust your family, remember your duty and always behave with honor. Everything will be fine. Always keep that in your heart, and you’ll always be safe”.

“She would be proud of you, Sansa” he offered. And it was the truth. Their mother would be very proud of her; not only was she Lady of Winterfell, leading them as the head of their House into the Long Night, but she was a strong woman, something she, and Arya, took from their Lady Mother.

“She would be proud of all of us. They both would" she told him. She smiled again, but this time it wasn't sadness he found in his sister's face. It was nostalgia, missing all those moments they knew they could never get back, but no matter how far away they seemed, they were sweet memories now. It was a sense of security; they were home, the four of them. They were safe. It was faith, believing that from some place, their parents were looking after them, giving them strength, guiding them.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I wouldn't mind" Sansa offered again. "Besides, I don't like the idea of you being here alone at dawn. There are too many strangers in Winterfell"

"I won't be alone. Wilton is at the entrance and I'm sure you'll send another guard just in case. Also, Sam should be here any minute now"

His sister studied him for a moment, considered staying with him, even though it was obvious she didn't prepare for a long stay. She had one of her old dresses on and a grey cloak to shield her from the cold. She didn't plan on coming out. She must have wandered here. Something's bothering her.

"Just send a couple of guards alongside with Wilton" he reassured her.

"Alright" she said, still not entirely convinced.

"I'll be fine, Sansa. I've been in-

Sansa interrupted him with a hug. "Just... just be cautious. Promise me?" she said with worry.

He had a feeling that she wasn't just talking about staying outside during nighttime. "I promise".

Sansa let go of him after a few seconds. Her face showed determination, but her eyes shone with sadness. "I'll see you later".

"After she left, I tried to find what affected her so much" Bran concluded. He took one look at Jon, trying to read him. "It didn't take me much to find you two at the solar" he sighed.

Jon didn't know how to feel. Was he relieved? Was he scared? Probably both. "Bran..."

His cousin didn't face him, his fixed in an invisible point in the middle of the room.

"I... I don't know what to do, Bran" he was surprised to hear his voice break. Before he knew it, he was crying the tears he held on for so long.

At the sound of Jon's tears, Bran turned to him, seeing him. "You love her" he whispered. There wasn't surprise in his voice, there wasn't reproach. It was an statement.

His sobs grew stronger and louder. He wanted to talk, to offer an explanation, but the words wouldn't come out.

"Jon" Bran sighed.

He couldn't bare to look at him. What would he think of me, the voice in his head spat. He wanted to say something to him, anything, but for the life of him, he just couldn't. He had no words and all he was left with was the tears he hadn't shed and the emotions he had held back for what it seemed like an eternety.

"Jon" Bran repeated, a little harsher this time, so Jon would look at him. "You love Sansa" he told him, as if he were a child explaining him how sums work. "And that's alright. After what you've been through, what you both have been through... You feel like you don't deserve this, don't you?"

Jon was caught off guard. He didn't expect Bran to be so direct, or to read him so clearly. "I... I..." again, words were failing him and his thoughts were all over the place. "Before I left, I was a bastard. I knew I could never give anything to anyone, that I'd had no lands to call my own, that I'd have no woman to call my wife, no children to call mine. So I never dared to think about it. I knew it would be as easy as grabbing a star from the sky" he confessed. "But then, when I came back-"

"Everything changed" Bran finished for him. "Now you know you're the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. The Seven Kingdoms are yours by rights of succession" he reminded Jon. "But that's not what you want, isn't it?"

He looked up to his cousin, and simply moved his head. "I don't want the throne, just as I didn't want the Northern crown. I just want peace and be here, at home" he told him, looking at the floor.

"It's funny how the world works, Jon. The things men and women do in order to protect those they care about. Duty can be a heavy crown... But what is duty compared to love?" he said

At the mention of those words, Jon looked at Bran. Those words had an odd feeling growing in his chest, the same effect the Red Woman's words gave him back at the Wall, when he was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

"You're surprised"

"I haven't heard that question in a long time" he said, and a sad smile started to grow on his face at the memory of the old Targaryen Maester.

"Aemon Targaryen" Bran recalled. "I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with your relative".

"How so?" Jon was intrigued.

"Duty and love are not opposites. At least, not always" he reflected. "Why did you bend the knee?"

"To protect the North" he replied in an instant

"And why do you feel like you have to protect it?" Bran asked

"Because it's my duty, it's always been. Ever since I swore an oath"

"And that duty, that desire to protect the North, where does it come from?" he continued with his inquery.

"I protect it because it's my home, a part of me"

"Your home, and you love it" he stated. "Sometimes, duty and love go hand in hand" he pointed out. "But sometimes, we must choose between one and the other. Father chose both, his love was with your mother, as same as his duty. Robb chose love, forsaking his duty" he said this as he took his hand in his. Bran's hands were awfully cold. "Jon, you've chosen duty over love so many times. You have the chance to choose love, now" he reassured him.

Jon was scared. "But what about my duty? What about Daenerys?"

Bran let go of his hand, his eyes going back to that invisible point. "Everthing will work out the way it's supposed to".

[misterrnobody]

[M4A] [DISCORD] M/M GAY ROMANCE M/M (optional plots included)

Hello! I’m currently looking for someone who’s interested in writing a gay romance with me (don’t care about your actual real-life gender). My preferences are drama, angst, slice of life and so on. For writing, at least 2 paragraphs, proper English, third person only and the quicker you reply, the better (though different timezones are totally okay and real life comes first!). All I ask if that you don’t just disappear on me. If there’s something you don’t like; just tell me. I’m an adult and I can handle it. Expect me to do the same. Character-wise, I’m looking for characters around the age of 25-38. I also require a real-life face claim. I’m into writing with pretty masculine characters, both in appearance and personality.

I include NSFW content, for this reason, I require roleplay partners to be 18 years old or older. As for sexual content; my characters do not take the “top” position.

Due to the fact, a lot of people have had me waste my time writing starters only not to reply; I ask that you write the first starter purely for me to see that you’re serious about writing.

I’ve been roleplaying for 8 years on various platforms and am rather proud to say that people always seem to be amazed by the stories I come up with!

I have a preference for OC’s, though I have 2 ships I’m willing to write out (possible plots below. If these don't interest you we can write something else);

Hephaestion x Alexander (which would be in an ancient setting unless you prefer a modern one).

Visual: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qLzu4ondZU

and Colin Farrell x Jared Leto. (Seriously, you’d make me really happy if you’re into one of these ships : )

I also really don’t mind having a good conversation next to the roleplay itself!

We can either write on here or through discord (the latter being my preference). If you’re interested, please shoot me a chat or pm message.

Plot for Jared and Colin: They meet when they’re both trying to become actors as they play a small part in a movie. Colin used to be an alcoholic and is still drinking at that point as Jared goes along in it. While doing small acting jobs on the side the two of them spend their time partying, drinking and Jared even does drugs here and there. They stay at hotels and sleep with women at every chance. One night, they don’t manage each find a girl to sleep with and end up rather sexually frustrated in their hotel room as Jared suggests in a drunk mood that Colin could just fuck him instead which actually happens. After that, they’re basically too busy with each other to even notice others, though they never call it a relationship or tell each other they love each other even though they do. Eventually, Colin decides he wants to better his life and stops drinking which is rather hard with Jared still constantly drinking. He eventually manages to stay clear for 3 months when Jared slips alcohol into his drink in a drunk mood which causes him to fall back into his addiction. He gets so awfully pissed with Jared he tells him he never wants to see him again and with that, he takes his leave. Years later, Jared finds himself in a deep depression and in a wheelchair due to an accident that’s unknown to the public. (In this time period, you could decide yourself what life events shaped Colin). The idea is that there are options for him to walk again, but he just can’t be bothered to pursue them despite the fact it might be too late eventually if he waits. One of his actor friends throws a massive birthday party and the theme is to dress up as a character you played or are to play as Jared dresses up as Rayon (the transgender woman from Dallas buyers club). That movie is on the schedule for “when he walks again”. Basically, Colin thinks he sees a lady sitting all bored by himself and when Jared seems rather confused that Colin is even talking to him he realizes that the “lady” is Jared and assumes that the wheelchair is part of the character. They engage in a somewhat awkward conversation and Colin gets a little annoyed with Jared’s I don’t care attitude as when the man asks him to get him a drink, he gets pissed. Jared worded it weirdly meaning a glass of water and Colin doesn’t know he can’t walk himself so he literally starts about “how the hell can you ask a former alcoholic to get you a drink” and tells him to walk himself putting him on his feet only for Jared to fall down because well, he can’t actually walk. That lands them in Colin’s hotel room who eventually manages him to get the surgery needed and helps him through the process which causes them to bond and slowly fall in love again. That’s basically the main line of events I have up until now. Feel free to change anything haha.

Plot for Alexander and Hephaestion: Basically, Alexander is around 22, the king of Macedon and a little bit of an ignorant asshole feeling as if he's entitled to everything as he's royal. He never questioned everything his father told him. He doesn't have to be kind. He doesn't have to consider peoples feelings for he is a king and for example: slaves are to be obedient. So imagine that a grand party is thrown as there's a slavery auction. Hephaestion, in this story a slave, is part of what is offered and seeing Alexander is the king he is entitled to look through the slaves first and claim those he wants to work at his palace. Now all slaves are obedient until he stands in front of Hephaestion as when he grabs his arm to check for muscle (as you see in the movies ;p) the man simply janks his arm free and dares to spit in the king's face. Instead of hanging him Alexander punishes Hephaestion by making him his personal slave. Actually getting to know him Alexander starts to question if he's wrong to see slaves as a mere object for Hephaestion has personality and might even be more intelligent than some of the men in his personal counsel. He becomes sure of it when Hephaestion challenges him to a fist fight when soldiers are training and when he wins; it proves to him that slaves aren't all that different. Basically, we would turn it into a romance. It would include a whole lot of character development, especially for Alexander. He could change rules of slavery and allow Hephaestion to choose his own career path as he eventually does become a commander and so on? Now men being with men was actually normal back in the day where they are from, but for a king to be with a slave would cause some backlash and so on. We could add things or if there’s something you don’t like leave things out and kinda see where it goes after that slave auction.

OC Plot 1: A has been living on the streets for several years. His father made him leave home after seeing him kiss another guy. A started out with the money he saved and ended up in drugs business. A drug deal went wrong, he leaves the city and does not deal drugs again because the chance of running into the people he got in trouble with is too big. Once again going against everything he stands for, he finds himself standing at the street corner one night ready to sell himself to the first person that shows interested. That is B comes in, a rich man who takes a liking to men but can’t openly sleep around because gay rumors could be bad for business. He takes interest in A and takes him home, offering him a to stay with him in his condo, as well as good pay, if he’s available for sex at all times and A agrees, now having a roof above his head and not having to eat from trash cans.

The idea is that the more time they spend together, the closer they get. B, who’s rather selfish, starts to care about A more than he likes. He sees he’s lonely at home; he gets him a dog. He doesn’t have anything to do; he decides to put him in college. What’s interesting is that their lines are already blurred from the beginning, so what’s just kindness? What's part of the arrangement? What’s a hint at love? : )

OC Plot 2: Characters A and B used to be best friends throughout their entire childhood and high school career. In their senior year, people really start to comment on how close they are and the rumor begins that they are a gay couple. B really dislikes this because he is in love with his best friend and has not come to terms with it yet, to the point where he ends their friendship. A, who is a closeted gay man in love with his best friend is not only hurt by that decision, but also feels like B never truly accepted him. While B stays popular, A becomes kind of a loner and all is good until a picture of A kissing a guy goes around the school. B doesn’t really do anything about the bullying and eventually, A just disappears and there’s no track of him.

Years later, B moves to LA/NY due to a new job. At this point, he’s come to tears with his sexuality. One night when he’s at the station, he finds a familiar face putting down a sleeping bag and approaches A asking what he’s doing on the streets. A is rather rude and refuses help as he’s far from the happy cheery person he used to be. B soon finds out that A pays security a small amount of money to sleep there every night and starts with giving leaving him food at the place he knows he will sleep, though A doesn’t accept anything else. That is until one night when B walks home, he sees A get beaten up and after coming in between he takes the man home despite his protests.  A doesn’t tell him much, though it becomes clear that the picture in high school caused his father to find out about his sexuality resulting in him being kicked out of the house. Feeling somewhat responsible for that event, B offers A to stay with him until he’s financially stable enough to provide for himself and A accepts after a lot of ensuring though it proves to be rather hard as A never graduated high school. B covers the costs to get him a proper education as A starts to open up more as they grow closer again as they eventually fall in love again.

OC plot 3: A and B have been chatting and calling for 2 years, though A has never wished to video chat, saying he’s shy and despite disliking not being able to see it, B accepts it. They’ve never declared what they have a long distance relationship, but they’re well on their way. B is an (interesting sports) player and thinks A is involved in the same sport. He’s doing well and playing an important game 6 months from now and has invited A to come to support and see him in real life for the first time. Though before it gets to that, B saves up enough to go and meet A when A confesses that.. not everything he said was true as he is not the guy in the picture. B doesn’t give him much time to explain and gets angry, then blocks him on all social media. 6 months later, after the important game, B finds a bag with the various things he’s sent A over time in the locker room and when he asks who left it and one of his teammates mentions a guy in a wheelchair. Missing the interaction with A, B tries to find him and eventually does and when A gets frantically upset and starts apologizing he decides to finally listen to him and finds out that A did play the (sport of choice), but got in a car accident right before they started chatting and ended up in a wheelchair. Being in a bad shape, he used a picture of someone who looked like him and assuming he’d play his sport again after getting therapy for his legs, he decided to not mention any of that at all only to find out that his family could not afford to put him through the therapy needed. B needs some time to take it in and forgives him, then proceeds to try and help him himself, asking his parents to pay for A’s therapy with the promise he will pay them back after he finishes college. Basically, A starts living with B in his apartment close to campus and they develop love based on truth this time.

(Swimming would be cute, as B could swim with A even if his legs don’t work).

[myhauntedsalem]

9 Signs of Your Past Life

Have you live before?

Here are 9 clues you might find in your present life

The idea that our souls or spirits reincarnate reaches back at least 3,000 years. Discussions of the subject can be found in the ancient traditions of India, Greece, and the Celtic Druids. It’s a tantalizing belief – that our spirits are not confined to the seven, eight, or nine decades of life on Earth (if we’re lucky), but that we have lived before and that we might live again.

What do you believe? Do you believe that you have had a past life or lives, growing up, working, loving, and suffering in roles very different from the one you are now playing out? Perhaps you were a different race, socio-economic class, or gender. Some even believe you could have been another living species entirely – a dog, gazelle, or fish perhaps.

Those who believe in past lives suggest that there might be clues to what our past lives were in the various complex aspects that make up our current physical, emotional, intellectual, and psychological personalities. Here are some of them.

DÉJÀ VU

Most of us have experienced the eerie feeling of déjà vu – the sudden, surprising feeling that an event we are going through at the moment has happened exactly this way before. Psychologist Arthur Funkhouser has broken down this phenomenon into sub-categories: déjà vécu – an event already experienced or lived through; déjà senti- already felt, perhaps triggered by a voice or music; and déjà visité – a place so familiar we feel we’ve been there before.

While scientists and psychiatrists insist there are neurological explanations for these phenomena, others wonder if these strange feelings could be vague, fleeting memories of past lives. You enter a house or building, for example, in a town you’ve never visited before. Yet every detail of that place is familiar. You know what’s in the next room and up the stairs. You have the overwhelming feeling that you’ve been there before. Have you – in a past life?

WEIRD MEMORIES

My daughter has “memories” of childhood events that we know never really happened. Is she just remembering a child’s fantasy, misunderstanding, or even a dream that she now interprets as reality? Or is sheremembering something that happened to her before she was born into this lifetime?

Human memory is a fraught with error and incongruities, and I’m sure many of us have memories of things that family and friends can attest never occurred. So the question is: Is it faulty memory or a remembrance of lives past?

DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES

Recurring dreams and nightmares also have been suggested as being memories or at least clues of past lives. I have experienced this type of recurring dream. There are two locations with specific details that crop up in my dreams several times a year, yet they are places I have never been to.

The first is a large city and I am walking down the street… there is a candy/magazine store on the corner, and I go in any buy something… then I go farther down the street to another building, and in the lower level is a small restaurant where I meet some friends and make the acquaintance of some girls… and later I think that I must go back to that place to see if the girls are there again.

The second is a smaller city – I get the distinct feeling of a “college town” – and I can see the specific view of a specific corner, how it looks, what’s there, how the street slopes down, etc.

These are not memories of places or events that have happened in this life, yet they recur in my dreams often. Are they memories of something important that happened in a past life?

Likewise, can nightmares be reflections of past life traumas that have clung to our spirits and haunt our sleep?

FEARS AND PHOBIAS

Where do your fears and phobias come from? Fear of such things as spiders, snakes, and heights seem to be built into the human psyche as part of our evolved survival instinct.

Many people suffer from phobias that are completely irrational, however. Fear of water, of birds, of numbers, of mirrors, of plants, of specific colors… the list goes on and on. People suffer from all kinds of bizarre phobias.

While several years on a psychologist’s couch might get to the root of those odd fears, those who believe in past lives wonder if they are carried over from a previous lifetime. Does a fear of water indicate a previous death by drowning? Could a fear of the color red suggest, for example, that a person was struck or killed by a red streetcar?

AFFINITY FOR FOREIGN CULTURE

You probably know a person who was born and raised in the United States but is an ardent anglophile – a person who is interested to the point of obsession with British culture. You might also know someone who can think of little else but getting dressed up and acting the part for the next Renaissance Fair or Civil War reenactment.

There are “philes” for virtually every culture on the planet, both modern and ancient, affecting people who seem to have no rationale for their obsessions. Why? Are they merely trying to find familiarity in a culture in which they lived 100 years ago? 1,000 years ago?

PASSIONS

Here is a related subject. It’s good to have things that we are passionate about, as long as they do not become obsessive and debilitating. But from where do passions arise for books, art, antiques, fashion, gardening, theatre, cars, trains, aircraft, the paranormal – or any number of other subjects?

Intense interest in a specific subject might be totally natural, of course, but might there be a past life connection in some cases?

UNCONTROLLED HABITS

The dark side of passions are those uncontrolled habits and obsessions that take over people’s lives and can even marginalize them in society. Obsessive-compulsives and hoarders fit into this category. A man who has to turn the light switch off and on ten times before he leaves a room; a woman who collects newspapers into six-foot-high stacks throughout her house because she cannot bear to get rid of them.

Each of us has at least one bad habit, from fingernail biting to gossiping to procrastination. The extreme forms include addictions to everything from television to Facebook to drugs. Again, psychological explanations can be found for these uncontrolled habits, yet those who believe in reincarnation say they might have roots in past lives.

INEXPLICABLE PAINS

Do you have aches and pains that the doctors cannot quite pinpoint or find a medical explanation for? You might be labeled a hypochondriac – a person who imagines his or her ailments. Or, as past life proponents suggest, those mysterious pains, sores, cramps, and more could be reflections of suffering you endured in a previous existence.

BIRTHMARKS

Birthmarks have been touted as evidence for reincarnation. In one fascinating case, an Indian boy claimed to remember the life of a man named Maha Ram, who was killed with a shotgun fired at close range. This boy had an array of birthmarks in the center of his chest that looked like they could possibly correspond to a shotgun blast. So the story was checked out. Indeed, there was a man named Maha Ram who was killed by a shotgun blast to the chest. An autopsy report recorded the man’s chest wounds – which corresponded directly with the boy’s birthmarks.

In a similar way, various other physical traits – even deformities – have been suggested as having their precedent in a person’s former life.

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

Chapter Twenty-One | The VK

Fandom: Disney’s Descendants

Summary: Quinn Little, raised in Auradon by Little John, finds out that her heritage is not what she thought it was. When Little John tells her that her real father was a villain, she must go on a journey of self-discovery that will bring her to all the forbidden places in the United States of Auradon.

Pre-canon & canon compliant to the first Descendants film.

Word Count: 2k  |  21/23

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad ||| quotev

It became more and more difficult to go out in public. The way people whispered and shot glances her way reminded Quinn of high school in the worst way possible. She had started living with Chloe to be closer to the action and she missed Dad and Sherwood.

Routine set in – a depressing routine that seemed to accomplish nothing. She signed up for audiences with the king and queen every Monday – which were always refused. So, they would demonstrate in front of the palace on Tuesday or Wednesday. If the demonstrators were deemed ‘too loud’ or ‘provoking un-goodness,’ she and a bunch of others may spend the night in a cell. Then they would have a meeting at Chloe’s apartment to discuss progress.

And sometimes there was actual progress: a few new people had joined from outside the Underground and Sherwood, or reports of smaller demonstrations in other regions in Auradon. Once, Prince Aladdin and Princess Jasmine, the leaders of the Lone Keep region, had issued a statement saying that although they did not fully agree with Think of the Children’s message, they acknowledged that people could change. After all, Aladdin, a former thief, was proof of that.

But most of the time, they would leave the meeting less heartened than they had upon entering it.

On the weekends, Quinn would pore over the footage from the Isle crime reports on tv, trying to piece together what was going on over there. She would smile when she saw a familiar face on the grainy footage – even if it was just Fabienne Facilier or Josephine from the Queens. She knew the Crew had disabled the cameras around the docks ages ago – which she had been grateful for in her time there, but now lamented – so she had to rely on the downtown cameras to catch a glimpse of them. And she rarely did.

•••

When she was in Sherwood, Quinn had taken to sitting on the roof of their house to think at night, since it was the closest thing to the Jolly Roger’s crow’s nest. She hugged her knees and looked up at the stars she could see through the leaves of the trees above her. Although she spent her last month or so on the Isle sleeping alone, she missed Jax beside her.

She heard the roof creak slightly and saw Dad climbing up to sit beside her. “I see you haven’t lost your climbing skills,” he said.

Quinn smiled. “I was able to keep them up on the Jolly Roger’s ratlines, as well as the buildings of the city.”

“And how do ships and cities compare to trees?” he asked.

She thought about it for a moment. “The Isle had hardly any green, which I missed. A lot. But the seaside breezes were nice. And there’s nothing quite like a thunderstorm while onboard a ship.”

They sat in silence for a minute or so. “I had a boyfriend over there,” she said finally. She was not sure why she had not told him yet. She and Dad had always been able to talk about everything, including romance. He was the first person she told that she had kissed Winston Scarlett and didn’t want to be with him but didn’t want to tell him because no story she learned about at school had a princess tell a prince that. And he had told her to tell him anyway because those princesses had lived in a very different time.

He looked over at her and said nothing, prompting her to continue.

“His name is Jax, Captain Hook’s son. He was one of the first people I met on the Isle and he helped me even though I told him who my father was.” Dad listened patiently as it all spilled out: the training, the kiss in the alleyway, flings on the Isle, all the way to Seamus’ blackmail, how he supported her through the outbreak of whooping cough and finally helping her to come back. “I love him, Dad.”

He just nodded and enfolded her in a hug. “He must be a very special guy.”

Quinn nodded. “I miss him.”

“Then you have another thing to fight for,” he said. “And I’m sure he’s fighting just as hard to get back to you.”

 Her conversation was much less serious and much more, well, Mark-like.

“Are you telling me you lost your v-card to a pirate on a pirate ship?”

“Oh, I regret telling you already.”

They were sparring with quarterstaffs behind his parents’ house.

“Little baby Quinn –”

“Shut up,” she said, but she was laughing.

“– sleeping with – what was his name again?”

“Jax.”

“Please tell me it’s spelled with an X.”

“It is.”

“Wonderfully scandalous.”

Quinn thwacked his leg with her quarterstaff while he was distracted.

 Things continued to go badly for the campaign, and Quinn decided to stay a bit longer in Sherwood. One evening, after racking her brain, she tossed her notebook onto the coffee table in frustration. She sighed. “They just don’t care.” She ran her hands through her hair. “And I don’t know how to make them care.”

Mark looked over from where he sat at the kitchen table with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Quinn, you can’t give up now.”

She got up and walked over to the kitchen pantry. “I know,” she said as she dug through the shelves for a granola bar. “It’s just frustrating.” Unwrapping the bar, she went to sit at the table. “I mean, we have been taught our entire lives to be good, to care about people, but then when I suggest we care about the innocent children of villains, everyone goes crazy.”

“We’ve also been taught that we are the good guys and they are the bad guys,” Mark said, closing his laptop. “And that they deserve what they get.”

Quinn nodded as she munched on the granola bar.

“We just need to find a way to show everyone that the kids on the Isle aren’t so different than the kids here. That being a villain or a hero is a choice, not genetics or whatever,” Mark said.

She swallowed and looked at Mark. “I think I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Make them see that being a hero or a villain is a choice,” she said, eyes wide.

“Yeah...?”

Quinn grinned, full and wide, like she hadn’t in a while. “I’m living proof of that.”

“You want to come out as the child of a villain?” Mark said uncertainly.

“Yeah! How did I not think of this before?”

“Because it might have bad consequences,” Mark said. “They might hate you even more.”

“But,” Quinn said, excitedly. “It might show them that who your parents are doesn’t matter.”

 Quinn told the rest of her idea over the group chat. Everyone was also growing discouraged and although they were not sure it would work as Quinn did, they were running out of ideas, so they all agreed it was the best way to move forward.

•••

The next day, Quinn stood inside the house, pacing back and forth. She could hear the reporters outside and knew Mark and Dad were watching her from where they sat at the kitchen table. The clock on the wall struck nine and she took a deep breath as she turned to the door.

“You’ve got this,” said Mark.

“Do you want us out there with you?” Dad asked.

Quinn smiled at them. “No, I need to do this by myself.”

“Alright, knock ‘em dead,” Dad said.

She squared her shoulders and stepped out the front door and was met with camera flashes and shouted questions. When she got to the ground, microphones were shoved in her face.

“What is your announcement, Miss Little?” many reporters asked.

Quinn looked around and then focused on the main news network’s camera. “As you all know, my team and I have been campaigning for the care and rights of the children of villains. I would like to point out that despite my many statements to the king and queen, I have had absolutely no response from the throne.” She looked at the camera for a moment, hoping that the king was watching. “So, Your Majesty, I ask again, are you satisfied with the children of villains – your subjects – living the punishments of their parents’ crimes of which they are innocent?” She took another pause and got ready for the thing that she knew would make or break the campaign. “So today I would like to make an announcement.” She took a breath. “I am the child of a villain.”

There was a moment of complete silence in the crowd of reporters and then she was bombarded with questions.

“I do not say this to call attention to myself,” Quinn insisted quickly, speaking over the reporters. “I am putting this out in the open so that I can show the country that being a villain or being a hero is a choice. People are not good or evil because of their parents, they are good or evil through the choices that they themselves make.”

More questions came from the reporters:

“Which villain?”

“When did Little John adopt you?”

“Is this why you started your campaign?”

The reporters started to crowd her and Quinn could feel her fight or flight reflexes start to kick in. She took a breath and smiled at the reporters. “I thank you for your time, um, that’s all I have to say for today.” She scrambled up and into the house as quickly as she could.

•••

Jax had about had enough of Auradonian news. Every mention of Quinn was accompanied by vague gestures at her upbringing and handwringing about culture.

So when she told the country about her parentage, he was not surprised about the fallout. They dissected her school record and social media, looking for ‘clues’ about her heritage that they had missed. They interviewed her classmates, most of whom seemed very eager to talk about how odd she had been – her and the Sherwood kids.

The most daring commentators were beginning to question the goodness of the Merry Men. After giving one interview, Robin Hood seemed to catch wind of their intentions to smear him and gave no more statements. Little John had avoided the press from the beginning, but they hounded both him and Quinn until several outbursts from him were painted as “violent” and “coarse” in the press.

A headline: “Woman calls guards on Quinn Little, claimed she ‘felt threatened’ by presence”

A picture: Quinn, eyes tired and mouth pinched tight, tries to avoid cameras as she heads back to Sherwood after a protest at the royal palace. There is a prominent bruise on her arm where a guard grabbed her.

Watching the news began to take more and more of Jax’s time. He did not want to tell anybody else about how badly the campaign was going. Part of the reason they helped Quinn was the promise she would help them get away from their parents.

Jade would often find him late at night, slumped on the couch in front of the TV, face worried even in sleep.

“You know obsessing over Quinn’s campaign won’t help her,” she said one morning.

Jax rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I know, but there’s not much else I can do.”

“Jax.” Jade sat across from him. “She’s out there fighting for us, so you need to fight too. For the Crew and everyone else. We can make life better here while she’s working to make it even better for the future.”

He smiled softly. “You’re right, Jade, as always.” He sighed and looked over at the tv, muted by Jade. Yet another tv commentator yammered on as footage of Quinn yelling into a megaphone in front of the palace played. “We’ll do our part while she does hers. We gotta prepare everyone for Auradon.”

[hashire]

little love notes

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Rating: Teen and Up (for language, lol) Warnings: None Relationships:  Otabek Altin/Jean-Jacques Leroy/Yuri Plisetsky Summary: He can’t seem to even imagine why his best friend since childhood gave his locker combination to his boyfriend of a few months so he could leave love notes in Yuri's locker. It doesn't make sense. AO3 link.

JJ can be stupidly charming when he’s not the most obnoxious person in the world and the bane of Yuri’s existence. Not that Yuri would ever admit to the former.

It doesn’t stop him from crumpling up and tossing the little love notes that somehow keep making their way into his locker. If JJ is nearby, they often get chucked at his head.

JJ just laughs and winks at him, or blows a kiss and grins, or shrugs and throws his arm around Otabek’s shoulders if he happens to walk by at the moment. Then Yuri’s stomach will lurch or his heart will pound or something equally as dumb at the sight.

He seethes the morning he opens his locker and finds a rose inside, nestled in rumpled pink tissue paper. He leaves it there, as is, after he pulls a few books out, and doesn’t go back to his locker for the entire day.

He wants to tell Otabek about it when they see each other at lunch, but the words get bunched up in his throat and he has to chug water to be able to even speak. What the fuck is your boyfriend trying to pull with this bullshit? is what he comes up with. He can’t ask that.

Instead, he finds JJ by his locker after school, presumably texting Otabek based on the huge, dreamy smile on his face.

Yuri pulls open his locker, slaps the phone out of JJ’s hand (“Hey! What the fuck?!”), and shoves the rose, thorns all bared, into JJ’s palms.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” Yuri says in a low voice, “but can you stop breaking into my locker every morning and putting all of this stupid shit in there?”

JJ whines and extracts the few thorns that caught his skin before reaching down to pick up his phone (miraculously intact thanks to the probably ungodly expensive case). “But, kitten, I’m not –”

“Don’t call me that you –”

“I’m not breaking into your locker,” he finishes. The smile is back despite the blood on his palm.

“Sure, whatever,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to tell Otabek about this now. It’s gone on too long.”

To his surprise, JJ laughs. “Yuri, my darling, how do you think I got your locker combination?”

-

Otabek doesn’t text him that night. It’s unusual.

When Yuri left, he almost slammed the locker on JJ’s hands when he held out the rose to him. He’d heard the footsteps behind him and walked off without looking back.

Yuri spends too much time trying to compose a text to his best friend, attempting to properly convey his confusion and desire to know why Otabek did this. It all ends up being shades of one simple phrase: what the fuck.

What the fuck, Beka is what he ends up sending before shutting off his phone. He wants to know the answer. He really does. But he has a feeling it’ll keep him up all night, just knowing. He wants to sleep and not spend the entire next day feeling sick from not sleeping enough. He tosses and turns most of the night anyway, awake and unable to settle, thinking about what the answer might be. He throws his phone across the room more than once, dragging himself up to check it for cracks every single time and bringing it back to his bed. He resolutely does not turn it back on.

Even with all the time awake, he can’t seem to even imagine why his best friend since childhood gave his locker combination to his boyfriend of a few months so he could leave love notes in Yuri's locker. It doesn't make sense. But, then again, things stopped making sense when the new kid from Canada swept in midway through the year and seduced Beka with an obnoxiously impressive flourish. Part of Yuri was (and is) mad about it.  

He wakes up the next morning to his grandfather yelling that he’s going to be late for school if he doesn’t get up. Yuri snatches up his phone and glares at it, his sleep-deprived recently-awoken mind conveniently forgetting that he’d turned it off on purpose the night before.

His stomach churns when he remembers why it’s off.

He’s late enough getting up that his grandfather has to drive him to school. That means he misses walking with Otabek (since they live so nearby), which he already missed doing yesterday because he left in a huff.

Yuri regrets so many of his life choices in those minutes in his grandpa’s old clunker. He wants to throw his phone again when it finally turns on and finds it almost dead anyway. He also wishes he had never sent that damn message because Otabek hadn’t even bothered to respond, that asshole.

He trips on his way into school and skins his palms.

Fuck my life, he thinks, wrenching open his locker.

There’s another note waiting for him, folded in fourths and sitting atop his notebooks. He considers ripping it up and just walking straight out of school. His grandpa would be so disappointed if he did that, though, so he snatches the note, stuffs it into his pocket, and dashes off to his first class.

He itches to open it but he feels like it would just make his day even worse. Instead, he picks at the scabs that form on his palm, doodles in the margins of his notebook, and almost dozes off in every class before lunch.

He only dares to pull it out of his pocket and flick it open five minutes before his last morning class is due to end.

I’m sorry, it says in familiar handwriting. It’s not JJ’s. It was my idea. I should have told you sooner.

His heart pounds as he crumples it up noisily, earning him a glare from his teacher. He bolts out the door before she can say anything, just as the bell rings. He finds Otabek without any trouble, walks up to him, and hurls the note right at his head. It bounces off his temple. Otabek scrambles to catch it.

“Yura,” he starts, “what –”

“You asshole,” Yuri says with as much feeling as he can muster. He then turns around and leaves.

-

“You can stop toying with my emotions.” Yuri is sitting on the rocks behind the school. He doesn’t see and barely hears JJ walking up, but he knows he’s there. That asshole has a presence about him that makes him impossible to ignore.

There’s a short laugh behind him, and he hates it so, so much. Of course JJ would laugh at him. He kind of feels like punching him in the face (more than usual, at least).

There’s an arm around his shoulders before he knows what’s happening. “Kitten,” JJ says, leaning against him, “we –”

“Don’t call me that!” He shoves the arm off him and almost drops his lunch. He narrows his eyes at JJ, who holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“We weren’t trying to do that.” JJ sits down next to him. Yuri makes a big show of scooting down so they’re no longer close. JJ runs a hand through his hair.

“Then what were you trying to do? Make fun of me? I’ll kick your ass.” JJ might have a few inches on him and more muscle, but Yuri knows he could do it. Even so, the threat comes out weak and tired:  as tired as Yuri is right now.

Hearing that you’ve been jerked around by your best friend is kind of shattering.

JJ looks alarmed by the suggestion and hastens to say, “No! Of course not. Beka would never do that to you.”

“That’s what I used to think.” He packs up his lunch and prepares to leave. Going home to bed would not resolve anything, but it’ll be worth it. Probably.

JJ grabs his arm before he can even get up. He’s prepared to throw it off, but JJ looks surprisingly serious and intensely earnest. “Just stay and listen, will you?”

“Why should I?” He doesn’t pull his arm from JJ’s grip yet. It’s firm and warm through the material of his jacket. JJ loosens his hold but doesn’t let him go.

“He likes you a lot, you know. I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

Yuri’s heart beats a little faster at that, but he forces himself to roll his eyes. “Of course he likes me. He’s been my best friend for years.”

JJ flashes him a grin. “You know what I mean, kitten.” Yuri shoves him. “I like you too, you know.” He winks. “I wouldn’t write you poetry if I didn’t.”

“Poetry? You call that poetry?”

“It’s my best work!” He puts his hand over his heart and tosses his head back when the wind blows his hair into his face.

JJ’s fingers still encircle his arm, and he squeezes it. When he moves into Yuri’s space, Yuri stays put.

"Now that that’s out in the open, finally, how ‘bout it? Can I?"

Yuri tilts his head to the side in a noncommittal manner. JJ leans forward anyway, eyes sparkling as he smirks.

Yuri turns away at the last moment so JJ kisses his cheek. He pulls back and laughs. "I expected that."

“Then why’d you bother?” He tries to snap and look annoyed, but his cheeks are pink and not from the wind.

“Because…it’s JJ style!” Yuri shoves him off the rocks before he can make the stupid sign with his hands. JJ laughs even as he lands hard on his elbows.

“I’m going back in,” Yuri announces, stalking away without another word. JJ’s laughter follows him, even as he hears him pick himself up off the ground.

-

Yuri doesn’t want to face Otabek, despite what JJ said. It’s all so sudden and he can barely process it while trying to stay awake in class. He skips his last period to rush home and crawl into bed.

His grandfather leaves him alone. He forgets to plug in his phone and wakes up the next day (Saturday) to a still-dead phone.

Once it charges up enough to turn on, he’s met with a text from Otabek. The timestamp says it was sent late last night, and there’s only one.

Let’s talk.

OK is what he sends back after going back and forth about what to say. He receives a time and a destination (Otabek’s house, of course) before he tosses the phone on his bed and goes to eat breakfast.

-

Otabek is sitting on his front porch, staring at his phone when Yuri walks up.

“Hey,” Yuri says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Otabek stands to meet him.

“Hey.” They look at each other. A long moment passes between them. Otabek opens his mouth. Yuri beats him to it. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner?”

Otabek closes his mouth, frowning a bit as he thinks. “I…wasn’t sure. And I didn’t want to mess everything up.”

Yuri finds himself rolling his eyes. “That’s a terrible reason.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Otabek says this without much accusation, but it’s still there. Yuri shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

“Uh, maybe…for the same reason?” Otabek huffs out a laugh. Yuri scowls. “Why did you do it now?”

Otabek shifts his weight, too, glancing off into the distance. “It was JJ who convinced me that things were mutual. ‘It’s so obvious to everyone but the two of you.’” Yuri’s scowl remains. “He’s more perceptive than you think.”

“Maybe.” Yuri turns his attention to his shoes, tipping his feet outward so he’s balancing on the sides of them. “Why the notes?”

Otabek looks at his own feet. “It’s something I was thinking of doing at some point, I guess, but never really got around to doing it. When I told JJ about it when we were talking about you, he said he could do it for me.”

“He told me that he’s been writing me poetry the whole time. Please don’t tell me that it’s your writing. It’s terrible.” Otabek laughs at that.

“No, it’s all him. He’s more creative than I am.” He takes a breath. “He’s a good guy,” Otabek says. “Definitely able to get under your skin, but in a good way.” He scrunches his nose the moment after the words come out and adds, “That came out wrong.”

Yuri stares and then starts to laugh and laugh. This is not the way he expected things to resolve, but he’s not complaining. Not anymore. A giddy feeling wells up inside of Yuri’s stomach, weird and new and refreshing after all of the frustration he’s felt for the recent days…weeks…maybe months.

It’s so dumb.

"What now?" he asks, fiddling with his zipper. He might not be complaining, but he has lingering doubts.

"What do you want, Yura?" Otabek looks at him with a soft, open expression:  his brows are relaxed; his eyes are warm; his mouth is turned up at the corners.

"This," he says, grabbing the front of Otabek's jacket and pulling him closer. He tips his head to the side, waiting for permission. Otabek closes the distance between them.

It's gentle and warm as the wind breaks around them. They part after a moment, Yuri leaning his forehead against Otabek's.

He's about to suggest calling JJ when he hears a wolf whistle and clapping. He jolts away from Otabek to glare at the intruder. He's not surprised to see JJ walking toward them.

When he’s close enough, JJ slings an arm around each of their shoulders.

“Now that that’s figured out,” he says, loudly enough that Yuri puts a hand on his cheek and forces his face toward Otabek, “let’s have some fun. Right?”

Otabek reaches behind JJ and tugs on Yuri’s sleeve. He offers a hand when Yuri looks over JJ’s shoulder. Yuri takes it.

-

Come Monday, Yuri may or may not have a hickey on his neck and a smile on his face. The people he passes by look mildly alarmed at this new presentation, but he ignores them.

When he opens his locker, he’s surprised, yet not, to find a note waiting for him.

My dearest Yuri, it starts in JJ’s familiar handwriting, I feel so strongly that

He crumples and throws it JJ’s head as he appears beside Yuri. JJ just grins and puts an arm around his shoulders.

And if his heartbeat picks up or his stomach lurches, that’s normal (but still dumb).