#eclipse the moment someone is too annoying to bear: well. there's only one way to do this [cocks gun]

[starheirxero]

BTW I don't normally watch other channels but Eclipse and Funtime Freddy interacting was INSANELY silly and delightful to me. I have never heard a man so utterly drained of his spirit at the very end. FT Freddy was talking in so much detail about his day and Eclipse was just "stop. please stop. you don't have to do this just shut up." LMAO

[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 17.5

When We Eclipse

I found it a little weird doing two of these so close together, but just so everyone knows where Lucas is at ❤️ and yes...this really is a slow burn huh

~^~

Jens unlocks the door with a little more care than usual, slightly worried about startling Lucas or waking him from a sleep. Kes had worried him with his warnings, and he isn’t sure what exactly to expect. Especially finding the door locked in the first place. Lucas hasn’t answered any of his texts. Jens isn’t even sure if he’s seen them. Either way, he knows Jens should be back around this time. Should be expecting him. Jens considers the possibility that he is, and left the door locked anyway, and thanks about maybe bunking somewhere else for the night. Then he considers the possibility that Lucas hasn’t even realised what time it is, that something’s over-occupying his brain, and that he needs Jens. 

Or well, not Jens. But someone. Jens isn’t in a safe enough position to allow himself to think Lucas would need him specifically. 

The room is dark, and oddly silent, when he enters. He almost expects to hear the scratch of pencil on paper, or at least the quiet murmurings of a laptop, but there’s nothing. His keys make a seemingly deafening clatter on his desk in comparison as he sets them down alongside his bagged takeaway. The curtains are drawn, and the room falls into even more darkness as Jens shuts the door behind him. He has to wait for his eyes to adjust before he can make out the lump on one of the beds. 

His bed. 

This is entirely uncharted territory, and if Jens were a weaker man, he’d turn and thump his head against the wall, or better yet, run. Instead, he’s able to pull himself under control with a few deep breaths. He can’t think about those particular thoughts right now. No matter how much harder it is, considering his recent revelations. 

He’s assuming Lucas is curled up on his bed for a reason, and it probably isn’t good. 

He approaches carefully, shrugging off his jacket as he goes. He lays it at the end of the bed while murmuring a soft, “Luc?” 

The lump doesn’t move. 

Okay. Jens can deal with this. Jens can totally deal with this. This is perfectly fine. Maybe Lucas is just...asleep. Asleep in Jens’s bed, at eight in the evening. With the covers pulled right up over his head. That’s possible, right?

The covers move, slipping down slightly to reveal a bundle of curls. Purposefully shifted. Not asleep, then. 

“Hey,” Jens tries again, adding a little volume to his voice while maintaining that same soft tone. “I brought back some food. Ordered a side of bitter balls, just for you.” Lucas stays quiet. “Or...did you already eat?”

At this point, he isn’t expecting an answer, and he’s not surprised to be met with silence. He’s disappointed, however, and even more worried than he had been when he’d come in. He gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to situate himself too close to Lucas, not wanting him to retreat further. “Luc. Hey. Can you talk to me? I’ll leave you alone if you want, but just let me know you’re okay.”

“Don’t leave.”

The reply is almost inaudible, muffled by the duvet, but it’s enough for Jens. It’s something. Even though that something seems fearful, he’ll take it. “Okay. I’m here.” Lucas is once again silent, so Jens tries returning to the questions. “Is it okay if I turn on the lamp?” 

A pause, then a nod. Jens shifts up the bed a little and leans over to reach the lamp on the locker between their beds, flicking it on. Lucas doesn’t react to the change, and Jens only has to blink a few times to readjust. After that he tries to go for something more. “Do you want some food?”

There’s a hesitation this time, but also an eventual answer. “I’m not hungry.”

Jens can’t really do anything about that. The concerned tug in his chest doesn’t matter. “Okay. If you want I can save it for you, heat it up later?”

Again, Lucas doesn’t give a response. Jens takes it as a go ahead and decides the food will be kept for later. He takes his own from the bag and migrates to Lucas’s bed, sitting criss-cross in the center and staring at his roommate’s back as he eats. 

At some stage, Lucas speaks up again, voice scratchy. “I’m sorry, I’ll give you back your bed, I just…”

He trails off, and Jens doesn’t know what he just, but it doesn’t matter. “It’s okay. You can stay there, if you want.”

This drops them into silence again. Jens gets up to deposit his takeaway container in the bin, then hesitantly approaches Lucas again. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“...I’m okay.”

“Do you want to talk? I missed you, the pass few days.”

Jens worries, even before he says it, that it’s an overstep. Lucas’s lack of reaction does nothing to tamper down his panic. Then suddenly, before his thoughts convince him into saying something even more stupid, Lucas is rolling over and looking at him. 

It’s a sight Jens hadn’t been prepared for. His hair is messier than usual, falling over his forehead and tickling the tops of his ears—not immaculately styled out of the way, as usual. His lips are turned down in a pout, cheeks rosy and damp. But it’s the dullness of his light blue eyes, the exhaustion and moisture there, that tugs painfully at Jens’s heart. 

“Luc,” is all he manages to say, sorrowful, and Lucas turns his face into the pillow and hides himself away again. “What’s going on, huh?”

Lucas just shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, shaking his head, and it’s the most gutting gesture Jens has ever witnessed. 

“Can I sit with you, for a little while? Would that be okay?”

Jens has to wait just a moment before Lucas nods, and then he quickly moves to slide into the small bit of space next to him. Lucas shifts back towards the wall, leaving as much space as he can, and it stops Jens from settling as close as he’d like. He sits propped against the pillows, looking down at Lucas and wondering what he should do. He doesn’t know how to help. He doesn’t know what Lucas needs. He doesn’t know what happened—what left Lucas in this state, what’s going through his mind. All he knows is that his friend is upset and he’ll do anything he can to make it better. Lucas had asked him to stay, so he’s staying. 

After a lengthy consideration, he sifts his hand through Lucas’s curls once, testing. Lucas closes his eyes, expression pinched, even tenser than before, but he tilts his head towards Jens. So Jens repeats the gesture. Once, then once more, picking up a light rhythm as Lucas presses into his touch. 

God, he could not have chosen a worse time to figure out just how much he likes him. 

His plan had been to take care with Lucas from now on, to keep their interactions on a more casual level until his feelings could pass. All he could have hoped is that it would be easy to avoid Lucas with their increasing workloads and Lucas wouldn’t notice a thing, and by the time he was forced into returning to normal he would have returned to normal. He hadn’t prepared for this possibility. He hadn’t even considered this being a possibility. He can’t ignore Lucas like this. He couldn’t even bear to move a few feet away. 

The way Lucas’s hand comes to clench in his sweater certainly isn’t helping him get over anything. He wants to bundle Lucas up in his arms and kiss whatever pain he’s feeling away. 

Which really isn’t where his mind should be at. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucas mumbles. 

Jens frowns down at him. “What are you apologising for?” Lucas just shifts to press his head to Jens’s hip, not answering. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s okay.” He waits a minute before asking, “You sure you don’t want to eat anything?”

Lucas shakes his head. 

“Okay. Well, I brought you something else back, if you want to see it?”

At that, Lucas pauses, shifting up and away to look at Jens. “You brought me something?”

“Yeah. You basically demanded it, didn’t you?” Jens teases, raising a brow. Lucas doesn’t react as he usually would, doesn’t clap back with some sarcastic comment or even roll his eyes. He does, however, let his hand slide from Jens’s sweater. Jens takes that as the permission it is and rises to retrieve his bag from next to the door. He hunkers down, rifling through it until he can procure the small gift before rising with it tucked behind his back. Lucas watches him through heavy lids, still mostly unresponsive. Jens waits until he’s settled next to him again before offering the item to Lucas: a small, ‘artistic’ teddy bear, complete with paintbrush in one hand and a pallet in the other. There’s even a tiny black beret adorning his fluffy head, and he’s wrapped carefully in a mini white t-shirt. 

“A mini you.” Jens nudges the bear towards his chest, and Lucas slowly reaches up to grab it. He holds it carefully as he examines it, running his thumb over the splashes of ‘paint’ on the palette. Jens isn’t sure what to make of this silent reaction, until Lucas’s eyes feel with tears and he decides to be horrified. 

“Hey, hey, shit, sorry, it was dumb, I just thought that—I can just take it back and—“

“Shut up, Jens, you’re not taking him,” Lucas protests, and it’s so surprising to hear him say so many words at once that Jens does, in fact, shut up. Lucas clutches the little bear close to his chest and closes his eyes again, shaking his head as his face scrunches up, as if in pain. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Jens realises it for the hidden compliment it is and laughs quietly, brushing his hand through Lucas’s hair again and murmuring, “You’re welcome.” 

Lucas releases a shaky sigh. It takes a moment before he speaks, barely a whisper. Jens isn’t even sure he’s supposed to hear him, but he does. “Please don’t hate me.”

“What?” Jens’s brow furrows. He slides down in the bed so he’s in a more reclined position, so his head is a little closer to Lucas’s. “Why would I hate you?”

Lucas just shrugs helplessly. 

“Luc,” Jens pokes at his cheek before taking his chin in hand and directing his gaze up at him. “I could never hate you. For whatever dumb reason your head is telling you. You’re the best, okay? I could never hate you,” he repeats. 

It takes a moment. But eventually, Lucas nods, even as a few stray tears begin dampening his cheeks. He reaches up to harshly wipe them away, until Jens catches his hand and gently pushes it away, catching the tears himself before tugging Lucas into his chest. 

He’s still, at first, letting his fingers curl in Jens’s sweater, before his shoulders are shaking in earnest and Jens wraps him up tighter. There are so many things he wants to ask. 

What’s tormenting you? How long have you been feeling this way? How often do you feel this way? Have I missed it, before? How can I make it stop?

It reminds him of Sander, the one time he’d shown up at Robbe’s house to find himself barred from the boy’s room when the blonde showed up looking exhausted and lost. Jens had offered to go, but Sander had insisted he stay, so he and Robbe had moved their study to the kitchen while Sander holed up with his sketchbook and the reassurance of Robbe’s nearby presence. It wasn’t until Robbe had gone to join him when Jens was packing up to leave, when he’d taken a quick trip to the bathroom and paused outside Robbe’s door, that he saw how Sander waited before allowing himself to break down. 

He doesn’t know if Lucas has done the same, and doesn’t really want to allow himself to make the comparison. He can’t possibly be of comfort to Lucas the way Robbe is to his boyfriend. 

But he can do his best. 

He slips on down, lying out fully next to Lucas in the cramped space, suddenly glad he hadn’t chosen to wear jeans. He adjusts his hold on the other boy, moving his hand back into his hair as Lucas tucks his face into his neck. Jens draws him in, closer, closer, until Lucas is clinging to his back instead with the arm around his torso and his shoulders have stopped shaking. He continues letting out little trembling breaths, however, brushing lightly over Jens’s skin, and Jens remembers what he’d asked of him. 

“I’m here, Luc. I’m not leaving.”

Lucas presses closer, crushing his little bear between their chests. But when Jens goes to remove it, Lucas only clings tighter, so Jens wraps his arm back around him without a word. 

The arm he has tucked under Lucas’s head is already starting to go dead, but it doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should. Not even as Lucas’s weight turns heavier, sinking into the mattress and curling impossibly closer as his breaths finally even out, falling into a light sleep. 

Jens knows he shouldn’t follow him. That allowing himself to have this, to stay like this through the night when Lucas isn’t in a state to argue, isn’t going to be good for either of them. But Lucas’s tiny breaths against his collarbone and the tight grip he has on Jens even in his sleep is really working to counteract that clap. He thinks, for some reason, that Lucas does need this. Is scared in a very true sense of Jens leaving. 

So Jens stays. 

He’ll have plenty of time to regret it in the morning. 

[greyias]

This one got… epically long. Like, over 7k words. Based on one of @grumpyhedgehog’s headcanons with her Jedi Lyra and the trash panda extraordinaire. Main pairing is Draike/Lyra (Smuggler/Jedi OC) pre-relationship, secondary pairing of Theron/Knight. I should also warn for a very brief foray into a M rating. For reasons that will become very clear about halfway through.

He didn’t care what anyone else in the Alliance said, Draike Highwind was in the very firm opinion that life on Odessen was boring. The pace around the base had practically slowed to a crawl the past few months, what with them officially laying low and trying to stay off the galactic radar while the rest of the galaxy started to ramp up back into their umpteenth war. Not that Draike liked the constant state of war they all seemed to live in, but at least out there things were happening.

A thin trickle of condensation ran down the side of his glass, and he flicked the droplet across the cantina table, watching it skip along the smooth polished metal surface. It wasn’t the most entertaining diversion — no, he still had a few hours left before that particular game started again — but hey. It was better than watching paint dry. Another trickle worked its way down the side of his glass, and he tried to see if he could get further distance.

“You do realize,” a pleasant voice chimed in, “they make coasters for that.”

Draike lifted his attention from the very interesting and oh-so-important glass of booze to see the familiar form of Lyra Dorn, standing next to his table. As usual, she was looking stereotypically Jedi, decked out in armor and robes even though they were just stuck here in this boring excuse for a base of operations. Her honey blonde locks swept back from her face as she arched a delicate brow at him. He spied a datapad in one hand, and in the other a platter filled to the brim with fried Capellan turg-root, roast gorak, and Ahrisa.

“I’m just livening up the place,” Draike said drolly, by way of greeting.

Lyra almost rolled her eyes, but seemed to catch herself before plopping down in the chair opposite him, delicately setting down the platter in the center as if it were some sort of offering. That was all the invitation he needed, and he snatched up a turg-root.

He was already halfway through chewing with when she let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “Yes, those are for you.”

He just returned the remark with a crumb-filled grin, as if to say, “I know.”

That got past her internal defenses, and she was unable to suppress her urge to roll her eyes. The twitch at the edge of her lips let him know she found it amusing though, despite whatever airs she liked to project.

Summoning some modicum of manners, Draike finished off his bite and waved a hand at the plate. “You can have one too.”

“Oh, how magnanimous of you,” she said, but there was no sting to her tone, and she politely pinched off a piece of Ahrisa, setting down the datapad as she did so.

He eyed the device, disguising his suspicion with an easy smile as he snagged another turg-root, smothering it in one of the spicy sauces ringing the platter. “What you got there? Some spicy HoloNet fic? Apparently the latest trope everyone’s writing about is the poor betrayed rebellion commander and their traitorous spy lover.”

“How do you know that?”

“There is nothing to do here. I get bored.”

“Those are about your sister!”

“Look, it’s not my fault she professed her undying love to her stupid boyfriend in front of an open broadcast to the entire galaxy!”

“And that’s your brother-in-law now.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “Okay, so if you’re not reading fictionalized accounts of my baby sister’s love life, what’s the datapad for?”

She shot him a look, as if to ask him once again why she would ever read trashy romance about a real person in her life, much less a relative of his. “It’s…”

“Yes?”

“For your reports,” she sighed.

“What? My reports?” he sat up a bit straighter. “Why?”

“Someone made me aware that you’ve been having difficulty getting your reports turned in on time,” Lyra said hesitantly, “and so I thought I’d help you out with them.”

Draike managed to summon his most offended face to bear. “So you bring me a giant platter of my favorite food as a ruse to trick me into working?”

“It’s not a ruse,” she was quick to reassure him, “it’s a… peace offering. And fuel for the brain.”

“It’s a bribe is what it is.”

“Oh, and so what if it is?” A little bit of haughtiness was beginning to creep into her tone, accent thickening ever so slightly as his combativeness managed to puncture her friendly demeanor. “You need to get your reports done, and I’m willing to help you write them because I am a good friend. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is I don’t need help writing my reports,” Draike said, crossing his arms as he leaned back into his seat.

“What... yes you do! Theron said—”

An almost maniacal grin spread across his face before he even realized it and quickly smothered it. Usually he was better at keeping a good Sabacc face, but for a moment, even that was eclipsed by the momentary and purely malicious glee that stole through him.

“What was that?” Lyra asked.

“What was what?”

“That look.”

“There was no look.”

“Yes, there was. I know that look—Draike.”

One of the most boring parts about living on Odessen was the rules—and the paperwork. On his own, he only had to do the bare minimum of paperwork to get his cargo runs in. Just enough legality to keep people off his back. It was annoying, but he did what he had to. And at some point he just let Risha take care of that sort of thing — he secretly suspected she enjoyed the tedium. Alas, those salad days were behind him. Here they liked to dot all of their i’s and cross all of their t’s. They wanted a flimsi trail and records for runs, but also stupid things like, incident reports. Which unless something really exciting happened was just an absolute snore fest.

So, he’d made a little game out of them.

Because of course the one person who was hounding him the most for all of this pointless paperwork was his new brother-in-law. If there was something Draike liked less than being told what to do — it was being told what to do by a joyless workaholic that was giving it to his baby sister every night.

“Your report was supposed to be handed in this morning. Do you need any help getting it—?”

“Oh no, help isn’t necessary. I’ve already got it done.”

An adorable little frown of confusion creased Lyra’s face. “Then why the delay?”

“No one, and I mean no one gives Draike Highwind orders,” he said proudly. “Shan will get the report when he’s good and ready.”

Bless her heart, Lyra always seemed willing to believe the best in Draike, even more than most people. That belief was getting tested at the moment, as he could see the wheels starting to turn in her head. She hadn’t put the pieces together yet, but she would soon.

“I’ve got, oh,” he made a show of glancing at the chronometer, “about nine hours and fifty four minutes to go before turning it in.”

As if in triumph, he picked up another turg-root and ate it with an almost perverse pleasure. This time he didn’t try to smother the big grin that blossomed in full on his face.

The thing about Shan was that he was way too predictable. Mister Super Secret Agent Man and dedicated workaholic was never too far from a datapad, whether it was in the war room or in his own quarters. If something were to come into his inbox tagged as urgent, his type couldn’t resist taking a look. No matter what they were doing. And hey, what could Draike say if maybe the message was perfectly timed to chime in right at the most, ahem, romantic portion of Shan’s evening? And if the report itself had been a little more exciting than expected, so exciting that it completely distracted Shan from any other plans, well that was just a side benefit. He was just trying to keep everyone entertained. And of course every report had a twist ending, because Draike was really giving like that. The twist being that the giant  cliffhanger he was building up to was all a sham, and that the incident report was really just a boring waste of time all along.

By his reckoning, Draike was pretty sure that he’d successfully prevented any nighttime activities between his sister and brother-in-law for at least a week now. If Shan was sending Lyra to do his dirty work, it meant he was probably getting desperate. Perfect.

Lyra let out a long suffering sigh, still acting as if she was trying to negotiate some all-important intergalactic trade deal instead of just trying to get her best friend to do some pointless paperwork. “Look, if it’s already finished, I could send the report in for you. Theron does need to sleep some time you know.”

He just snorted and shook his head. “I love you, sweetheart, but you don’t mess with a man’s data stream. If Shan has a problem he can come and talk to me—”

Draike’s statement ended in a lurch, his whole body going rigid as he suddenly processed his own words. He slid a look over to Lyra, who blinked back at him. The hints of a smile were starting to form at the corners of her mouth, something she tried to hide by taking a prolonged and yet somehow delicate bite of her Ahrisa as if she hadn’t heard anything at all.

It didn’t really matter how much she pretended though, because he knew what he’d said. It was as if the entire, expansive cantina had somehow managed to shrink in those few seconds, the natural carved stone walls closing in around him. His chest tightened, each breath a little harder to pull in than the last, as all of the blood drained from his face.

Panic could take on many forms — it all depended on the person. Some people go rigid and weren’t able to move. Others hid theirs with anger or lashed out at others. Some didn’t hide theirs at all, going into full on hyperventilation. But Draike Highwind was none of those types of people. And so he scanned the room, desperately searching for salvation, and found it in the tall form of a Wookiee at the bar.

No actual coherent thought was in his mind as he leapt to his feet, Lyra, the datapad, and platter of food seemingly forgotten as he loudly proclaimed for every patron of the cantina to hear. “Hey, Bowdarr!”

The wookiee looked up with an inquisitive growl.

“You know I love you, right? I love all my friends!”

Bowdarr shook his massive furry head, neither confusion nor resignation registering on his face as suddenly the much shorter human had crossed the threshold, practically slinging his arm around the taller being. Without missing a beat, Draike slung his other arm around the Mon Cal that was also at the bar.

“You too, Guss!”

“Oh, Captain! This is so unexpect—”

“Hey, you! Droid!”

C2-N2 had been dutifully sweeping up a mess over in the corner of the cantina, and the protocol droid looked up in confusion, as if not expecting to be pulled into this of all conversations. “Oh, Captain Highwind, as flattered as I am by your affections, I don’t—”

“What? No. I don’t love you.”

“Well I never!”

“You’re taking good care of my sister, right?”

“But of course, Captain Highwind. I am the primary expert on comfort in all of—”

“Yeah, yeah yeah. You know how much I love her right?”

An audible and communal sound of confusion rippled through the entire cantina. Apparently, this was news to everyone on base.

“In fact,” Draike continued, broadcasting at the top of his lungs to drown out the dissenters of his brotherly affection, “you should go let her know that. Right now.”

The protocol droid practically saluted him as he scuttered off to do as he was told. Orders taken, Draike turned to give the next, and possibly most important person in his life, the good news, and proclaimed to the bartender on duty his undying love for the perfect glass of whiskey that he poured every night.

Off in the corner, Lyra sunk further and further into her chair the louder Draike got, eyes raising up to the ceiling. As if somehow, counting all of the flecks up there would somehow, magically, get him to stop.

This was the perfect plan, if Theron did say so himself. Not that he was really saying much at the moment. Just enjoying the slow, slick slide, the enveloping heat, and the low but appreciative noises filling the room. It had been far, far too long. That was, of course, a nice chunk of his good mood—just having some nice quality time with his wife. But it had the added benefit that he’d finally managed to outwit his stupid brother-in-law’s attempts to derail it. There was no way Draike and his late reports could screw this up. All it had taken was rearranging several meetings and some nonessential business to get the afternoon off.

And Theron was putting the time to good use.

His lips wandered their familiar route, starting just under the shell of his wife’s ear, slowly making their way to the hollow of her throat. Just the way she liked it, if the fingernails digging into his back was any indication. That’s right. Just like that. He let out his own sound of appreciation, and just a little more and he’d—

That thought, and the precious rhythm he’d been building up, was completely shattered as the telltale hiss of hydraulics cut through the room as the door to their quarters whooshed open. Both occupants in the bed went completely still, wide eyed and dumbfounded as a little breeze of recirculated air drifted in from the hall.

Before Theron could say anything, or even twist in what was now a very awkward position, a cheerful robotic voice called out from the doorway. “I have wonderful news, Master!”

A frown of confusion stole over Grey’s face, clearly perplexed by whatever was more important than their privacy.

Heedless to this breaching of protocol, C2-N2 continued on obliviously. “Your brother was just telling the whole of Odessen how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. He urged me to make sure I was taking the best possible care of you that I could!”

At this point, any glimmering hope of continuing their previous activities had now been shattered thoroughly. Theron let out an inarticulate growl as he disentangled himself, flipping and turning even as the bed’s coverlet, previously shoved out of the way magically flew up to cover both occupants propriety. Just about at the same time, Theron had grabbed the nearest pillow, and had chucked it as hard as he could towards the doorway.

It was a marvelous throw. One for the ages. Truly, Theron had missed his calling in Huttball. Unfortunately, pillows weren’t nearly as aerodynamic, and it flopped to the floor several feet away from its intended mark.

“Oh my!” Seetoo exclaimed.

“Close the door!” Theron’s snarl echoed across the expanse of the room.

“Oh, quite right!” Seetoo hit the button for the door to close, and it swished shut behind him. That task completed, he turned back to the bed as if awaiting further instructions.

“I meant for you to shut it with you on the other side!”

“Well, you must be more specific in your wishes if you—”

“Get out!”

“How rude.”

Theron flopped back on his pillow, or he would have, if he hadn’t flung it across the room. Instead his head hit the mattress with a slight spring and bounce back. The motion made him nostalgic for thirty seconds ago, when that bounce back had been for different reasons. He glared at the room in general, as if it had betrayed him. After thoroughly expressing his displeasure with his environment, he turned to look at his wife.

“First it was the manipulative Force parasite in your head interrupting us. Now it’s your brother.”

By proxy no less.

“Did you just compare my brother to Valkorion?” Grey asked. He couldn’t tell if she was offended or in agreement with him. At the moment he didn’t particularly care.

“If the evil shoe fits!”

At some point, Draike’s near maniacal effusion of love for every person and object on Odessen had finally run its course. Probably around the time that Bowdaar had practically shoved a bottle of whiskey into his mouth. It had been an effective measure of finally getting the endless stream of affection to stop.

It had been a little while since that point. So much so that Draike had migrated from his laze-a-bout in the cantina over to the Logistics Hangar. He wouldn’t have said that he was consciously avoiding Lyra or anything, but at some point he’d looked back to where he’d abandoned her at the table and realized that he may have made things a little awkward. There was an itchy feeling on the back of his neck as a tiny in voice in his head told him that he needed to apologize to her. That voice sounded a little too much like his mother for his own comfort, so he studiously avoided it.

Besides, a far more logical part of his brain said that he had nothing to be sorry for. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

He looked up from his contemplative perch to see his brother-in-law angrily storming in his direction. Draike took in Theron’s untucked shirt over rumpled pants, the lack of belt and mismatched slippers in place of the normal calf-high boots, bloodshot eyes, twitching brow, and a possibly new undiscovered vein bulging in his forehead. As an expert in the field, Draike recognized the all-too-familiar signs of someone who had dressed very hastily. That same wide, nexu-like grin spread across his face at the sight.

Okay. Maybe he had done one thing that was technically wrong. But why did it feel so right?

The open display of amusement did nothing to quell the spy’s rage, as he finished closing the distance and furiously poked a finger into Draike’s chest. He growled something distinctly unflattering in High Gammorese, and while Draike tried to hold his mirth in—he didn’t really try that hard, because he almost doubled over laughing.

This only egged Theron on, and the next string of curses mixed in several other languages. Who knew the man was a polyglot?

“I will have you know that my mother was a saint,” Draike managed to get in between wheezes, “and you better not let your wife hear you talking about her like that.”

That seemed to break through Theron’s sexually frustrated rage long enough to stem the seemingly endless, nearly incoherent tirade. But the anger was clearly still simmering. If looks could kill, Draike was pretty sure he would have been a puddle of incinerated goo on the floor of the Logistics Hangar. Of course, he’d been on the receiving end of far worse looks. Shan would need to bring his A game if he wanted to attempt to intimidate Draike Highwind.

Theron started again, in Basic this time. “You son of a—”

“Ah ah, a saint,” Draike reminded him, possibly a little too mockingly.

Theron’s mouth shut with an audible click, and breathed out a long whistling breath through his nose.

“You know, Shan, you really should put a little more care into your wardrobe. Tumble bunny slippers? Really?”

The spy wrinkled his nose, the newly discovered vein seeming to bulge again with a freshly ignited rage. “You sent that droid into our quarters on purpose!”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Draike widened his eyes, the complete picture of innocence. How was he supposed to know that Theron was trying to route around his carefully crafted plans and engage in a little afternoon delight? Truly, it had just been a cosmic coincidence that had turned out in the smuggler’s favor.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Highwind! I know what you’re up to!”

“And what is that?” Draike blinked languidly.

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of saying it out loud!”

“Oh, no,” he tsked sadly, “is there some trouble in the bedroom with you and the misses?”

“Knock it off!” Theron snarled. “What the hell is your problem?”

That sort of language utterly wounded Draike, and he displayed that the only way he knew how, by dramatically clutching his chest and crying out in the most melodramatic fashion. “I’m just upset that I wasn’t invited to the wedding!”

“What?” Theron asked flatly.

“It was always my dream to walk my baby sister down the aisle — and your elopement ruined that!”

“…no it wasn’t, you goddamn liar!”

“I’m wounded, utterly wounded!”

Theron pivoted on his heel, letting out an inarticulate frustrated cry.

“You know what would cure that bad temper?” Draike couldn’t help himself. “A little good quality time with the little mis—“

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by another particularly vile High Gammorese curse as Theron stormed off. A final “Turn in your goddamn reports!” echoed across the hangar, and Draike couldn’t hold it any longer and broke down in laughter.

There was really only one problem with Draike’s plan to completely avoid any potential awkwardness with his best friend — and that was when you completely avoided someone, it had a tendency to compound the issue of not seeing them. In fact, Draike had been so successful in his efforts, by the time it occurred to him that maybe he’d overreacted a little, and the encounter itself had probably long faded from her mind, Lyra was nowhere to be found.

Which was just rude. People shouldn’t be able to use his own tactics against him. There had to be some sort of rule or code against that.

Naturally, all inquiries made in regards to her whereabouts were completely and utterly casual. As he had carefully cultivated an upstanding reputation of detached aloofness that had served him well. If he appeared too eager for anything, someone might get the bright idea in their head to saddle him with more responsibility — maybe mistake him for the other Highwind on base that seemed to thrive under that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t like Lyra was the most entertaining Jedi or Force user on base to hang around with, she wasn’t even the most entertaining person—because apologies to everyone, Guss would forever and always hold both of those titles. No contest. No contenders. It was just the cold, hard facts of the situation.

But if Draike was being honest… her company was missed some. Bowdarr didn’t laugh at his stupid jokes that he told in an attempt to cheat—er, strategically get the upper hand—at Sabacc. The wookiee just let out a non-amused growl and called him on it. And Guss just kept trying to palm the cards himself. It just wasn’t the same. He would hang out with Gault, but both Hylo and Theron had strictly forbidden it, as if they were convinced the entire base would erupt in flames if the two of them engaged in a battle of wits.

(And there was no way in hell he was ever going to sit at a table with that Rattataki, no matter how many lewd invitations she offered.)

So, Draike had been forced to turn to the very last place that he would ever dare to find answers: the duty roster.

“Who the hell is Houch Plehnt and why is he flying my ship?”

“Last I checked, the Khoonda was registered to Master Dorn, not you.”

Draike looked up to see one smirking and insufferable spy staring at him over the brim of a large mug of caf.

“Shan.” Any joviality in the greeting on Draike’s part was forced. “Nice to see you up and at ‘em. Still suffering from that acute case of prolonged sexual frustration?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” a wide, unrepentant grin spread across the other man’s face, “I’ve found that if I wake up early enough, there’s definitely enough time to fit in a quick bit of quality time with the little lady. Sometimes twice.”

“Gross! That’s my sister you’re talking about!”

“A wise man would know better than to ask a question he didn’t want the answer to.”

“Don’t think I won’t camp outside your door and bang pots at random intervals!”

“I think our guard droids might take issue with that.”

“HK-55 loves me and you know it!”

“Where are you going to find the pots?” Theron challenged, taking a long sip off his mug.

“I have friends in the kitchen!” Draike crossed his arms. “They’ll hook me up.”

“Don’t you think you’re going to excessive lengths to ‘protect your sister’s virtue’?”

“She’s a Jedi, I think she’s entirely capable of protecting her own virtue,” Draike sniffed indignantly. “Besides, this has nothing to with her, and everything to do with you.”

“And what did I do now?”

“You let some moon jockey take my ship out!”

“Again, not your ship.”

“Well, it’s the closest thing I’ve got to one until we track down where mine is,” Draike huffed.

“Guess it’s a shame you were off pouting somewhere when Dorn got her mission then,” Theron said a little too casually, taking another long, slow sip from his mug. “She had to go find another pilot since you were incommunicado.”

Draike tried not to look as put out as a he felt. Lyra knew that he was bored out of his skull and she had just left him here? And had gone off with some moon jockey? Who probably couldn’t even take off without scraping the paint? Houch Plehnt — what kind of name what that anyway? Man probably didn’t even know how to handle his blasters! (Pun partially intended.)

“You don’t just hijack someone’s crew, Shan!”

“Oh?” There raised those eyebrows again, another sip and a smirk. “Your crew, eh? I didn’t realize things were so… official.”

“They’re not,” he snapped back, perhaps a little too quickly. “We just have an understanding—she knows how bored I am! And she just leaves me here?”

“What she left you was this message.” Theron paused in his sipping and smirking long enough to produce a datapad. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“It’s not.”

Theron shrugged, picked his mug back up and began to amble off. Presumably to his next meeting, or a rigorous and boring round of coding, or something equally dull and chaste per the elaborate fantasy that Draike was concocting in his head. 

“You still haven’t sent in your report for the Kathol Rift incident yet.” The spy didn’t turn around or even flinch at the silent, rude gesture sent his way. “Maybe you’ll have some time to finish it now, since you’re so bored and have nothing better to do.”

“You know, Theron, I never pegged you as some flimsi pusher,” Draike called after him, which seemed to break through the smug haze, because he saw the spy’s shoulders stiffen, as if that insult had hit particularly close to home. “I guess we all become the thing we hate, eh?”

“You’re the one with the problem here, Captain, not me,” came the sharp reply, before the spy stalked off.

Draike glared at his retreating back, and when that had finally disappeared off into the bustle of the Odessen crowds, he turned his ire back to the traitorous duty roster that had started this whole thing to begin with. He ignored the datapad in his hand for longer than was probably necessary, before finally flicking the thing on.

Hey you. Got a little job to do in Taris. Couldn’t find you to see if you wanted to tag along. Houch Plehnt volunteered — should be back in a day or two. Wish me luck, he’s… not as quick with his blasters as you are. If you know what I mean. See you later, friend.

He glared at the datapad and the text on it, trying to smother the rising and conflicting emotions welling up in his chest. The walls weren’t closing in like the other day, but that nagging voice was starting to whisper in the back of his mind. In particular he kept staring at the word “friend” over and over, as if trying to parse out if it was some sort of hidden message.

It was stupid, that’s what it was. If she wanted to get herself killed by letting some random person with lesser skill at the helm of her ship, then fine. So be it. See if he helped her steal it back again if the jerk decided to fly off without her. Of course, that might strand her on Taris, which was not exactly friendly territory to have to try and navigate a flight out of.

Whatever. It wasn’t any of his business. He had better things to do. Like go teach Guss how to cheat better at cards.

In between about the thousandth time of trying to demonstrate the proper way to palm a card, and Guss accidentally spraying the entire Sabacc deck across the table, Draike had to admit defeat on his latest venture. The game of 76 Card Pickup was only entertaining about the first three times in a row, and then it just became dull. Like everything else around this place.

While he was amazing at most everything he did, Draike would have to admit that maybe he could have been a more effective tutor if he didn’t keep getting distracted by trying to calculate the average duration of a roundtrip between Wild Space and the Ojoster sector. Granted, a talented pilot could shave off a little time from that route, but he was pretty sure Houch Plehnt was anything but. Did the man even know the front end of his blaster from the back?

Not that Draike was concerned.

Because he wasn’t. He just had to find some way to fill his time, and unfortunately he’d been reduced down to basic algebra problems that most school children learned in their third year. And he wasn’t put out. How could he be? It wasn’t like he and Lyra had any formal arrangement (no matter how much Shan tried to slyly imply) to not go on missions without each other… they just… hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t an expectation exactly, it was just the way things had been for a while. Help each other on assignments, hang out in the down time. Keep the ever encroaching boredom at bay for a little longer.

He also would not define himself as moping about the Logistics Hangar, with Guss trying to pick up an entire Sabacc deck off the floor where he’d accidentally flung it for the umpteenth time, when the Khoonda made its landing again. The ship’s owner emerged down the boarding ramp, covered in something utterly foul. Draike had almost no warning before a particularly sticky and odious arm was flung around his shoulders, an unidentified muck slurping itself onto his jacket.

“Hi,” Draike said, one hand discreetly covering his nose. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” Lyra enthused as she laid her head on his shoulder, further smearing the gunk of whatever covered her onto his skin.

He valiantly did not cringe at the slimy sensation. “You know that you stink, right?”

“It’s your fault,” she insisted.

“I don’t recall smearing you with the most disgusting substance known to man. That you’ve now smeared all over my best jacket.”

“Good,” she said firmly, “ and it is your fault. You disappeared on me, forcing me to take Houch as a pilot.”

“What kind of name is that anyway?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Lyra wrinkled her nose. “He was so afraid of getting bit by a Rakghoul he refused to step off the ship. So I had to get samples for Lokin myself.”

“Wait, so this stuff is—”

“Yes,” Lyra said lightly, “Rakghoul guts.”

“This was my best jacket!”

“Was being the operative word. Now it’s just a jacket covered in guts. We match!”

Draike sniffed indignantly, which was a mistake because all it gained him was a giant whiff of the odious stench emanating from the Jedi. “Why did you not shower?”

“Because Houch was so afraid of being infected he quarantined me in the cargo hold. Wouldn’t even let me near the refresher.”

“It’s your ship!”

“Trust me,” she muttered dangerously, “I know.”

“He still in the cockpit? I can go give him a hug on your behalf.”

“You’d do that?”

“Bastard stole my ship and by proxy ruined my favorite jacket. He’s got it coming.”

“You do realize it’s technically my ship, don’t you?”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?”

“Well, you have fun talking to Houch,” Lyra said breaking away, “I am going to go take a shower and then burn all of these clothes.”

“Looks like I’ll be doing the same,” Draike muttered petulantly.

“And be nice to Houch.”

“No promises!”

The conversation itself was normal. Friendly side-hugs and spirited banter but… as Lyra walked away, Draike couldn’t help but feel something about the encounter was different. The barbs just a little more pointed, and Lyra avoiding catching his eye. She had usually been quick to follow up the banter with some sort of reassurance, but this time she just walked away. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been an ass, and she had always let him off the hook before. He wasn’t sure why this time was different, but it was.  

He watched her go, that same matronly voice in his ear starting up in its familiar scolding refrain.

The expletive slipped out on its own accord. His jacket was thoroughly ruined. It was a nice jacket. He’d just finished breaking it in. The sleeves were no longer stiff, and it had breathed so much nicer than the cheap synthleather ones that they kept in stock here on the base. Also, Houch Plehnt really needed a sticky Rakghoul gut hug. But mostly the man just needed to be kicked off and banned from ever re-entering the Khoonda.

Is that all you should really be thinking about right now? — the infuriating voice in the back of his mind asked.

He tried to come up with some excuse, some flim-flam to distract it, but arguing with one’s self was the first sign of insanity. He couldn’t give into it now, not after managing to keep his wits about him being stranded for five years on a backwater planet while the galaxy passed him by. That would just be insult to injury.

Fine. Fine. He’d listen to the stupid voice just this once.

It was much, much later when he found her out in the nerf pens. After a shower, burning his jacket, and covering one asshole Rodian pilot in rakghoul guts — not necessarily all in that order — he walked into one of the dirtiest places on base. It seemed almost pointless for Lyra to scrub herself clean and then go commune with the giant stinky beasts, but this was where she liked to hide out when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t upset. Like that time they had to steal back the Khoonda from the Corellian shipyards. Or the anniversary of dates that she’d never really explained the significance of.

Just like those other times, she was petting the nose of one of the giant, gentle creatures. Leaning in and saying something low. He spied a small smile playing at her lips, even if there was the air of something else about her. Like even with her big animal friends she felt she had to pretend that everything was fine.

Draike cleared his throat, and both Jedi and big nerf head looked up at him. He held up a bag from the mess hall as an offering, and her eyes lit up at the familiar sight. She gave the big beast another affectionate pat on the nose, whispering something before wiping her hands and ambling over. Just like all of the other times, they took a seat on one of the fallen logs that served as a makeshift bench.

They didn’t exchange a word, but he pulled out the to-go containers and utensils. She took his offering, removing the lid and inhaling the spicy scent wafting out. The smile that played at her lips was different from the ones she graced the nerf with, and she arched a brow at him. The noodle dish wasn’t her favorite Dantooinian variant, but it was the closest he could wrangle up. Thankfully, the grumpy cook wasn’t in the kitchen today, so he’d been able to negotiate a special order.

“Smells spicy.”

“I’m surprised you can smell anything over that nerf,” he said.

She shook her head, lips pressing together lightly, but the expression was a familiar mix of exasperated amusement. Not the slightly edged smile she’d greeted him with in the hangar, so that was probably a good sign.

“I don’t recall this being on the menu today,” she remarked lightly.

“I called in a favor.”

“How big of a favor?”

“There’s an extra container of hot sauce in here. You’re liable to lose a few taste buds.”

“Ah, that was quite the favor,” she mused. “The kitchen never wants to make it spicy enough.”

“You just have to know how to ask nicely,” Draike shot back, “and also slip them a few credits when no one’s looking.”

She slurped up a noodle with more gusto and noise than was necessarily proper, but the genuine smile blossoming on her face counterbalanced the breech in manners. For a few minutes, they were content to munch on their food as they watched the giant stinky beasts graze. It was almost tempting to just let the companionable silence stretch on, but he was supposed to be listening to the stupid little voice in his head, so…

He took a little time preparing the noodles for his next bite, seemingly focused on getting the absolute perfect twirl as he spoke. “I turned in the damn report.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pause in the middle of her chew, shaking her head almost in disappointment. As if that wasn’t the actual issue. He continued to twirl his fork slowly, gathering more and more noodles and sauce. She was the one that left him behind, and yet he had swallowed his pride and given that stupid smug spy the satisfaction of having his precious paperwork turned in on time.

You know that’s not the real issue here, that damnable maternal voice in his head whispered again.

He ignored the voice. It only got one good deed out of him per month. That was the deal.

“You left me here,” he said continuing to twirl the noodles into what was starting to resemble a monstrous bite.

“You disappeared,” Lyra shot back. “What was I supposed to do? Refuse a mission because you were pouting?”

“I was not pouting,” Draike said huffily.

“Then what were you doing?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, so instead of replying he stuffed his now epically sized pasta twirl into his mouth. It was a mistake, as there was hardly any room to chew, and the spicy oil of the sauce set his cheeks on fire. Gamely he looked at her and shook his head, pointing at his full mouth as if in explanation that he couldn’t answer her question with his mouth full. The effect was ruined by the fact that he could feel a bead of sweat start to trickle down his face, his traitorous body betraying the fact that he was not as immune to the level of spice that she enjoyed in her dishes.

Lyra quirked a brow at him, unimpressed by his obvious skirting of the issue, while an oddly satisfied smile threatened to quirk at the corners of her mouth. It made him feel as if he had stepped into some sort of well-planned Dejarik maneuver she had been planning from the beginning of the game. Although Lyra Dorn really wasn’t the evil mastermind type.

“It really stung, you know,” she said after a moment of literally letting him sweat, “that you’d avoid me instead of talking to me about whatever was wrong.”

He could have had a perfect follow-up quip for that to distract and derail the conversation, but his mouth was still both on fire and impossibly stuffed with noodles which prevented him from forming any coherent sound. So he just let out a muffled series of noises in protest.

“Chew your food,” Lyra said, that eyebrow quirking again.

He snorted out an annoyed breath and tried to find a way to safely chew his monstrous, ill-conceived bite. He felt not unlike one of the big, stinky piles of fur chewing their cud. In retrospect, perhaps this maneuver of stuffing his face to avoid questions had backfired, as he was now at the mercy of anything else the Jedi had to say.

“I’d never strong arm you into saying or doing anything you didn’t feel,” she continued. “The fact that you don’t trust that…”

He shook his head at her, still unable to form coherent words.

“No, you don’t trust me?”

He shook his head again.

“No, that’s not what you meant?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Can we just both agree to not do that again? Neither of us goes incommunicado when something’s wrong and… you never leave me at the mercy of a Houch Plehnt again. Fair?”

Draike couldn’t sigh, could only snort out a very long and aggrieved breath through his nose and shrug in an exaggerated manner — but he nodded. That seemed… fair.

“Good.” Lyra shot him a small, almost mischievous smile. “You know you’re being uncharacteristically silent.”

He tried to say something, but his mouth of noodles prevented more than an impolite, disgruntled sound.

“Chew,” she reminded him again, that little smirk still blossoming further. “So, did you get up to anything fun while I was gone?”

He let out another incoherent noise of frustration, unable to form proper words around the fire on his tongue and the noodles trying to slip out of his mouth.

“It’s impolite to talk with your mouth full, Captain.” Lyra clicked her tongue, and took a delicate, small bite. “You know, these are really good.”

He wrinkled his nose at her and tried to communicate his plight with his eyes.

She just flashed him another wide smirk, leaning over so she could bump his shoulder with hers. “You want some of my extra sauce to help wash those noodles down?”

Her only reply was a disgruntled grunt.

[despair-tummy]

I know you aren't taking numberd prompt requests, but are you still taking requests, period? Because there's not enough Aoi eating way too many donuts in the world.

Damn anon, you’re right. We need more of this.

[[MORE]]

Days passed since their imprisonment in Hope’s Peak Academy, with still no way out and still no word about anything going on outside the walls of this school. But Aoi tried to stay positive by reminding herself of the few good things.

No one committed a murder, that was one good thing. Oh! And she made an amazing new best friend named Sakura Oogami! And of course, there was the unlimited supply of food that they had in the kitchen and in the storage room. And you know what that meant? Unlimited free donuts!

The very thought of the tasty pastry could make Aoi smile, her mouth would water instantly whenever she got a whiff of sweet donuts. And with easy access to her all-time favourite food, she could go all out with her donut addiction as much as she wanted to! And today was no different.

With Sakura determine to find a suitable partner to spar with, it gave Aoi a bit of time to indulge in her love of donuts.

Aoi raced to her room the moment she got her hands on a box, arriving in record time. She let the door slam shut behind her as she plopped herself on her bed.

“Alright, donut time!” she excitedly cried out to herself.

Years of donut eating had given Aoi the skill of mastering of peeling the annoying small strips of clear tape that kept the pastries locked in their cardboard box prison. So the box was opened with ease and Aoi was face to face with a dozen glorious donuts. Like snowflakes, no two in this box were alike. All twelve were a different kind to offer the full variety of the donut spectrum.

Aoi licked her lips, if these weren’t so tasty she could have stared at these all day like they were the northern lights or an eclipse. But they were beyond delicious so she had no excuse not to eat them!

“Alright, come to mama!” Aoi grinned, eying the selection a final time before she finally made her first choice.

Chocolate dipped was a classic, it was basically the mascot of donuts! With it’s doughy and chewy base and that smooth chocolate frosting goodness it was dipped in. Aoi’s pearly white teeth cleaved through the donut with ease, as she chewed her mind was filled with memories of being a young child and always going for a chocolate dipped donut whenever her parents took her to the bakery. Ah, these brought back some sweet memories, literally.

She wiped her chocolate frosting smeared lips on the sleeve of her sweater (she was planning to wash it tonight anyway) before reaching into the box for a second one. This time Aoi chose a vanilla frosted one with countless rainbow sprinkles.

These ones always reminded Aoi of birthday parties, she and all her friends always had a vanilla poundcake decorated with as many colourful sprinkles as one could put onto a cake. And boy, did this donut taste just like that. All that was missing was a few balloons and streamers and it would be officially be a birthday party... Well, it would also have to actually be someone’s birthday too. So, for now, Aoi would just have to settle on a delicious vanilla frosted donut, which she was glad to do so.

“Delicious!” Aoi said aloud to herself as soon as she swallowed that last bite.

She wasted no time reaching into the box and selected a coconut donut.

Coconut... Aoi could never understand the big deal surrounding the fruit. Some people were disgusted by it so passionately it was ridiculous. Aoi didn’t really care much for coconut on its own, but when it was toasted and used to coat a yummy donut in? She was on cloud nine with each and every bite she took.

Three donuts would seem like a lot to the average joe, but to Aoi, it was just the beginning. Her desire to eat donuts didn’t stop at merely three, oh no. Her insatiable lust for them made her reach into the box a fourth time and fetch a sticky apple fritter.

Upon taking the first bite, Aoi was instantly reminded of her mother’s homemade apple pie. While she was and would always be a donut girl at heart, Aoi couldn’t deny her mother’s apple pie was out of this world! The perfect balance of cinnamon and apples was heaven on her tastebuds, as was this apple fritter.

She licked a layer of glaze and cinnamon off her lips and popped the last bit of the fritter in her mouth before getting another donut.

Ah, the plain donut. Such an underdog in Aoi’s humble opinion, hardly anyone went out of their way to get one, she herself was guilty of this. However, the plain donut was perfect for dipping into teas, coffees and hot chocolate! It’s had no frosting to melt off and it held up very good even when soggy from soaking up liquids. But she had no drink to dunk this underrated donut in, but she intended to still fully enjoy this one!

Dozens of crumbs fell from her mouth and either onto herself or on the sheets of her bed. Hardly a concern being as she could always just give the sheets a good shake to tidy them up.

Now with the plain one out of the way, what to eat next?

Her sticky and crumb coated fingers snatched up a honey crueller. Oh how Aoi loved these, they were her absolute favourite. But then again her favourite donut changes almost daily.

But even with her indecisive nature when it came to favourites, it didn’t keep her from enjoying the light and sweet taste of the crueller.

With half a dozen donuts eaten, it was hardly surprising the swimmer’s midsection was rounder by the sheer amount she managed to eat. Sure she was full, but the allure of the pastries was filling her mind with such a powerful temptation that even the most strong-willed people couldn’t turn down.

Next up was the bear claw, rather an ironic choice considering their captor was literally a bear. But even Monokuma and his sick and twisted love of despair couldn't ruin her love for the mighty bear claw! It would be an almost fun way to spite the evil mechanical bear if he cared about such things. Who knows, maybe if she ate enough bear claws it would annoy Monokuma? Aoi certainly wasn’t going to pass up an excuse to eat more donuts.

She chuckled to herself at the thought, it was a silly idea but an entertaining one. But what was more entertaining was getting another donut from the box. This time she decided on yet another classic, the jelly donut. Aoi always did love a well-filled donut, the filling always added an extra touch of yumminess. And with a jelly filling? It was perfect. Especially since it was often a surprise what flavour of the jam was used... well that was only if you never bothered to read the label. But hey, donuts were more important than reading! And she liked all the jellies! Strawberry, blueberry, lemon, and she loved them all! There was no such thing as a bad jelly donut!

Much to her delight that last statement was proven true when the sweet and tart taste of lemon jelly spread on her tastebuds amidst the powdered sugar and doughy pastry.

Licking white powder off her lips and fingertips, Aoi selected a maple bar as her next donut to devour. Even as her bloated stomach gurgled in protest, begging the donut addict to please stop with the overload of sugar and carbs. But Aoi persisted, taking a massive bite of the bar.

Instantly the strong and sweet taste of maple spread throughout her mouth. It reminded her of the maple syrup she would drown her pancakes whenever she adds them. Being the sugar junkie she was, there was no such thing as too sweet!

Only three donuts left, and you didn’t have a be a rocket scientist to know Aoi intended to eat them all. She picked up a cinnamon twist, taking a short moment to admire the pretty little braid. It was rather adorable not to mention amazing what bakers could do. Maybe once she got out of here she could try and learn how to make such cute pastries. Or maybe she could try and teach herself while trapped here? It wasn’t like anyone else was using the flour stocked in the kitchen. Long as she cleaned up after herself no one could complain.

But enough thinking, it was time for eating! And sure enough, the cinnamon twist disappeared from her hand and travelled down her gullet to her gut.

Aoi was down to two donuts, Boston cream and chocolate glaze. Both of which were equally good in their own ways. Seeing as she was going to eat them both, Aoi just grabbed one at random without thinking it over. And the second to last donut she was going to eat? It would be a tasty chocolate glazed.

She loved these ones, they tasted like that chocolate cake Yuta always got for his birthday, minus the thick layer of chocolate frosting. No wonder her brother loved them. They were so moist and chocolatey, perfect for chocolate lovers worldwide!

Last but not least, the Boston cream. Aoi actually had a bittersweet relationship with this particular donut. One time for a prank her younger brother decided to remove the creamy refilling and replace it with mayonnaise. Needless to say, the prank put her off of Boston creams for a year! Something unheard of coming from Aoi Asahina, a lover of all donuts! But she was working through her issues, and what better way to do that than to eat one?

Once the creamy middle hit her tastebuds, Aoi felt relief wash over her as she was met with a sweet filling instead of mayonnaise. Yes, this was much better. Maybe getting over her trust issues with Boston creams would be easier than she thought?

And so, all twelve donuts were eaten. The only things that remained were a few crumbs and sticky smears of glaze and frosting.

Aoi hiccuped and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“Oof... that was good,” she said, lazily draping a hand over her taut belly. “Can’t wait to do it again.” her lips curled into a smile. “Maybe I’ll get two dozen next time.” Aoi chuckled to herself.

[raleigh-ocean]

danna x ally’s random box (1) | headcanons

1. How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?

Danna has the habit of falling asleep in her back, long as she is, and one of her arms under her head. She doesn’t notice about it, which makes it funnier, and Ally pointed out several times that she has that ‘bad girl’ aura engraved so deep in her that even her whole posture give it away. Ally likes to take advantage of this, and that Danna has heavy sleep, to move her other arm so she can fit against her side with her back.

They always wake up in a bundle of sheets, Ally wrapped in Danna’s arms because she always tends to close as the night goes by, and when their alarm goes off is when the daily ritual begins: Ally sneaks her arm out of the warm prison that is Danna, Danna tugs her closer to her body, Ally manages to turn around and kisses her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her neck and then Danna laughs, finally with her eyes open and ‘give me one true kiss before I make us go late’ because they are pretty capable of it. So they share a kiss and then, off they go for the day.

Not everyday is like that, some other days they fall back asleep and Ozzy comes already dressed like ‘we are going to be late’ and then Danna rolls out to bed like a ninja and Ally enters the panic mode and they manage to prepare in less than half the time they always have.

2. How’s their team work? Do they share well?

On point, they move in perfect tempo when they are together, which is impressive for many of their close friends (and for Audrey, Shelby and Billie because damn, how do you two manage? Billie seriously is in shambles, she’s been ten years with Dara and they can’t make breakfast together to save their lives or be in time to anything while helping each other.).

Maybe because Danna is used to the chaos in the kitchen, it’s easier for her to adjust to changes and Ally is pretty clear not only with orders but while doing things, so it’s something that comes naturally for them. They don’t have much trouble sharing either, mostly because Danna is just too relaxed with material things and Ally knows where some lines are, so well, no problems with that.

3. Are they open about their relationship? How do they feel about public displays of affection?

In the beginning both were careful of their relationship, but after they managed to see that they didn’t have to fear anything, who was going to stop them from enjoying their life? It’s true that Danna is more open than Ally at times, but she knows that Ally prefers to keep the affections at minimum when they aren’t in ‘comfortable’ place. If not, well again, who’s gonna stop them from kissing or holding hands or each other or just joke around? C’mon they are the happiest when they are together! They decided that they wanted to enjoy their life, so there they go.

4. Nicknames? Pet names? Any in-jokes?

Danna comes up with whatever nickname she finds funny and just say it, she doesn’t even keep tabs with this, so for Ally it’s a constant ‘what will I be today’ that makes her laugh most of the time or shake her head in disbelief. Ally has darling and sunshine reserved for Danna and only her, and sometimes she throws some more sweetheart or honey here and there.

An in-joke they have is actually calling each other names of movie characters, mostly from those they identifies the best and also those in which they had to stop watching because The Mood arrived in the middle of it. A sweet secret that brings good memories made only by them.

5. What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

What annoys Ally about Danna is communication. Sometimes she finds herself in situations easily avoidables if Danna was able to be more direct or talk more clear about what is she going to do or what has she done. It's mostly because Danna has lived all her life mostly by her own, fending for herself and doing what's right under her own point of view; and Ally gets it, it's okay, but sometimes she wish she was more open...however, most of the times communication between them failed were silly things that ends in hilarious or embarrassing situations and Danna is trying to change that, it really shows, so Ally doesn't really mind much because she knows there are gonna be changes eventually.

Danna wished that Ally didn't worry that much sometimes. It pains her to see Ally riled up with anxiety over things that aren't that deep and maybe is because Danna isn't an actual worrier, she's too relaxed even, but damn that sometimes gets in her almost non existent nerves. But Danna doesn’t want Ally to change, because it reminds her that she should be more of a worrier at times and she also knows that when the anxiety monster come in, she could do something to make it go away enough to let Ally think with clarity.

6. What do the like best about their partner?

What Ally likes best about Danna is how cheerful she is? It’s like Danna irradiates this...energy at any second of the day that keeps on charging Ally. She’s not a type of annoying cheerful person, but she is easy to be around and has always something crazy or weird in the tip of her tongue to say and it makes forget for a few seconds how ectic can her schedule be. But Ally isn’t mistaken by the cheerfulness, she knows deep inside Danna hides a sad person and she tries to keep checking on her, because sometimes the sun has its own eclipses.

For Danna...well, it’s hard to pick up the thing she likes best about Ally, because she really likes too many things about her. But if there’s maybe one thing above the others is how Ally’s presence makes her feel on Earth. Danna has a thing of thinking too many things at the same time and sometimes she feels disconnected of everything going around her, but when Ally comes into view...she’s is here and not Saturn or Pluto. That’s one of the things that attracted Danna from Ally, she made her want to stay and not fly away with her thoughts were none could reach.

11. What does their home look like?

Taking in count Danna moved to Ally’s house...very Ally like. Danna always lived from studio to studio, so she doesn’t have many things to actually introduce to their home...but it’s fun to recognize those things here and there, a big contrast with the homie and simple way of Ally’s tastes. Ally always tries to let Danna know that, if she wants something, she only needs to ask for it and she will buy it and Danna just shakes her head telling her that she likes everything very much and doesn’t need of her.

Until Danna saw that hammock and her eyes lighted up with a million of stars and ‘oh God Ally what do I do? do I buy it? do i not?’ and Ally is already with her card in hand because it was about fucking time.

13. How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

Unlike some tall people, Danna likes to hug Ally wrapping her from under her arms because she loves how Ally leans on her, arms circling her neck, and then she just straighten her back and...up we go. She truly loves having Ally wrapping her in her arms, to be honest, it allows her to just hide her face in Ally’s neck and get more kisses.

Kisses? They are big fans of the big ones when none seems to look at them. But Danna has a weak spot for quick kisses that leave Ally blinking a bit in shock and then it comes the ‘D’ wink’ trademarked that, after a while and being in touch with Dara, Danna, Danielle and Dahlia; she knows means more than the innocent ‘hey’.

Ally is actually the one that flirts the most out of the two, surprisingly, and it always catch Danna off guard and makes her laugh. But it makes Danna get clever and go back at her with the right words and that way her hands always find her right spot...mhm chef kiss, literally.

And I can say for a fact that Danna’s way to let the rest know they are ‘safe’ and have somewhere to lean on, it’s by giving them big warm bear hugs and tiny pep talks that probably she gave to herself in moments of need. Ally is a sucker for these and when she’s wrapped in Danna’s arms and hearing her voice...everything seems better. Ally’s way to provide of comfort goes close to try and be gentle, rubbing the back of Danna’s head or brushing her hair or even let Danna put her head on her chest to hear her heartbeat. It works every damn time.

16. How do they handle disasters or emergencies? Minor injuries? Sickness?

Danna? Really bad in two extremes. If it's in herself, she literally brush it behind the rug and keeps going with her life, it's the type of tough it up until it pass and this makes Ally freak out because once she came work with a heavy fever and she kept telling Ally she was fine while her trembling hand was trying to cut an onion with a spoon. But when it’s someone else? She just panics because she doesn’t know what to fucking do, and starts to overthink, and she already has Danielle on speed dial because ‘Nani help please’ most of the time, mostly with things a band aid doesn’t heal.

Ally it’s pretty chill and is in control of the situation, which makes a good contrast with how Danna handles everything. She always has the right words, the remedy or even the contingency plan for whatever disaster arise and Danna feels like she’s an angel sent from Heaven just for her. Ally is really patient, to be honest, and little by little is trying to teach Danna how to handle things in case she isn’t around (with Danielle’s help).

17. Do they know when the other is hiding something?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

For Ally at least, she knows Danna is up to something even before seeing her face. There’s this strange aura around Danna that gives everything away and Danna can’t make up an excuse to save her life. Also she has this big guilty across her face and it reminds Ally of a kid who just finished the whole cookie jar, crumbs all over her face and clothes, and it doesn’t help that she’s trying really hard to not make eye contact with Ally and her voice is really tiny.

However to this day, Danna still has zero idea of any surprise Ally is about to give her. She literally can’t lie nor discover the lie to save her life.

20. Do they have any pets?

Oz and Danna are working in this really hard and Ally is not having it, not even a little bit. But they are working to get a dog, a tiny one! not a big one, one that can hop here and there when it’s needed and ‘easy’ to handle for the three of them. They are almost there, Danna believes that her long time plan is going to work eventually and Ozzy trust in her very much at this point because Danna always manage to convince Ally somehow.

Spoiler: Ally finally gives in and then they get a chihuahua and they call him Roberto and Ally suffers what I call the ‘get it out of my house, wait now the dog is my child’ syndrome and it’s hilarious because Bob is the most loved little shit on Earth and Ally didn’t want it to happen? Can you believe it?

25. Do they let each other get away with things that would normally bother them?

All the time, it’s terrible, Ally has a soft spot for Danna and Danna has a soft spot for Ally and fuck damn, ‘Danna Bishop don’t look at me like that! No, no, n-AH OKAY, OKAY!’ and then when it’s Ally’s time to get away she just leans in Danna’s back slowly draping herself all over her and kissing her cheek and ‘okay, I can’t with you, you are too powerful, who gave you the right’ and then everything is fine again.

They know their limits but for harmless stuff they just are like, who cares? let that whatever sparks its joy.

26. Do they talk often? What about?

Totally, Danna has the gift of being able to speak all day long and she always has something to say or to tell or she thought about something a second ago, and Ally is willing to listen to her as long as she lets her, because Ally is more of a quiet person and likes to listen and for a change she finds herself enjoying that kind of talks. It lets her know more about whatever cross Danna’s mind and at the same time to keep herself from thinking too much.

Ally surprise herself more often than not, however, being the one starting the conversation with whatever and Danna is there to follow and adding stuff. They talk about everything and nothing, a lot of banal stuff most of the time because those are the things that their time together allows them but at times they retire earlier to bed and talk about more serious stuff, being both cozy together and giving each other kisses.

from this list here!

[hollandsmoose]

higher

A/N: Based on “Higher” by Maximillian, which is a fucking incredible song. I don’t even know if this makes sense, and this is also the first time I’ve written from Shawn’s POV, so bear with me lmao. So here you go, my loves, here is 1.5k of angsty angst with a hint of smut!

part 2 in masterlist

—————–

Shawn likes it like this. You underneath him, moaning and whimpering, crying out his name. He likes having his fingers around your throat, every squeeze of his hand followed by you clenching around his cock.

It makes him feel like he’s in control; like he’s the one with the power. It’s only an illusion, though. He knows very well that you merely let him feel this way.

That’s why Shawn can’t keep the sadness from creeping in when it’s all over, both of you panting and staring up at the ceiling, while your chests heave. He’d like to enjoy the afterglow, but it doesn’t feel possible as he looks over to you, and he realizes you’re already about to get up.

“I’m just gonna go pee,” you say, and Shawn nods. The way you phrase makes it seem so innocent. It makes it sound like you’re going to return to him, but he doesn’t miss the way you bring your clothes with you to the bathroom, and it’s obvious that you won’t.

Shawn should be used to it now. He knows it’s coming because it happens every time. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though. Maybe, it only really makes it hurt more.

Sometimes, he pretends to be asleep when you come out of the bathroom so that he doesn’t have to see you leave, but he always breaks. You’re like an eclipse; Shawn knows it isn’t good for him to look, yet he can’t stop himself from staring as you break his heart over and over again.

You don’t say much when you come back out, fully dressed. You offer some excuse and then bid him farewell.

It hurts.

—————–

Shawn should get over you, and he knows it. Everyone else seemingly knows it too. His friends tell him to let you go, and he pretends to listen to them. He doesn’t.

He should get over you, and he tells himself that he wants to. He doesn’t. The truth is that he would rather have you for a few hours in the night than not have you at all.

Shawn feels pathetic. Especially now when he’s out with his friends at some club, and he keeps checking his phone every two seconds for new messages from you. There are none. It fucking sucks.

His friends bring over a group of girls, and one of them takes a particular interest in him. She’s pretty enough and is clearly into him. Shawn entertains her; he buys her drinks and flirts to the best of his abilities. He’s never been smooth with girls, but he has a feeling that he could probably say whatever to this girl, and she would still go home with him.

Shawn gets a little reckless. He leans in closer to her than he should, touches her more than he should. With his luck, pictures of him with this girl will be all over social media in the morning, but as annoying as that thought is, he finds something to smile about.

You’ll see it. Shawn knows you check update accounts, yet he only knows that because you had accidentally left your phone unlocked once, and he had desperately searched your phone to see if you were talking to any other guys than him. A real fucking dick move, and Shawn knows it.

Thinking about you has his drunk mind racing. He feels things a little harder than he usually does, and now he feels a sort of anger growing inside him.

Shawn considers bringing the girl home. He considers fucking her in the bed he usually fucks you in. Some kind of revenge, he supposes. Because as fucked up as it sounds, Shawn wants revenge. He wants you to hurt like he hurts.

The thought makes him sick. He makes himself sick.

He gives some lame excuse to the girl and his friends about being tired, and then he practically runs out of there. Shawn is not far from home, and even in his inebriated state, he could easily walk back. For some reason, though, he hails a cab, and when he gets in, he doesn’t give the driver his own address - he gives him yours.

—————–

Shawn feels like a fucking idiot when the cab pulls over by your building. It’s nearly 2 am, and here he is, probably about to wake you up, just so he can talk. Talk in the morning, a more sober part of him urges, don’t do this now. But before he knows it, he’s pressing the button by your name on the doorbell.

It takes some time before you answer, and Shawn realizes that he is waking you up. He feels like shit. You don’t sound overly enthused about his visit, but you still let him in, a buzz signalling that the door is unlocked.

The elevator ride is sobering. With every floor the elevator climbs, Shawn regrets coming here more and more. He’s here to talk, but he’s not even sure what he wants to talk about. He’s not sure about anything, to be honest.

When you open up the door, Shawn feels even shittier. You’re in your dressing gown, and there’s an unmistakable air of sleep about you.

“Is anything wrong?” you ask, and, despite his disturbance, you seem genuinely concerned. “You okay?” He comes in at your behest, and you reach out for him, yet he can’t help but recoil from your touch. He finally knows what to say.

“No, Y/N, I’m not okay,” Shawn answers, tone harsher than he intends for it to be, but some of the anger has remained in him. “I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of this,” You gulp visibly, taking a deep breath. “I’m a fucking joke, aren’t I? A... fool who’s stuck in love. In love with someone who doesn’t even want me.”

You wince, crossing your arms. “I do want you! I just…. I just need more time, Shawn,”

He shakes his head. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough time?”

It’s such a low blow. Shawn knows he shouldn’t have said it the moment it leaves him. He doesn’t fail to notice the tears that well up in your eyes, although you try to blink them away.

It’s not fair of him to say. It’s not fair of him to get angry. It’s not fair of him to want revenge. You don’t mean to break his heart, you don’t mean to be mean, you don’t mean to hurt him. He’s well aware of this; you’ve told him as much.

Shawn knows why you still do it, though. He knows why you need time. He knows why you’re scared to commit. It makes him sick to his fucking stomach when you let out a sob, tears now streaming down your cheeks. It’s not your fault; he knows that, and yet he still blamed you.

“I’m sorry,” Shawn says, wrapping your arms around you, holding you tight. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You sob again, burying your face in his chest, and you’re getting his jacket wet with your tears, but he doesn’t mind. He’s the one who made you cry in the first place.

He’d promised to be patient with you. Shawn fucking hates himself for trying to rush you, and he can’t keep from wondering if you hate him too now. It’s all too feasible.

However, when you pull away from Shawn, and he looks into your eyes, there’s something in them which is the complete opposite of hate. You’ve never said it to him, but he’s always understood what you feel for him without hearing those three little words. Thinking about it just makes him feel even sicker - especially when he remembers what he’d considered doing earlier.

Shawn could have been at home, in bed with some stranger, all just to hurt you. He had wanted to hurt you, even though he knew you’d never meant to hurt him. Even though he knew you loved him. God, I’m the fucking worst.

You attempt a careful smile. “Do you wanna sleep over?” Shawn probably should say yes. It’s a breakthrough, really. You’ve never offered to let him stay over.

But he feels disgusting now. He feels exhausted. He feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

He attempts a smile as well. “I gotta go home,” You give him a weak nod in response.

“I’ll see you around, then,” you say feebly, and he takes your hand.

“Not if I see you first,” Shawn teases, trying to lighten the mood, making sure you feel better. You let a giggle escape you, and he’s reassured. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, he places a soft kiss on your wrist. “I love you.”

You only smile, not ready to say it back yet, and he knows you don’t mean for it to, but it still hurts. Despite everything that’s happened tonight, it hurts. He doesn’t say anything else, only turns around and closes the door behind him.

It really, really hurts.

—————–

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @fallininyou @bluerroses @nervousroses @shavvnmendcs @rechema

[rockthistowninsideout]

Fanbruary 2019

Weekend 2 - Saturday 09.02.

For @fizzingwizard, based on this fic.

February 14th dawns bright and sunny - but it cannot fool Koushirou. As he is eating his breakfast he feels the presence of Taichi’s handwritten invitation burning in his back as it sits on the counter behind him. Involuntarily, he imagines Taichi stately reigning over the Valentine’s party in a white tuxedo, shaking hands with every new student coming into the room. Koushirou’s hands start to tremble violently because surely, as it is Taichi’s tendency, he would look incredibly dashing in this tux, all bright smiles and electric hair tips. Koushirou shakes himself. No, he has a whole school day ahead where his woobles cannot possibly get in the way. And preferably not ever again.

  The school day goes surprisingly smooth, if you conveniently forget about the notorious couples that seem to spring on Koushirou from every corner in every break. In the end, he has mastered the art of dodging them by leaving the class rooms even before they do.

But this has all been for the birds when Koushirou makes his way to the gym (Taichi would have also taken the big arena a couple of blocks away if it hadn’t been too expensive.) From every new hallway joining the one leading to the auditorium couples stream, the modest ones only having linked their arms, the more annoying planting kisses over each other’s faces, barely moving and blocking the way of the innocent. Which Koushirou counts himself to, mostly to keep a facade to himself. But at the back of his mind there is the distressing thought that he could do both, slobbering Taichi’s beautiful face while still walking a straight line and not disrupting the natural order. He shivers. Surely it’s the obscenely flowery smell wafting through the halls that causes these un-Koushirou-like thoughts.

  When he finally enters the gym he does become an obstacle for others to manoeuvre around after all. Planted like a tree, he stands in the doorway and stares. He cannot do anything else. Pink explodes in front of his face, the place is drowning in paper streamers in various shades of the colour and from every possible surface blink cut-out hearts.

  Maybe Koushirou has a hidden talent of forecasting the future or maybe he just knows Taichi too well -  his assumption was right. Taichi is indeed flaunting a white tuxedo with a bright pink bow-tie and when he spots Koushirou he comes over, his walk a wild mixture of a I-know-I-look-amazing-swagger and childlike ecstasy about both the party being better than expected and seeing Koushirou in particular.

  “Kou! I’m so glad you came.” He smiles dazzlingly and clasps his hands on either of Koushirou’s shoulders, sending a 100.000 volt lightning bolt through the sixth-graders body.

  Koushirou goes immediately rigid as he stammers “Yeah, well, I, er, couldn’t possibly ignore your invitation. You, uh, wrote it yourself. That must have taken ages.” It’s easy to find confidence in sarcasm, this is familiar territory. Still, Koushirou feels bad that Taichi is the target of his sarcasm. This is not how you convince the source of your woobles to admit that they feel the same.

  Yet Taichi seems to be undisturbed by it. He still smiles as if he wanted to eclipse that traitor of a sun that had gone, of course, immediately into hiding when Koushirou had stepped out of his apartment this morning. With an arm draped around Koushirou’s neck, he guides him through the throngs of people.

  “I’m so proud how all this turned out. Look, I have fireworks on every table but the best thing I got my hands on is that soda fountain over there!” He indicates a monstrous crystalline fountain that spurts bubbly strawberry flavoured lemonade and stands on a big table in the middle of the gym.

  Before Koushirou can reply a large and stupid something barrels into him from behind. “Taichi, I finally found you!”  Daisuke yells while he absentmindedly steadies Koushirou.

  A cold shiver runs down Koushirou’s back when he spots the mandarin oranges basket, adorned with a big blue ribbon, in Daisuke’s hands. Oh God, he thinks, Daisuke has acted on his threats after all.

  “Taichi, can I talk to you for a moment?” Daisuke says in a pace Koushirou would have hardly understood if he hadn’t had years of practice doing so.

  “Oh hey, Daisuke, nice that you came. Sorry, I don’t have time just now. The DJ must be here any minute.” With that, Taichi hurries back to the entrance door.

  “Hey Koushirou, thanks again for the advice with the fruit basket. After a bit of thought, it’s actually a really good idea. And I’ve also prepared a song. After a bit of digging I found a really nice country love song.” Daisuke gives him a well-meant pat on the back that nearly sends him staggering into the next table where two fellow sixth graders are feeding each other the halves of a steggy bear.

  So he indeed wants to opt for public humiliation over on the karaoke stand Koushirou had spotted when he had entered.

  Suddenly there is a hushed whisper sweeping through the attending students. Heads turn to the stage and someone plucks at Koushirou’s sleeve, then indicates the person standing on it.

  He does look like a DJ, with baggy clothing, big headphones and an oversized cap. But then he swings his hips in a seductive manner and throws his cap into the audience. There are a few excited cheers but most students are too stunned to speak. Koushirou doesn’t grasp at first what is going on. Why should a DJ behave like this? And where is his equipment? The only music at the moment comes from a boom box, it has a thumping bass and something lewd to it.

  He lets his gaze roam and sees Yamato and Sora speak softly to each other, faces red but Koushirou can’t tell if it’s second-hand embarrassment or anger. A little further stands Jou, midway frozen in nibbling on a piece of chocolate, while Miyako watches him like a tiger on the prowl.

  A sudden “Yagami” shout rings through the gym. Heads turn again to the entrance door where their fuming headmistress stands. Out of the corner of the eye Koushirou sees a speck of white disappearing behind the drawn curtains. The headmistress must have seen it, too, because she comes charging through the students who willingly step out of the way.

  “Oh no, I’ve missed again the opportunity to tell him that I love him” Daisuke moans, disappointedly eyeing the basket in his hands.  He looks helplessly around, then thrusts it into Koushirou’s hands and snakes his way through the crowds.

  By now, the teachers have persuaded the stripper to come down. Koushirou can only speculate, but in his rush to make the gaudiest party the school has ever seen, Taichi has probably called a stripper DJ instead of a real one. Though it doesn’t do anything to dampen the mood here. While he observes his happy peers again, he absentmindedly picks a mandarin orange and starts to peel it.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Totally Awesome

by Viorica

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Viorica finds a Potter-related bit of media that actually deserves the hype

Oooh! This is in the Axis of Awesome!~

Parodies are a tricky thing. If you've got too much of a hate-on for the source material, you end up being too bitter; if you love the source material too much, you can't effectively make fun of its flaws; and if you just don't care either way, you get something like this. It's a difficult tightrope to walk, but when you're lucky/talented enough to get it right, you end up with A Very Potter Musical. Written by college-aged fans of the Potter series, it combines the best of the original series with the talent of the actors and writers involved, and ends up eclipsing the source material entirely.

The story takes place in Harry's second year, and encompasses the events of all seven books. Harry and his friends (with Ron's sister Ginny in tow) arrive at Hogwarts to discover that the new teacher Professor Quirrel has R

resurrected the House Cup (which is basically a one-school Triwizard Tournament) as part of Voldemort's plan to capture Harry Potter under a bumbling Dumbledore's very nose. It's hard to describe the rest of the plot without going into spoilery detail (which I'll be doing in the next paragraph anyway . . .) but suffice to say, problems arise, relationships are formed, and Team Potter must go up against Voldemort and his Death Eaters- though ironically, Voldemort's ultimate fate owes more to the "love conquers all" theme which the books neglected and the musical effectively puts into use.

When I said in the first paragraph that the musical is an improvement on the books, I meant it. The plotting is much more streamlined (for one thing, the Trio doesn't spend months sitting in a tent, and actually condemns the seventh book's plot as "stupid") the characters more likeable, and the biggest problems with the book-

tokenism

,

Dumbledore's lecturing

,and the

delusions of grandeur

are removed in favour of canonical gay characters (the main couple is, in fact, gay, and Voldemort's redemption comes about from his affection for Quirrell- quite a divergence from Rowling's choiceless choices) a Dumbledore whose stupidity and blindness is repeatedly mocked, and a pervading knowledge that this is, in fact, a very silly story. For instance, Malfoy's conviction that there is a wizarding school called Pigfarts located on Mars and presided over by a talking lion turns out to be true; after all, how is it more ridiculous than the main concept of the franchise? The musical also addresses such all-important questions like:

How did Quirrell sleep with Voldemort on the back of his head?

Why did Dumbledore trust Snape, anyway?

What happens when two people who share one stomach get drunk?

In addition to lampshading the flaws and inconsistencies of the original series ("I just put anyone who looks like a good guy into Gryffindor, anyone who looks like a bad guy into Slytherin, and the rest can go wherever they want." "Can anyone tell me what a Portkey is? . . . Well, can anyone tell me what

foreshadowing

is?") the musical can stand on its own as a creative product. The songs are entertaining and catchy - the fan favourite seems to be "Granger Danger", but my own is "Gotta Get Back To Hogwarts:"

We're sick of summer and this waiting around It's like we're sitting in the lost and found Don't take no sorcery For anyone to see how... We gotta get back to hogwarts We gotta get back to school We gotta get back to hogwarts Where everything is magic-cooooool Back to wizards and witches, and magical beasts To goblins and ghosts and to magical feasts It's all that I love, and it's all that I need at HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS I think I'm goin' back!

But of course none of the material would be entertaining without good actors to support it, and the cast rises admirably to the task. The three leads - Darren Criss as Harry, Joey Ritcher as Ron, and Bonnie Gruesen as Hermione - all bring the right balance of likeability and flaws to their roles, but it's the secondary characters who steal the show. I suspect that Joe Moses (Snape) is familiar with the Harry Potter fandom, because his Snape is a perfect parody of the fanon version, right down to his exaggerated purr of a voice. Joe Walker makes a truly hilarious Voldemort, especially given that he has to deliver lines like "Get me some Nasonex, you swine!" with a stright face (though I am surprised that his voice held out through five performances, given the amount of growling that was involved.) with Brian Rosenthal serving as his quieter, gentler (but no less funny) counterpart. Lauren Lopez as Malfoy steals every scene she's in, with her exaggerated accent and habit of rolling around the stage. Even Goyle, who barely has any lines, cracks the audience up every time he opens his mouth. While Britney Coleman, who plays Bellatrix, has caught some flak from YouTube commenters for being "irritating" she didn't really get on my nerves. The worst you can say of her is that she didn't leave any impression at all- and with a cast this good, less-than-perfect performances can easily be buried in their better counterparts.

All in all, the musical is recommended to anyone who has a passing familiarity with the HP canon. Honestly, it's a shame that this show can't make any money, being an unauthorized parody. It's really the only thing connected to Harry Potter that I wholeheartedly enjoy, one that actually earns it's tagline of "Totally awesome"Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Theatre

~

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~Comments (

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Wardog

at 11:03 on 2009-10-14Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, this is, in fact, *totally awesome*.

The hot female Malfoy is making me go wibbly.

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Andy G

at 13:01 on 2009-10-14This is brilliant! I love every scene with Voldemort and Quirrell in particular.

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Wardog

at 13:50 on 2009-10-14"Your plan to infilitrate Hogwarts on the back of my head is going swimmingly, my liege..." BEST LINE EVER!

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Melissa G.

at 23:23 on 2009-10-14Loved it! Thanks for bringing this to my attention.

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Viorica

at 01:54 on 2009-10-15Have you gotten to Voldemort's big tapdance number yet?

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Jamie Johnston

at 21:28 on 2009-10-16Fab. Those kids deserve to go far.

But can someone explain to me the thing with Malfoy falling down and rolling around all the time? Bear in mind all I know about

Potter

comes from three of the films (1, 2, and 4, I think) and anything I've picked up from conversations and

Ferretbrain

articles.

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Viorica

at 22:41 on 2009-10-16Honestly, I'm not really sure. I think it's just the actor being goofy.

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Andy G

at 10:15 on 2009-10-17I saw it as being a bit of a spoof of femme fatales or female villains writhing round the stage in dance shows/musicals, rather than anything based around the books.

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Melissa G.

at 16:54 on 2009-10-17I don't know. I kind of saw that as an exaggeration of how over the top Malfoy can be. It seemed somehow fitting to a caricature of his character.

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http://mmmarcusz.livejournal.com/

at 23:57 on 2009-10-17I think it's meant as a reference to how Malfoy is always described as striking a pose ("lounging", "preening", etc.) and this is just an over-the-top extension of that. Also, was I the only one who found the Draco actress incredibly cute?

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http://tabaquis.livejournal.com/

at 06:49 on 2009-10-19I adore a VHPM, which is great because I too have become completely tired of That Woman and Those Books being touted as any kind of coherent literature.

I do think the guy playing Snape was totally channeling Kevin MacDonald's "Simon" from Kids in the Hall though! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TC4PjXNt2gw

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Wardog

at 11:14 on 2009-10-20

I think it's meant as a reference to how Malfoy is always described as striking a pose ("lounging", "preening", etc.) and this is just an over-the-top extension of that. Also, was I the only one who found the Draco actress incredibly cute?

Yeah, that's what I thought as well.

And, yes, she is amazingly, wibble-inducingly hot. Me likey.

Also I notice the musical has a delightfully arch relationship with the fandom - so I think purring, rolling, lounging Malfoy was a nod to both the books and his typically depicated fandom persona.

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Montavilla

at 01:58 on 2009-10-21So glad to see appreciation for this musical. I just loved it.

It's hard to say what makes Lauren Lopez so perfect as Malfoy, except everything. The ponchy accent, the constant posing, the way she's always trying (and failing) to get Harry's attention. Somehow Draco just *is* a 12-year-old girl.

And I liked Bellatrix. She's somewhat annoying with the screaming, but that is Bellatrix, and I love that they aren't being coy about her and Voldemort having a sexual relationship. It's only one of the ways in which the musical trumps the books.

I crack up everytime I think about her face when Voldemort sits on the desk. You can see that she's still trying to make it work--but she's kind of catching on to what he's really up to.

But *everyone* is so excellent. I showed this to some of mine and we all kept remarking on how perfectly perfect Cedric Diggory is. I love the entrance of Cho Chang and just that look that the Asian actress gives. It's almost her only moment in the whole show and she makes the most of it.

You can tell that the entire cast is having a great time playing their parts--and the audience is loving it as well. And that's what makes a great live performance.

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http://for-diddled.livejournal.com/

at 21:08 on 2010-08-08Just thought you chaps might be interested to know that they've made a sequel, which can be found here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OepW-AG-Ris&feature=PlayList&p=86C718AEE71C9DE9&playnext=1&index=7

[ktrsvo]

an eon for a dream

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170343

summary:

Without another word, the god of summer drifts off, a vision in colour. Even his dream is lovely, a picture of pastels and a crown of sun-shards. Then the scene shifts, and now someone's there, too: a boy all in black, eyes woodland dark, hair an ebony-green shade. He sits beneath a moon, mouth curled in a grin, the heavens winking at his shoulders.

Izuku holds the dream close to his sternum, enchanted.

He meets a god with eyes like a winter storm, and it’s all too easy to fall.

i. aphelion

It's mostly colourless, the realm of dreams. A land of cloud, starlight, wishes, and nightmares, drenched in everlasting night. The beginning of all things, the separation between life and darkness. Beyond the boundary, the solar realm thrives, ever-changing and dynamic, dawn to dusk, summer to winter, spring to fall. Peace to war, then back again.

Dust, rust, and stardust—that's how this world began, a god's wish brought to life, red underneath it all; the earth was hewn from a need of stability, a fear of oblivion. A god's creation is never perfect, it seems, naturally predisposed to chaos and war. Occasionally the earth will run with rivers of crimson, the handiwork of men, born from a desire to rule, to conquer. The ultimate ode to a god's favour.

Izuku very rarely crosses the boundary, but he knows enough—dreams and nightmares, they come to him all the time. What goes on in the land beyond, it's a latticework of tension and intrigue. Here, no such conflicts exist. Night reigns supreme, the thing all mortals fear yet it is the first thing they see in slumber and death.

No, that is exactly why, Izuku thinks dryly as he watches the Sea of Nightmares roil.

 The boundary is mostly stagnant, but sometimes a disturbance will come along that's great enough to disrupt it.

"A great war will come soon," Toshinori reports to him on the day of the winter solstice, light flakes of snow falling from the Sky of Dreams. "There is strife among the courts on who will rule the solar realm. The Mother has abdicated, and already the gods are fighting for the throne. If the situation does not change, the mortals will be dealt a devastating blow."

A fractal of ice lands on Izuku's palm, its facets boasting spiderweb-intricate cracks. "A tempest," he corrects, watching the ice mist into light in his hold—blue, bright. "A tempest will come; the deities, especially those of summer and autumn, will fight tooth-and-nail for the prize."

Toshinori's gaunt features grow dim. He is a nomad of night, well-acquainted with the other realms. A friend, an advisor of sorts, a companion at times. Night's realm has very few denizens; it's too much of a vast, desolate place. "This is not a matter to take lightly," he warns. "An era of madness will descend upon us all again. And you—" a rumble of thunder interrupts him.

"What of me?" Izuku turns towards the Sea of Nightmares, the movement idle, languorous. "It is the same every year, decade, or century."

Toshinori shakes his head. "You are missing the point," he says. "Do try to understand."

Around them the snow falls in a deluge, a blizzard in development. "It is not me you have to worry about."

"My boy, is the weight on your shoulders not heavy enough? This has gone on for far too long." Pleading, sorrowful.

"It is not all bad sometimes. Look." Izuku cups his palms. A star falls from the sky, a dream of tranquility in neverending war, lovely, serene. Rippling fields, corn-yellow stalks bending in a breeze, jugs of nectar and honey, the colours faded soft throughout.

"You will still bear the brunt of what's to come," Toshinori argues.

"The burden has always been mine to carry and mine alone." The dream creases, ripping, unearthing the rot festering in its recesses. A thing drained bloodless by fear. Here, no crimson rivers run, just miles upon miles of ash-grey snow. "Duty is everything, is it not?" Izuku's mouth twists. "This realm has been my domain long enough. I have collected far too many nightmares that the burden almost weighs nothing now."

"Almost," Toshinori echoes.                                                                    

Izuku's fists close. Unclench. The dream-turned-nightmare eddies away.

 The world is beautiful today, the skies a light grey, dreams ripe for the picking, the Sea only lightly frothing. It hasn't been this idle for an age, and Izuku will savour every moment of it. Perhaps the summer realm is responsible for this shift; the scale is tipping towards its favour, it seems.

The cloud beneath him glides gently above the waters. Izuku reclines on it, one hand tucked beneath his head, the other spinning stars, the loveliest dreams of the day. The most colourful sights his domain has to offer, besides glimpses of the solar realm. From here, they're mostly obscured by mist, pearl-white and thick.

On rare occasions he'll see fields of green, maybe a kingdom or two, perhaps even a god's court, but it's all clouded up right now. Pity; he had hoped for a sight of the nymph gardens, one of Toshinori's favourite places.

A sigh. Izuku's eyes flutter shut. Just for once, he thinks absently.

Then, a disturbance: ripples shudder through the Sea. The cloud bucks with the impact. Izuku cracks an eye open, annoyed. A figure emerges from the mist, the air around them bright, leaving colour in their wake. Izuku tilts his head, eyebrows raised, curious.

A boy with hair the colour of both flame and snow stares back at him.

The stars halt their rotation, streaking away in a trail of sparks.

"Hello," Izuku greets, raising a hand in greeting.

The boy's eyes narrow. His gaze, it's like a winter storm—glacial, imperious. "Who are you?" Even his voice can freeze a desert.

"I could say the same thing about you," Izuku drawls, offering a grin.

The cloud banks into the shore. The boy takes a step backward, his ivory cloak billowing behind him. Over his heart a beveled insignia rests, the sides gilded. It displays a sun, several rays jutting from the centre, each ray ending with one of the solar realm's courts' marks. A candidate, then.

The boy shifts. "I—" he breaks off abruptly. "Just—never mind." Weary, dull. He cranes his neck, scowl replaced by pensiveness. "This is the boundary," he murmurs, voice tinged with disbelief. "I never thought I would actually find it."

"How did you find it, if I may ask?" Very few gods dare venture into this territory. Although the realm of dreams had once been a no-man's-land, it was the closest to night, which most gods feared—still fear. A claim had had to be made for order's sake.

"I wandered around in search of something. I can't really remember ..." The boy sways, expression going vacant. He shakes his head. "No, I needed to see the night realm for myself. Not many gods can claim to have gone here."

"Why the curiosity, though?" Izuku sits up, legs dangling off the cloud.

"Night is powerful, unconquerable. The gods and songs of old speak of the realm in fearful tongues. Its king rules over the vastest lands, lands unfathomable to most, lands that surround the solar realm. He maintains equilibrium, vanquishing the sun day by day." A fevered, exhausted pitch. "I have heard many tales, but, this, I did not quite expect."

"You came at a good time." Indeed he did; all is calm here, clear, grey. "Send summer my regards."

"I am summer," the boy says, the air around him stirring. "It runs in my veins, strong and true. The earth has smiled upon my court, and therefore I have to pay my dues." His form tilts again. Izuku's fingers twitch. A puffy cloud catches his fall.

"Rest," Izuku says. "It does your realm no good if you've no strength, and a leader must always be ready."

"I can't rest," the boy snaps, but already he's sinking into the cloud. "My father, he will be displeased with my indolence. I can't ... I must not—"

"Forget your troubles for a moment and sleep," Izuku insists softly.

Without another word, the god of summer drifts off, a vision in colour. Even his dream is lovely, a picture of pastels and a crown of sun-shards. Then the scene shifts, and now someone's there, too, a boy all in black, eyes woodland dark, hair an ebony-green shade. He sits beneath a moon, mouth curled in a grin, the heavens winking at his shoulders.

Izuku holds the dream close to his sternum, enchanted.

 ii. eclipse

"Someone visited," Izuku says tells Toshinori, cradling the dream in his hands.

"Strange." Toshinori frowns thoughtfully. The realm, after all, was not meant to be simply found. "What were they doing?"

"It was an informal meeting, cordial on all counts." A comet rips through the sky, a burst of white. "The god of summer wished to see the night realm."

A blink. "You mean the ruler's son?" Toshinori strokes his chin. "That boy is favoured to preside over the solar realm; his power is great enough, though he still has much to learn, much like someone I'm very familiar with."

Izuku shoots him a dry smile.

"Does he know?" Toshinori watches the comet extinguish into streaks of light.

"No." Not yet.

 The god of summer returns on a calm night, figure lissome, blazing golden in the dark. His tread is sinuous, airy, a sylph's step, but also swift, precise, and carefully calibrated. War is inscribed along his every movement, the set of his jaw, the sharpness of his glare, the lift of his shoulders. A warrior through and through, born and bred from blood.

It's a captivating sight.

"You look better," Izuku says, stepping away from the shoreline.

"I suppose you could say that." The god shrugs. Turns his head around. "The boundary looks different. Dark."

"Like it has always been." The calm, however, is unusual. "What brings you back?"

The god shifts. "I had .... a peaceful time here," he says in a measured tone. "It was a lull in a storm."

"So you came all the way to thank me? I'm flattered."

The god's eyes snap towards him. "Hardly," he says, but there's no bite to his words. "Surely you know why: I seek an audience with the king of night. A brazen request, I'm aware, but as a future ruler taking initiative is imperative."

Izuku clicks his tongue. "Future ruler? How assuming."

"It is not assuming when you know it to be true." A hint of irritation. "My role was decided from the day of my conception. The solar realm will fall under my reign, mark my words." If Izuku is not mistaken, there's an almost sour note hidden in his words.

Izuku slips his hands into his pockets, holding the god's piercing stare. "What if the king does not wish to meet you? What if he has no interest in making your acquaintance?"

"He must, if an alliance is to be had. If not, well, it's not the worst-case scenario—"

"Which is?"

The god sends him a withering look that Izuku returns with an idle grin. "So he doesn't deign to see me? I know a dismissal when I see one."

"Clearly you have not seen enough, because he has yet to express an opinion on the matter."

"An agreement is what I require, not a sentiment."

"Which you will have in due time."

The god huffs. "Are you always this irksome?"

"Only when it comes to you." Izuku's grin widens, luminous.

Anger—ruby red—stains the god's cheeks. "Another time, then." He spins around, sparks trailing at his heels.

Before the god disappears out of sight, Izuku calls out, "Will you at least tell me your name before you go?"

The god pauses. Looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing silver and blue. "An answer for an answer, which you have not delivered."

"The king will grace you with his presence upon your next arrival," Izuku promises. "I swear it upon my court."

The god of summer breaks off eye contact. There's a moment of silence, and then he says, "It's Shouto." His name lingers in the air long after he leaves.

The Sky of Dreams glows brighter.

 Izuku's throne, a cold, ethereal thing made of moon-shards and starlight, rests on a mountain overlooking the earth, the onyx sky fading to indigo at the boundary, transitioning into full colour beyond—the view both panoptic and opaque. Seeing all yet nothing at the same time. Enough to get by, at least.

Izuku rests his chin on a palm, his other arm draped over the armrest. He raises his gaze skywards, towards the crescent moons atop the pillars surrounding his throne. One for each realm. The nightmares, they've started to stir—vicious, heavy, red. Exhausting, worst of all.

"Are you expecting someone, my king?" a wind spirit asks, kneeling before him.

"A soon-to-be-ruler," Izuku confirms, crossing his legs. "Have you seen anyone of that sort make an appearance?"

"The summer god is here. Shall I send him in?"

"Please do." The spirit rises. Izuku's fingers tap against his throne, once, twice, thrice.

"So you were the king all this time." A blaze of fire and ice. The wind spirit scuttles away. Shouto storms towards the throne, eyes irate, bright. "I don't appreciate being played for a fool."

"That's much too harsh a term," Izuku says smoothly. "My apologies for the confusion you must've experienced. A bad move on my part and for that I take full responsibility."

"You—you're making light of the situation again."

"A necessary evil, I'm afraid; it's been awfully boring these past few seasons."

"When I become king, I will not tolerate such mistreatment. You may rule the greatest realm, but I will have the solar courts at my disposal. There, a matter not to be laughed at."

"Oh? Is that a threat?" Izuku stands. Slips his hands into his pockets.

"A warning, more like."

The marble clacks under Izuku's steady tread, stars issuing from his step. The stars weave into his cape, a ripple of gossamer, diaphanous, light. On his head a constellation sits—a jagged crown, all sharp valleys and crests, each star connected by a web of glasslike threads.

Fitting for a king of the most powerful realm.

"Well, I'm sorry. Truly I am." Izuku inclines his head.

"Say I came with the might of the courts. Conquered your realm and took your throne for myself. Will you be sorry, then?"

"You wouldn't."

"What if I did?" A challenge.

"The loss will be felt deeply, that I cannot deny. But ..." Izuku shrugs. "Take it, then. It will be yours, all of it: my crown, the Sky, the Sea, and the darkness."

Surprise is stamped across Shouto's face. He flinches sharply, whirling around.

"If that is what you wish, so be it," Izuku continues, every step taking him closer to the summer god. "I will not retaliate. Now, you have no obstructions. My domain is yours to seize. An easy victory; you have nothing to lose but all to gain." Izuku halts. Brings up his lips to the summer god's ear. "Shall I bend the knee right here and now?"

Shouto freezes, fists clenched at his sides. The silence that follows is long and agonizing. Then: "It is not so much a victory as it is theft. Honour does not exist without sacrifice." Weary, hollow.

Izuku's mouth curves.

"I have to go." Shouto makes a move for the exit, all traces of anger gone. He spares a single glance at Izuku, and it's a curious look, soft at the edges, a little mysterious.

It's absolutely disarming.                                                        

 "Have you come to conquer me after all?" Bubbles drift lazily around Izuku's fingers, courtesy of Toshinori's visit to the siren kingdom. "Now would be a good time; I cannot be bothered to get up."

"No," Shouto murmurs, crouching down on the shoreline. "I've come without any ill intentions, believe it or not." He regards Izuku with raised eyebrows. "For a being of your position, you seem to be at leisure all the time."

"I assure you that it isn't the case. It's just that my responsibilities are not for public consumption." Izuku props himself up on an elbow. "So you're back. It seems that our dispute wasn't sufficient enough to keep you away."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Not at all." Izuku flicks a hand. A flurry of stars swirl around Shouto. "Starlight looks good on you. Brings out the colours of your hair."

"I appreciate the flattery," he says flatly, lowering his gaze.

"Oh, but I do mean it." Izuku grins sweetly. Shouto scowls, blushing sunset-pink. "Tell me, is there a real reason you're here? Surely there are far more interesting distractions in your realm."

"Not particularly." The bubbles drift to join the stars, opalescent in the light. Shouto absently pokes one. "I wanted to get away from it all. My father, my court, everything. The other gods grow more restless by the day, and—it's all just madness. My reserves of diplomacy are running in short supply." His next sentence is uttered so softly that Izuku almost misses it: "Plus, I could not stay away."

Izuku's cheeks heat up. The Sky of Dreams twinkles knowingly. Warm—Izuku is warm all over in the way his realm can never be. "Let me show you something for your troubles," he says, summoning a star.

Shouto watches, transfixed. The star unfolds.

"A dream, one of my favourite ones. How I yearn for a land I have never been to." A lullaby, tinkling, effervescent, fills the air. Vibrant bowers, sleepy hollows, glistening caverns, lush dells.

Izuku glides towards Shouto. Transfers the dream into his hand.

Eyes wide, Shouto murmurs, "It is beautiful."

"It is," Izuku hums.

 A flower—a single rose—is tucked between Shouto's fingers, the petals deep red and moon-bright. Out of place in a world of black and grey.

"A gift," Shouto says. "For the dream you shared with me."

Flowers do not bloom in the night realm; the barren grounds ensure that little to no life exists here. Izuku accepts, hesitant.

"It will not die," Shouto assures. "I made sure of it."

Izuku holds the flower to his nose. Inhales. It's sweeter than any song he's tasted.

"Thank you," Izuku whispers.

For the first time ever, Shouto smiles at him, and it's enchanting.

Captivating.

Disarming.

Even when the smile fades into a look of hesitation.

 The war Toshinori mentioned has come at long last. The Sea churns with screams and dirges, spitting them out raw and guttural. In the years to come, the soil beyond the boundary will grow gravid with corpse and gore. Many stars have reached their last exhale, the Sky rife with hisses of gas.

As the Sky dims with loss, the Sea turns frothing, a graveyard of dreams.

Longer nights and shorter days, a tragedy many fear. It has become all too easy to swallow the sun, and dimly Izuku wonders what the summer god's smile would transform into if he plunged the world in eternal night. Conquered day.

(A calamity, possibly).

 An elixir of something silvery bubbles in Toshinori's hand. "You are too tired, my boy," he says, worried, holding the goblet to Izuku's lips. "Why must you take it on alone?"

The liquid is honey-sweet on his tongue, acrid in his stomach. "Heavy lies the crown," is the eternal answer.

Toshinori sighs.

 "I realize that I still do not know your name."

"Have this dance with me and I'll tell you."

A pause. Shouto considers Izuku's hand. "Must we really?" he says, cheeks pink, eyebrows raised.

Star-bright eyes twinkle. "That decision is yours to make."

Shouto's palm slips into his own, golden against moon-pale. His expression is vacant and, somehow, a little lost. The two of them sway gently in the blue moonlight, Shouto's gaze suddenly appraising.

"You stare at me like you're sizing up a formidable foe. Do I intimidate you that much?" Izuku's tone is light and casual.

Instead of retorting, Shouto asks, "Why is the boundary under your domain?"

Izuku shrugs. "It's a responsibility that can't afford to fall into the wrong hands. The consequences would be disastrous."

"It's true, then, all the tales of your power?"

Izuku breaks away from their dance. Looks up at the inky darkness. "It's Izuku, by the way," he says, evasive.

 The violence continues, untameable.

The moon god stands in the midst of a storm, the world a dark crimson. The creatures sprout army by army, each a harrowing pastiche of skeleton, flesh gone sour, and other broken things. A sweep of an arm, and they rear back, jaws snapping at his heels, mutinous.

The summer god watches, expression carefully blank.

"Are you scared?" the moon god asks.

"No." An honest answer.

"Maybe you should be."

The summer god does not blink.

 A circlet sears Shouto's brow, its apex bearing a miniature sun.

Izuku bows at the waist, arm sweeping in a grand arc. "Congratulations," he offers with a smile.

"It was only a matter of time." Shouto's mismatched eyes bore into him, something soft and shy flickering in their depths.

Izuku blinks, breath catching a little in his throat.

"The coronation will take place soon." His gaze continues to linger on Izuku's face, and suddenly the hall does not feel nearly as cold anymore, a pleasant burn kindling beneath his skin.

"And?" Izuku finds himself drifting closer, closer, closer.

"What?" Shouto's face starts to burn as well.

The realization hits him with the force of a meteor shower. Oh, Izuku thinks, dazed. Shouto must've sensed it, too, because his expression turns closed-off and mildly confused.

Izuku halts.

 "Duty is everything. I cannot afford distractions," Shouto murmurs.

The words dredge up a dim echo in the hollows of memory. Hadn't Izuku said the same thing once? Although Shouto's talking about something else, Izuku can't help but feel he's addressing a certain issue.

"Indeed," Izuku hums emptily.

 Soon enough it dawns on Shouto, and the confrontation is less than pretty.

"I think we should stop," he whispers, torn. "We have to stop meeting like this."

Izuku swallows. "Why?" comes out, even if he already knows the answer.

Silence stretches out between them. It shouldn't hurt this much.

"I will be the ruler of the solar realm, of Day. That much is clear." Shouto runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We aren't meant to be this way. We just aren't. What would—what would my court say, what would my father do, it's—"

Izuku reaches out for him. Shouto flinches away, eyes hardening into chips of ice. That glacial, warrior's mask slips over his features. "Don't," he says coldly. "We were never supposed to grow this close. I wasn't supposed to feel the way I do. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"But it did," Izuku says quietly.

"It was a mistake." Shouto shakes his head, clenching his jaw. "We can't do this."

Izuku stares, cold all over.

Shouto's next words are a sword to the gut. "I can't love you. And this ends now." There's remorse in his tone, but it isn't evident by the way he leaves without so much as a backward glance.

Still Izuku waits, and waits, and waits.

 The circlet has turned into a crown of sun-shards, each point representing each of the solar realm's court. The summer god no longer but the sovereign of day, blindingly bright.

They meet under an eclipse before several faceless courts and hushed voices. This one time where the boundary has lifted, two realms blurring into one.

"Day." The moon god tilts his head.

The sun god wavers. "Night," he acknowledges stiffly.

The smile Night sends Day is sad.

 They meet once more before the end of a millennia, a wide, wide rift between them.

"Shouto," Izuku calls out.

Faraway, distant, Shouto does not respond. Does not even look back.

 The war reaches a long-awaited end, dispersing in hope and unity.

"There, the troubles are over," Izuku says, the boat beneath them rocking gently.

Toshinori purses his lips. "Not all of them."

Silence.

"You're lonely."

The sails overhead flap sharply."I have you."

"It is not the same, and we both know it."

Izuku looks away.

 A year passes. Izuku sends a dream.

Ten. Northern lights.

A hundred. A galaxy.

A thousand. He stops.

 iii. perihelion

The sun god's gift remains dewdrop fresh—lovely, red, alive. Izuku twirls the stem. Watches the petals dance.

"Perhaps you were right," he says to it.

The waves stop lapping against the hull, like they're holding in a breath. Toshinori steers the vessel uneasily. "Will you ever let it go?"

The petals are a silky kiss against his fingers. "Should I?" One hand dangles the flower over the bow, the boat listing to port.

The Sea yawns, eager. "It is not for me to decide."

Izuku shuts his eyes, resting an arm over his forehead. "One day," he murmurs, pressing the rose to his heart instead. For now, he tells himself, as the thorns dig into his skin.

 Soon enough a petal falls from the rose, crumbling at his feet. Using the remains, Izuku fashions a falling star, wispy, lonely. He sends it at what would be dusk in the solar realm, before he trades the sun for the moon. A parting gift.

Pathetic. Izuku sighs, tired.

 The boundary is the most beautiful it's ever been: a dark blue evening. Izuku stands, gazing at the rose in his hand.

It is time, he thinks, heart numb.

One petal falls, then, two, four, stardust at his feet.

Izuku stares. What was left of the petals scatters. Done—it is done. Izuku feels drained and hollow inside. Then, he catches movement in the corner of his eye: a single rose petal.

It refuses to die, even in his hold.

Izuku's gaze snaps skywards. The world is lightening, indigo fading to grey. The petal sears his skin as his eyes widen, a sharp gasp hitching in his throat. After all this time—

Why?

A pair of footsteps, light and airy, sound from behind.

Why now? His nails dig in sharp enough to draw out blood.

"Don't," a voice pleads, hoarse, broken.                                

A new rose blooms—red, alive—in Izuku's hand.

"I'm sorry for what I did."

A chin rests on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist.

"I didn't—I didn't mean what I said."

The moon and sun cannot coexist, a natural law. The boundary ensures the separation of the two entities. One realm is cold, colourless, unlovely, the other bright, vibrant, beautiful. They're opposites, the moon and the sun god, two spheres not meant to overlap.

"What I feel for you, I was wrong to dismiss it."

This is all wrong.

"Please allow me to give you this."

An arc of colours bleeds into the Sky—there's yellow, red, blue, and everything in between. The clarity is crisp, unmistakeably genuine. Izuku freezes, breathing harshly. He breaks free from the embrace, fists clenched at his sides.

"You," he whispers, rounding onto Shouto. "Why?"

The sun god takes a step forward, face tired but lovely—unbearably so. "You have sent me much over the years," he says breathlessly, voice ragged. "All of them beautiful things, the dreams especially. I was frustrated and too ashamed to respond. For a time I thought that it was never meant to be, that what I had done was for our best interests; we are both of two realms that have been kept separate since time immemorial. I was told to stay away from you."

The ground beneath Izuku tilts, unsteady.

"Night is to be feared, challenged, and threatened, my father always said. A figure of malice and wrath. His words were poison, and I foolishly allowed them to interfere with my reasoning. He always said I was born for the crown, and therefore bound to its duties." Shouto's palms reach up to cup Izuku's cheeks. "I can see where I went wrong, and for that I am sorry. You are more than I deserve, nothing like what they rumour about in hushed tones, and that comet that you sent—" A crack snags at his words.

"It made me realize exactly what I had lost." Shouto pauses, eyes brimming with remorse. "You, Izuku. You." The words twist a knife in his heart.

"This isn't ... I did not expect ... I was—I was about to give up on you," Izuku says harshly, something wet trailing down his face. "Shouto, what are you saying?"

"I've loved you for a thousand years, and have never, ever stopped. I know that I am in no position to ask this of you, but ..." Shouto leans in, brushing the tears from his face. "Don't. Please. Don't."

The Sky bears down on them, stars wavering. Shouto's touch burns against his skin. Heart heavy, Izuku can hardly move or say anything. "The colours," Izuku breathes, lightheaded. "How?"

"You've held the weight of the boundary alone for far too long. Now, it doesn't belong entirely to you anymore. Half of your burden is mine to carry, and I will not let you take it back." His thumb caresses his jaw. "The beauty of my realm is here to stay. But if you no longer wish to see me, you need only say the word."

Izuku's eyes widen as he takes in the eclipse that has replaced the moon. "It is not easy, this duty," Izuku murmurs, pale.

"It does not matter."

"You won't—you won't regret it?"

Their foreheads touch. "Never," Shouto says with conviction.

The ground rights itself. The rose in Izuku's hand blooms. He draws away, lifts the flower to the eclipse. The petals unfurl, deep scarlet against lavender.

"Will you still have me?" Shouto asks softly.

The rose disintegrates into light in Izuku's clasp. The newly formed star winks at him. "A dream," Izuku says. "My new favourite one." He meets Shouto's eyes. Lifts a starlight-dusted palm to his cheek. Smiles. "I am yours and you are mine."

The smile that Shouto gives him return is achingly lovely—lovelier than any of the dreams Izuku has in his possession. He presses a kiss to Izuku's knuckles. "You are beautiful," he says, cheeks sunrise red as he bridges the gap between their lips, the kiss sweeter than honey and hotter than flame.

The warmth that fills Izuku, head-to-toe, is unmistakeably love.

 The boundary has fallen under the night and the solar realm's rule, shining with a muted sort of brilliance. All around fields of flowers stretch towards the horizon, stalks fluttering and bending, dreams bobbing up and down like fireflies.

"My king," Izuku says, fiddling with the crown at Shouto's head. At the tip of it rests a lone crescent, cradling a sun.

Shouto catches his hand and interlaces their fingers together, amused.

"Will you ever tire of eons of this dalliance?" Izuku jests, resting his head on Shouto's shoulder.

"What we have is not a fleeting affair but the kind that is immortalized in song and poem, the kind that mortals envy, the kind that they can only hope to dream of. It is forever, if only you will have me for that long."

Their hands untangle. Izuku brushes a hand over his cheek. "Surely you have not forgotten my response."

"It seems that I am in need of a reminder." The throne beneath them shifts as Shouto rolls over to hover above Izuku, the eclipse resting at his shoulder.

Izuku reaches up to adjust the crown atop Shouto's head, sun-bright against the dim twilight. "Do you really?" he murmurs, grinning slyly.

Shouto's eyes, they're limpid, bottomless pools darkening over with fire. "Indulge me," he rasps, hands sleepwalking down.

A sharp intake of breath. "My, my, how improper. Where are your manners?"

"Stop tormenting me."

"Only if you say please."

Shouto's mouth descends to his collarbone. "Please," he murmurs against his skin, full of want.

Laughter slips past Izuku's lips. Shouto lifts his head. Fire—Izuku is burning with fire. "It would be better to show you," Izuku says, closing the gap between them. Shouto eagerly deepens the kiss.

Izuku pulls away for a moment, flushed, remembering something. "Don't we have two realms to run, my king?" he breathes.

"That can wait," Shouto says, gaze heavy-lidded. "We have forever after all." His face grows closer, closer, closer. "I have something to show you."

Their lips reconnect, and here, under Shouto's touch, energy thrums, lightning red and alive—and this something becomes a thousand colours bleeding into a single burst of ecstasy that leaves him weightless and exhilarated, summer-warm and golden.

 A sunburst gleams at the peak of Izuku's crown, framed by three stars. No longer does he have to maintain the balance of the world alone.

"Finally," Toshinori says, eyes glimmering with softness.

"I suppose it was time," Izuku agrees, cradling Shouto's rose against his heart.

The Sea of Nightmares remains quiet for a very long time after that.