#i just love these lines. cruel and sullen thing

[divorcedwife]

Come to my arms, cruel and sullen thing; Indolent beast, come to my arms again

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 9

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 9 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

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In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

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Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

The remaining partygoers had dispersed pretty quickly once the fighting had ceased and the participants scattered to different areas of the hotel to cool off. 

“The hour grows late, my dear,” Alastor remarked, checking the time on his pocket watch before deftly snapping the cover shut and sliding it into a pocket in his inner vest.  “Best to get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

“Gourd big or go home, huh?” you joke, quickly tossing back the last bit of your drink.  “Alright, we can leave.  But I'd like to thank our hostess before we set out.”

“Of course,” Alastor nodded, lifting his arm and pointing down a dimly lit corridor.  “I believe our wayward Princess went that thataway.”

“You aren't coming?”

“I'm afraid not.  Lucifer is at the door bidding our fine guests adieu,” Alastor said as he needlessly straightened his pristine bow tie. “And I would hate for that to be their final impression of our establishment.”

“Best to get out there then, so the event can end on a high note.”

“Precisely!” Alastor chortled. “How could I possibly deny our potential donors the chance to spend more time in my illustrious company?  I'm sadistic, not cruel.”

There was obviously some underlying tension between Alastor and the King of Hell that you weren't privy to, but without further context you simply said a temporary farewell to your compulsory companion and set off to find Princess Charlotte.

She wasn't very difficult to track down.

You simply followed the pitiful wails that echoed off the dark paneled walls, eventually spotting her curled up towards the bottom of a winding spiral staircase.  A large glass jar sat next to her, empty, with an obviously vandalized label reading “just the Tips” scrawled on it in two very different penmanship styles.  

“Ms. Charlie?” You say quietly, not wanting to startle and upset the poor woman more than she already was.  “Are you- will you be alright?”

“Yeah,” Charlie sniffs miserably, swallowing back a thick glob of snot before rubbing her eyes along her jacket sleeve to quickly wipe away her tears.  “I'll be okay.  I'm just- I don't know? Embarrassed, mostly.”

“About the, ah, naming debacle?”

“A bit,” she admits with a sullen shrug, staring down into the empty jar beside her.  “It's one thing to have a bunch of guys joke that they have ‘Huge loads’ they want to donate if they actually follow through on it.  But to just be laughed at for no reason?  That doesn't feel too great.”

“I see,” you murmured thoughtfully, easily coming to a decision as you opened up your small clutch and dug around inside.  “If it makes you feel any better, I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“You did? ” Charlie gasped, a tiny glimmer of joy appearing in her otherwise disheartened gaze.  

“I did.  The flowers were truly lovely and I enjoyed seeing how everyone created their own individual spaces.”

“Even Niffty's garden of insect suffering?”

“That was the most memorable part, honestly.  It'll probably feature prominently in my nightmares for the rest of my afterlife.”

Finally, you were able to solicit a laugh from the downtrodden Princess; a joyous, if not mucousy, sound.  

“I know this isn't anywhere close to the amount you were hoping for, but- well, this is all I really have,” you admit, opening up your coin purse and shaking it over the empty donation jar; trying to ignore the sour tang of humiliation when only a couple of dollars in change and a coupon for 15% off a tooth sharpening service fall out.  

“The uh- the coupon expires next week,” you mutter, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence as Charlie stared at your paltry offering; the coins rattling sadly at the bottom of the jar.  “So you should…keep that in mind, I suppose.”

"This is-”

“Not a lot, I know,” you cringed, eyes burning as you did your best to hold back shameful tears.  Ms. Rosie did a great job polishing you up, but the fact of the matter was that Charlie's life- an existence of privilege and having ; was so distant from the desperation and wanting that had been clawing at your insides for as long as you could remember.  

With your eyes closed, not wanting to face the full extent of her pity; you had no way of anticipating the crushing force of Charlie's hug as she flung herself at you. 

“No,” Charlie whispered fiercely into your shoulder. “It's more than enough.  It's everything.”

If Alastor noticed the puffy skin around your eyes he was polite enough to not mention it or simply didn't care.  Either way, the stroll back to Cannibal Town arm-in-arm with him was a pleasant way to end the evening.  The humidity of the day had died down enough where it no longer felt like you were drinking the air, and the terrified screams of unlucky sinners were distant enough that they faded into the background of whatever moody jazz tune Alastor had selected to play as you strolled.  

The blood wine had dispersed quickly from your empty belly, muddling your thoughts and filling you with a reckless sort of bravery.

“Alastor, Sir?” You say quickly, not giving yourself the opportunity to back down.  “May we speak candidly?”

“Can-did, you say? That's something we certainly can-do, ” Alastor jested, the ambient music lowering slightly in volume to allow for an easier flow of conversation.  

Being the focus of Alastor's attention was always a stressful sort of experience; like having the full force of a spotlight turned onto you.  

“I'm just, well, a bit curious, ” you manage to stammer out.  “About your intentions.”

“My intentions? ” Alastor echoed with an uncomprehending blink.  

“I know that you…don't really care for me. Not in the way you want others to believe, anyway,” you quietly admit.  

“True,” Alastor readily agrees.  The fact that his rejection came so swiftly, as though you weren't even worthy of a passing moment of consideration, ached in a way you hadn't ever felt before.  It was like a spindle tightening in your gut, spooling you inwards, making you feel even smaller and more insignificant than you normally did.  

Swallowing thickly, you press on; determined to find some crumb of meaning in your pain.   

“So I suppose my question is why?  Why carry out this facade?  Why choose me to assist you with it?”

Alastor was slow to respond, not out of need to compose his answer, but out of an irrepressible need to draw out the theatricality of every possible moment.  

“Recently, I have found myself saddled with what one might call a bit of an unwanted reputation,” Alastor admitted with a weary sigh.  “I wouldn't usually bother with such trifling matters, but it's becoming an increasingly burdensome issue.”

“I'm still not entirely sure how I factor into all of this.”

“More often than not, the simplest solution to a problem is best.  And you, my dear, have proven yourself to be quite simple.”

“Gee, thanks,” you bristled, doing your best to tamp down your irritation at his backhanded compliment.  

“Quite welcome,” Alastor said cheerily, tucking his cane into the crook of his arm so he could pat the top of your hands, both wrapped snugly around his forearm, firmly.  

You hadn't been aware that a touch could feel condescending until this precise moment in time.    

“So, I'm accompanying you for what purpose, exactly?  To improve your image?”

Alastor's nose crinkled in distaste, tongue tsking at you in reprimand.  “I assure you there is nothing about my person that you could possibly improve upon.”

“Of course.  How silly of me to imply otherwise,” you respond placatingly, patting his hand just as he had yours moments before.  Based on the nearly imperceptible ticking of his eyebrow, Alastor found the gesture just as infuriating as you did.  

Good.  

“As for why I chose you, well, think of it this way; why should a fox bother hunting when the chicken coop's unlocked?”

You weren't sure what you hated more, the idea that Alastor viewed you with a chicken happily waiting to be slaughtered or the fact that his comparison fit so well. 

Tag List:

@wendds @matpatsstuff @qardasngan @polytheatrix @sirens-and-moonflowers  @venusdandy

[starrgaziinggg]

DON’T LET ME LOVE YOU | hwang hyunjin

royal au | prince hyunjin x princess reader

PART ZERO -> the prelude (2k words)

directory

You jolt hearing a crunch from behind you, whipping your whole body 180° to see who's walking towards you.

Technically, what you're doing right now is illegal. Trespassing on the Winter Courts lands as a member of the Summer Court - let alone a royal one, is forbidden. Strictly. God, if your father knew you were here he'd be enraged. You'd only seen your father angry a handful of times, but when he'd caught wind of you sneaking out beyond the border...

Seething was an understatement.

Thankfully, it's Hyunjin who emerges from the tree line, his large doe eyes cautious as he walks towards you, in an attempt not to startle you. His dark hair is loose around his chin, a contrast to how it's usually tied up. He'd let it grow long recently, despite his fathers strict instructions to cut it.

As the tall man sits beside you on the grassy hill that overlooks his kingdom, you can see the scar above his ear when his father had ordered a servant to cut it in his sleep. True to their image, the King of the Winter Court was a cruel and brutal man - the complete contrast to his only son.

"Hey," the man beside you says gently, giving your foot a nudge with his own. You turn to give him a small smile, looking back out at his kingdom with a sigh. Tomorrow, he'd be leaving for six months to train with the army. It was a duty all male Winter Court citizens had to fulfil, and this declaration of the King apparently extended to his own son.

"I don't get it," you huff, fully turning to face the man to your side. You take a second to look at him properly for the first time, the gentle breeze sifting through his hair. You weren't cold here, since your secret spot was just beyond the border of the Summer court, but the air was cooler than that of your own kingdom, noticeably so. His face looks sullen, almost sad - a stark contrast to his usually pleasant smile when he's around you,

"What don't you get?" Hyunjin questions, making himself comfortable on the grassy hill and slinging off his sword sheath. He was a prince through and through, his beautiful, strong, masculine features making your heart spin just as it did the first time you'd met outwith your Kingdom's duties.

When he'd caught you here on his land the first time, you thought he might kill you. The feud between the Winter and Summer Courts was long standing, and although at bay right now, could change with the drop of a pin.

Trespassing was strictly forbidden without good reason. And your reason was utter shit. Apparently, 'I'm bored of being confined to the palace walls' is not a good enough excuse for breaking a treaty.

But Hyunjin didn't kill you. He sat with you, and talked until you were certain your own father would have your head if you'd stayed out any later. You'd gone back to the grassy hill beyond the border almost every week since, slipping out after nightfall to talk to your new found friend.

"It's bullshit," you say with certainty, rolling your eyes when he smiles at you. "You've been training since you could crawl. You're probably more skilled than 90% of the men in your army, yet you need to go off and train with them for six months?"

"Probably more like 99.9%," Hyunjin says cockily, laughing out loud when you attempt to push him over. He's much stronger than you, staying rigid as he tilts his head at you. "I know, darling, I know. I wish I didn't need to do it either."

If trespassing was a crime punishable by death, what would your father say if you told him you'd fallen in love with his mortal enemy's son?

Not good things, you could imagine.

You huff, kicking at the flowers in front of you. Hyunjin places a hand on your leg, halting your actions. You look over at him with a scowl.

"The flowers didn't do anything to you, darling," he says wisely, which only makes your heart break more. He was too kind for his own good, yet one of the strongest soldiers of the Winter Court. You'd been more than surprised to find out how caring and gentle the man who was supposed to be some ruthless killer was.

"The flowers get to exist here in peace, and that's enough for me," you say ominously, folding your arms across your chest. You feel a hand go towards your cheek, moving some hair that had flown into your face from the wind behind your ear. You turn, leaning into Hyunjin's palm and resting there.

"I have something for you," he says after a while, taking his palm away from your cheek and pulling something out of his back pocket. He hands it to you - a painting of tulips; your Courts symbolic flower.

"It's beautiful, Hyunjin," you say honestly, inspecting his work. You'd grown a collection of small paintings he'd given you over the months - little reminders that your relationship, whatever it was, was real outwith this bubble you'd created.

"It'll be the last one for a while," he reminds you sadly, taking your hand in his and pulling you closer to him. You allow it, feeling the hardness of his chest behind you and his breath against your ear.

"I don't want you to go," you whisper quietly, feeling him place a gentle kiss against your temple.

"I know, darling," he whispers back, wrapping his arms around your torso and leaning his chin against your shoulder.

"Who am I going to talk to?" You whine, thinking about the nights you'll be spending cooped up in your room instead of talking with Hyunjin for the next six months. He chuckles at this, the sound deep against your shoulder.

"Jeongin will take good care of you, won't he?" Hyunjin says, no distaste to his tone. He knows Jeongin is your best friend - your right hand man, just as Minho is his. You'd grown up with Jeongin, the boy becoming your rock throughout the hardships that came with being the Summer Court's golden princess.

"Jeongin hates you," you point out, which makes Hyunjin shake his head with a laugh. It was true to a certain extent - Jeongin was not overly keen on Hyunjin, but you boiled that down to the fact he didn't know him like you did. He'd only seen the icy cold demeanour of the Winter prince at special events.

"Yeah, well, if you'd let me meet him -"

"You've already met him," you cut Hyunjin off, turning slightly to look into his eyes from behind you. He makes a face at you, dropping his eternally calm demeanour and making you giggle.

"You know what I mean. I've never met him properly, not after this started. If I met Jeongin, you could meet Minho, and then maybe he would stop being such a dickhead about you," Hyunjin raises his eyebrows as he talks, trying to put forward a valid point.

"Minho hates me just as much as Jeongin hates you," you say lazily. "I don't think that will be changing anytime soon."

"But it could," Hyunjin speaks up, turning your body so that you're straddling his lap. He places his large hands on your sides, squeezing gently. "If you'd only let me meet Jeongin, I'm sure I could get him on my good side."

"You could get a street lamp on your side if you tried hard enough," you point out with a smirk. "You have countless maidens who are desperate to wed you."

You add in that last part as a joke, but you know there's truth in it. Part of you hates the fact that you know, deep down, you and Hyunjin will never be able to take things further than your bubble. Your older brother will take over your kingdom, and Hyunjin will take over his, and the two will continue to be sworn enemies. There was no place in Hyunjin's life for you outside this - secret meetings and stolen kisses.

"And yet I choose you," he says lowly, looking between your eyes intently. You allow him to indulge himself, letting him press his lips against yours slowly. You know it's wrong, you know it's forbidden - but the only feelings you have towards the man in front of you are feelings of warmth. Who knew the ice prince would be the key to your happiness?

You move against his lips slowly, letting him lead the kiss. He never takes things further than this as much as you know he wants to. You can feel how hard he is right now, but he'd told you time and time again, 'Not here. Not like this.'

And you appreciated that. It wasn't as though either of you hadn't been with other people, you just knew as soon as you took that step, things would get complicated. Feelings would grow deeper, problems would arise. For now, you were contempt with the small part of Hyunjin you could have to yourself.

He pulls away after a couple minutes, breathless, placing his forehead gently against yours. He pulls you impossibly closer to him and you let your head fall gently to his shoulder, resting in his embrace.

"I'm gonna miss you," you say, because it's true. He gives you a gentle squeeze.

"I'll miss you too, my darling," he replies, and your heart flutters at the words. His darling.

You let yourself sit like that for hours. For as long as you know you can without a maid or servant or your brother or father noticing your disappearance. Until you feel yourself drifting off, Hyunjin's large palm rubbing circles into your back.

He wakes you when he knows he should, giving himself an extra five minutes with you, because he knows he will miss you so dreadfully when he leaves for his six months of training. He's already given Minho, who finished his training last year, strict instructions on which notes to deliver to you and when. Because he'll be damned if he'd ever leave you in the dark whilst he was busy.

It was scary how much you were beginning to mean to him. It terrified him, yet he welcomed the feeling so long as he got to spend even an hour in your presence. When you make grabby hands at him, insisting he carry you through the forest, he doesn't complain. He lets you cling to him like a bear, lets you hug him for however long you want before he kisses you gently one last time before turning on his heel and disappearing back into the woods.

You pray to the ancients as you walk back stealthily to the castle, walking into your room to find Jeongin giving you the evils for making him worry for being away for so long. You pray that he comes back in six months safe.

You pray that somehow, things will work out between you two. You pray that you'll always have your prince.

PART ONE HERE

[petitemouse]

I want to give Teddy a massive hug.  He goes to bed having been reassured by Clover that it will be a long time before she gets married, and wakes up to find her engaged.  No wonder he felt lied to.

Although it is clear that he loves his aunt and uncle and that he has little memory of his parents, it must still hurt to know that his parents essentially gave him away in exchange for money.  Of course, such things would have been kept hidden from him, but servants tend to gossip and little ears tend to eavesdrop.  Even if does he believe that he was adopted purely to become the heir of his childless uncle (the official line) rather than adopted to take him out of the violent environment of his parents’ household (the real reason), a part of him must still feel as though he was abandoned, feelings not helped by the fact that Josie left him and Clover.

And so, does Teddy feel as though Clover is abandoning him by marrying Benedict?  We all know that Clover would walk on cut glass to get to Teddy if he needed her – I doubt anything could stop her – but Teddy probably is scared that it will just be like it was with Josie: that Clover will start a new life without him.

Our little Teddy must be feeling quite resentful of Benedict, all sullen towards him and clingy with Clover when he is near, so I am looking forward to seeing how their relationship develops into something positive especially as I love the idea of Teddy having a big brother figure in his life.  It would also be wonderful for Clover to see her brother happy with Benedict.

Oh Clover, my dear, someone else I wanted to hug in this chapter.  She loves Benedict, trusts him and cannot stop herself from wanting him in her life…and yet she still believes that he is going to become a violent and cruel monster the moment she says, ‘I do’.

She knows that not every marriage is like her parents.  Her aunt and uncle’s marriage seems healthy and full of love, and yet she bases her ideas of marriage purely on her parents’ marriage.  It is as if she believes that she is destined for a marriage of violence and misery, that her wedded life is going to be nothing but fear and cruelty. 

And so, even though deep down she knows that Benedict is not like that, she chooses to hang onto her preconceived ideas of marriage, maybe to stop herself from being disappointed when Benedict inevitably (in her mind) betrays her and becomes the villain from her nightmare?

She wants to cling onto any bit of control that she can even silencing her feelings so he cannot find a way to hurt her.  She is even resigned to not having a garden whilst she has a living husband.  She is trying to minimise any future pain, and it breaks my heart.  I just want her to have her own garden she can tend to and share with Benedict.  Maybe with an orangery Benedict can sometimes use as a studio with the doors open wide to watch his wife.  And big trees with benches underneath for Lottie to sit under and read whenever she comes to visit.  And just this huge garden in which she can create happy memories in.

But it is going to be sometime until we get that isn’t it.  You promised us angst and you are more than delivering it. I love it.

We know that Clover planned to marry someone older so she could become a widow early, but did she also want to marry someone older in the hope that they would be too old to give her any children?  I can’t imagine her wanting to raise children in the same environment she was raised.

On a separate note, I want to slap Anthony Bridgerton for being a massive wanker.

Clover might seem like an ice queen but ice is fragile, and she is, I think, rather easy to hurt.  Cornering a woman half your age on the street and basically calling her a manipulative social climber is a really shitty thing to do and quite intimidating.  I know he had his reasons / excuses – protecting his brother and fighting on behalf of Lottie’s – but it’s still shitty.

Oooh I cannot wait until Josie appears. Anthony will not know what hit him.

Garden of Secrets [9] - Lavender

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: A rushed engagement raises certain questions.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms.

Word Count: 4300

Series Masterlist

This could not be happening.

No. There was no way.

You rushed out of the carriage as soon as it came to a stop and gathered your skirts to climb the marble stairs leading up to your house as fast as you could, ignoring your aunt saying your name. Darting through the door, you did not even stop to catch your breath, instead you made your way upstairs and passed through the hallway until you reached your room and opened the door, then closed it behind you and leaned back to it, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

With just one kiss, you were now to be married.

Keep reading

[aenaxes]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write Crosshair going to the reader for random cuddles no matter where they are, late at night or out on the beach with the batch. BTW, I love the way you write and it never fails to get me inspired to draw our favorite clone boys. Good luck with Uni!

warnings: none

w/c: 1.6k

a/n: ahh tysm for this request! i got a little carried away lol but it's just because i had a lot of fun writing it! :-) hope this helps stoke the artistic imagination! (and thankfully uni is out for the summer so i have more time for our favorite clone boys)

It’s one of the better known facts that Crosshair doesn’t like to be touched, even if warranted, even if he’s asked. There are too many variables in another’s hands: accidents happen, sabotage is never unlikely, and sometimes youthful fear rears its cruel head, and he is flooded with the knee-jerk reflex of memories in the alabaster halls of Tipoca.

So the first time you cuddle with Crosshair, it’s just as much of a disaster as you expect it to be.

Crosshair lies like a corpse over the centre of your bunk, back rigid and ramrod straight, his deathly look complete with the ridiculous bandage criss-crossed over his hairline (courtesy of the simple joys of a ten metre human javelin toss and Wrecker’s miscalculated aim).

Where painkillers weren’t quite enough to keep the concussion headaches at bay, he’d somehow come to the conclusion that you would be. And who were you to turn down a sullen Crosshair mumbling awkwardly for cuddles at your door?

With careful hands and just enough of a firm touch to coax him onto his side without spooking him out of his moping, you maneuver him with his back towards the wall and gently push him further in before you climb onto the space beside him. He flashes you an uncertain look, and you offer him a wry smile in return.

“Relax a little,” you say, lifting his limp arm and slotting yourself against his side until your chests are flush. It’s less cuddling than it is you trying to mold yourself around the hard, firm lines of the tension etched into Crosshair’s muscle and poise. But if he was willing to put aside his standoffish pride to ask you for cuddles, you won’t deny him. Finally content with your arrangement, you lift your chin and fix him with a wry smile. “I can’t spoon a board.”

“Was that an insult?” he offers, a weak attempt at his usual wit that comes out as more of a whimper than bite. But to his credit, he’s listening to you, and you feel him shifting slightly in an attempt to make himself comfortable despite his somewhat unsettled expression.

“Maybe,” you counter. “Loosen your shoulders. Stop tensing. Cuddle, Crosshair.”

“I’m trying,” he mutters, and when you close your eyes to laugh, you barely miss the small upward turn of his lips.

When you wake up the next morning, you feel reborn, all loose-limbed, sated joy as you stretch your arms to your side, expecting Crosshair’s lean form curled close. Instead, you find yourself alone in your bunk, your covers pulled neatly up to your chin with no sign of your surly sniper in sight. You pull yourself together, albeit with a frown, throwing on a fresh set of clothes and readying yourself for a day of snarking (a bit spitefully) at Crosshair for leaving without so much as a thank you.

But then you see it. A small mug sitting on your desk: caf.

As you peer over the rim, you’re hard-pressed to mistake it as anything other than your preference made to perfection, and judging by the steam curling fragrant and wispy over its surface, it’s fresh.

Crosshair says nothing when you pass him in the helm, but when you flash him a grin, he huffs and offers you a lopsided smile back.

It takes the lesser part of one week for the headaches to abate. In between then and Crosshair’s begrudgingly clean bill of health, he comes knocking at your door four more times, each time gently loosening the deep roots of tension coiled through his bones more and more.

“You’re getting better at this,” you murmur into his shoulder on the fourth night, your leg thrown over his hip and your arms tucked securely under his. His first night in your quarters had ended in little beyond simply lying shoulder-to-shoulder. The next two had been (failed) attempts to spoon the entirety of Crosshair’s lanky form. And the night penultimate had been a slightly more successful endeavor in throwing all experimental caution to the wind and waking up chest-to-chest in an oddly comfortable tangle of limbs.

That night worked, and so you do it again.

“I had a good teacher,” Crosshair snorts, and he wheezes, his arms curling snug around your middle, when you gently jab him in the side.

You mutter something into his shoulder, but your own words do not reach your ears when you feel his chin settle atop your head. He shifts carefully until he’s curled entirely around you, the anchor in a still sea, a promise that you, together in shared space and breath, simply are. It’s funny how these things work, you think, breathing shallow and slow as Crosshair brushes his nose over the crown of your head and stays.

And then the concussion heals, and he’s gone.

It’s a bit startling how quickly you had grown accustomed to Crosshair’s presence in your bunk within the brief span of a week. You don’t expect to miss it, the easy nighttime habit as Crosshair quietly slinks to your room: a well-rehearsed ritual of playful snark before the gentler art of accommodation, pushing and pulling in tandem to find the sweet stability of your cheek laid over Crosshair’s collar and his palm warm over the small of your back.

You don’t expect to miss it so much that you find yourself lying in bed well past lights out, simply bracing to sling meaningless jokes thrown in the helm the next morning about how Crosshair’s gone soft, little baby brother Crosshair, like the week prior meant little but a favor to a friend.

The telltale knock sets him apart; four rapid, light raps on the durasteel that you’ve come to know so well, and you’re hauling yourself out of bed and slapping the door lock open as fast as you can.

“Cuddles,” Crosshair says as soon as he catches sight of you in the doorway.

He should be fine; he is fine, if Tech is to be believed. So there’s no reason for him to be waking you and requesting entry. But he is here. You stuff down the dizzying stutter in your chest and meet the mirth in his eyes with the best frown you can manage.

For all the stubborn fronting and the cold refusal you could offer him, there’s something you cannot bring yourself to resent when Crosshair—sour, cynical Crosshair—lets the word “cuddle” find home, curled soft over his tongue (lets himself find home in you).

“Will you make me caf in the morning?”

“Depends on how well you cuddle,” he replies, his tone a deadly calm, only betrayed by the knowing gleam in his eye.

“Says the man who didn’t know how to cuddle a few days ago,” you shoot back.

“The apprentice outdoes the master,” Crosshair shakes his head with a wistful sigh, and you laugh, reaching forward to twine your fingers with his, letting him take his rightful place as the doors close behind you.

—

He comes back home.

Wrecker tells you to give him space, Echo shakes his head when you idle in front of his closed door, and even Omega offers you a sad, apologetic look when Crosshair makes the rare, silent appearance outside of his quarters, a spectre and his bacta patch haunting the ship’s hull before he disappears again.

You listen to them for a few days, but it chews at you from inside—the gnawing thought that Crosshair had been alone for so long, that he’s still alone now. Even if his basest instinct had always been to withdraw and cope in isolation, you can’t stand the idea of leaving him by himself any longer. So when the others have long since fallen asleep, you creep to Crosshair’s room and knock four times in rapid succession.

Like you had expected, he’s awake. But when he opens the door, he keeps his unfocused eyes cast aside.

“Cuddles,” you whisper, testing, hopeful, and you open your arms to him as you stand on the threshold. “Just like we used to?”

Only then does Crosshair flick his weary eyes up, rimmed red with exhaustion, grief overdue. And after four long days, he finally meets your gaze.

You watch as his eyes linger under furrowed brows, peering at you as if he isn’t entirely sure if you’re real, if you’re really there. Watching him waver between your face and your open palms and back again, you imagine Crosshair thinking that it’s always been the other way around: him seeking you out at odd hours to wrap his lean arms around your shoulders, breathe deep, and simply bask in how close you were to his beating heart.

And now it’s you.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping forward between your outstretched arms to gingerly place his chin over your shoulder and settle his lean arms at your waist.

All those times you spent curled, molded around him in the quiet darkness of your bunk—it’s honed you to know him like you know yourself, committing to indelible memory the way he breathes, shifts, fits with you.

And he’s different. A year’s worth of separation would do that, change. But where you feel some new muscle and sinew against your skin, there is undeniable familiarity in how he seeks you out despite the tremble in his hands and unsteadiness of his breath.

There is familiarity in finding home.

You reach up, looping your arms around his neck. And when you pull snug, you feel him squeeze your waist in return, holding tight and holding close.

“Just like we used to.”

[jerrienelock]

Mad At Disney- Kendall Jenner

For as long as Kendall had lived, she had always believed that a prince was all she would ever need for her happily ever after to come true. To her young self life was nothing but an incomplete fairy tale just waiting for the ending to come too and make her dreams a reality with a loyal and faithful man by her side.

As time grew on and the girl flourished, the gracious future she had planned out for herself had been picked away as she was slowly revealed to the cruel and harsh reality of the world around her. The boys in her school were nothing of a prince portrayed in all those Disney movies she had loved. In fact, they were quite the opposite, they made themselves out to be more of the villain in her story like the horrid stepmother and stepsisters in Cinderella, or like Jafar and Gaston and Claude Frollo except they hadn't the even tiniest of likings to her.

It was a good thing she reciprocated their feelings.

Since the discovering of the villainous demeanour most of those had reeked, she had found herself lying in her bed from days on end just questioning the trance the unrealistic realities Disney had managed to print into her head. It felt almost wrong to her about the fact that maybe she just wasn't destined to be happy.

Well, that was until Kylie brought you over for a sleepover that one fateful day. And just then Kendall thought that maybe the reason she had thought that her original destiny was false was that maybe she just wasn't interested in boys.

At first, when the girl had succumbed to the realisation, she was so confused about it all as Disney had always taught her that a romance between a man and a woman was natural and was always bound to happen at some stage in her life, and nothing about a possible romance forming between those of the same sex. For that ever so reason, she had ended up thinking that something was wrong with her.

She practically ended each day crying herself to sleep afraid to ask those around her if it was deemed acceptable for what she was feeling at that exact moment. Nobody had noticed the change in mood the girl had not so subtly been eliciting except for you.

Kylie had always had you come to the house just to hang out or whatever reason she could come up with, so it wasn't strange for you to notice the peculiar way Kendall had been acting since you first met her.

At first, you had shrugged it off just assuming the girl was going through something and just wanted to be alone. But as time flew by you had become increasingly worried as you had seen less and less of Kendall every time you had come over.

Initially, you had asked the youngest Jenner what was wrong with her sister but she shrugged her shoulders and muttered something along the lines of "being moody" before going back to her strawberry kombucha. You rolled your eyes at your best friend swiftly pushing yourself away from the kitchen counter and stalking all the way to Kendall's room.

You didn't even get the chance to even announce your presence when you heard a soft voice telling you to come in.

Kendall sat up a little straighter on her bed, the sheets pulling down slightly whilst she clutched the white cloud-like pillow to her chest. She sent you a weary smile before pushing the tip of her chin into the pillow, resting her head.

Her eyes were red and swollen, an evident sign that the girl had most likely been crying. You gazed at the girl sympathetically, moving yourself over to her bed and sat near the bottom. Kendall delicately removed her hand from her pillow and gently patted the barely touched covers beside her gesturing for you to move closer to her.

You oblige and make yourself comfy on top of the duvet. Just as you relaxed into the headboard Kendall dropped her head down onto your shoulder, her hair falling past her face slightly.

"Are you okay?"- You questioned the girl softly, Kendall nodded, head rubbing against your clothed shoulder.

-"I just feel alone"- the dark brunette confessed, gaze stuck on the now slightly crumpled bedsheets.

"How so?"

Kendall shrugs, -"It feels like there's something wrong with me, and I don't want to tell anyone in case it really is true."

You knitted your brows together, shifting in your spot so that your body was tilted in her direction. You lift her head so that she was now looking at you. -"There's nothing wrong with you candle"

Kendall took her bottom lip between her teeth and diverted her gaze away from you, a sullen look taking over her. -"There is, and its the fact that my family might not accept me for who I am is what is worrying me"

"Oh"- you breath out somewhat finally understanding what she was talking about. -"It just feels wrong to feel this way about girls. Disney didn't tell me anything like this would happen."- Kendall continued bottom lip quivering, not really understanding the fact that she had just come out to you. Kendall tried to blink the tears away but before she knew it they had already escaped and were now slowly tumbling down one by one, like a raindrop on a car window that you would bid on to see if it wins a race against others.

You brushed her tears away and gently place her head back onto your shoulder. -"Disney didn't prepare you for these feelings, it only prepared you for the doomed alternate future you would have if you stuck to being with men"

Kendall continued to sob into you but let out a nod showing that she acknowledged your words. -"I'm just so mad at it,"- her voice broke slightly, -"I don't know why I ever believed in it"

Kendall's sobs resolved into sniffles and she let her head drop off your shoulder momentarily before nestling it into the crook of your arm. She pushed herself further down her bed so that her arm could wrap securely around you. -"Cuddle me. Please."- She whispered.

You were obliged to shift down so that the girls head was properly placed on your shoulder and wrapped your arms around her.

Kendall knew she couldn't be mad at the cartoon company for long, no matter how upset she was with it she wasn't able to hold a grudge. Instead, she just spent the remainder of her afternoon situated securely between your arms that moulded perfectly over her body without a worry on her mind.

***

Masterlis; Celebrities

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt 11 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixun chat while punished together, and discover they have more in common than they'd like.

warning for brief mentions of past physical and verbal violence against a child

Nie Huaisang had hoped that he would be allowed to wait until his nose had returned to its usual shape before his punishment. A hope quickly extinguished when Lan Qiren pointed out that he didn't need his nose to be kneeling and thinking about his behaviour. And so, one day after that fight, his face still swollen, Nie Huaisang found himself kneeling after class inside the discipline hall, next to Jin Zixun. 

They’d been ordered to kneel inside the courtyard, with their backs to the gate. That way the gravel dug into their knees, and they were exposed to the view of anyone passing by, their shame on display for good, dutiful young people to behold. 

Nie Huaisang didn’t much care about shame, but he certainly minded discomfort, and he was in plenty of it. Kneeling like this for so long, without any movement allowed, was the most cruel thing he’d ever been forced to endure in his entire life, he quickly decided. And he had to remain unmoving. Lan Wangji, who had been tasked with watching over them even though he was their junior, had announced that if one of them didn’t stay still, they would both be given lines to copy in punishment. He’d meant it, too, and already Nie Huaisang had gotten them two such sets of lines to do later.

“I’ll break your neck if you don’t stop fidgeting already,” Jin Zixun threatened in a whisper after the second time.

“I’m doing my best,” Nie Huaisang replied in the same tone.

“No talking,” Lan Wangji ordered.

He didn’t say they’d be punished if they chatted again, but of course he didn’t need to. This was the Cloud Recesses. Everything got you punished in this hellish place. Nie Huaisang missed home so badly, more than he’d ever thought possible. When he got home, he would be a good, dutiful, obedient brother, and he would never again complain about the way they did things in the Unclean Realm. Maybe that was the secret to Lan Qiren’s success in turning young men into perfect gentlemen. Everyone was so terrified of being forced to deal again with Gusu Lan’s rules and its awful food that they behaved just enough to never be sent back.

Bored to pieces, his knees hurt by gravel, and his legs cramping, Nie Huaisang tried to entertain himself by mentally reciting every bit of poetry he’d ever enjoyed. Then he tried to see if he could remember every rule of Gusu Lan. Then, in despair, he decided to compose some poetry of his own, all of it about the pains and horror of being far from home and among cruel strangers.

When he glanced at the sky, the sun’s position told him that only a quarter of a shichen had passed, if even that.

It was going to be a very long week.

After an eternity, Nie Huaisang heard something near the gate and spotted Su She lingering there. It made him smile. Probably it was coming close to dinner time, and Su She wanted to catch some time with him on the way to the dining halls. Su She didn’t dare come too close of course, not when Lan Wangji was there, so severe he might have been forty instead of fourteen. But Nie Huaisang was glad to have a friend nearby, and it made the whole thing feel a little less unpleasant.

A little after, Nie Huaisang noticed that Lan Wangji was looking at something. He threw another glance back, only to discover that Lan Xichen was there too, quietly talking with Su She. Neither looked very happy to be in such company, while also making great effort to pretend otherwise. It made Nie Huaisang snort, and that in turn made him wince because of his nose. 

When he checked toward the door one last time, both Su She and Lan Xichen were gone. Soon after, the bell calling for dinner rang at last, and Lan Wangji announced that his two victims were free to go.

“Return after dinner,” he reminded them. “If you are late, there will be more punishment.”

After staying so long in the same position, Nie Huaisang found that he almost couldn’t stand at all. His only comfort was to see Jin Zixun didn’t appear in much better shape in spite of a higher cultivation. Together they hobbled toward the dining halls, both pretending not to see the other. By the time they arrived, everyone else had already started eating, but the Lans very generously didn’t remark on that. Nie Huaisang quickly found his place with the other Nie disciples, who served him food and slipped him some snacks they’d sneaked in. For once that their young master acted like a proper Nie, they were determined to encourage him, perhaps in hope that next time he would not just start a fight but also win it.

-

The second day of punishment was much like the first, except this time Su She didn’t come to visit. It was probably for the best if he didn’t come anywhere near Jin Zixun for a while, Nie Huaisang thought, and he was half sure Lan Xichen must have come to the same conclusion. Perhaps Lan Xichen had asked, or even ordered, that Su She stay away for the time being.

Nie Huaisang tried not to feel upset about that.

He also tried to count how many shades of grey he could differentiate in the gravel of the courtyard. At a little over two thousand, he stopped counting and decided that being bored was, in fact, less boring than that.

-

On the third day of punishment, a different disciple was overseeing them, one a little less vicious than Lan Wangji. That boy, older than them by a few years but not old enough to be called a man, looked as though he enjoyed being there as little as they did. While Lan Wangji usually either meditated or studied while watching over his victims, that Lan boy quickly grew restless and took to walking around. At some point he even went out the doors to check on something, leaving Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixun alone.

While Nie Huaisang didn’t dare to move, in case Lan Wangji popped by to check on them, Jin Zixun immediately started stretching his limbs, even sitting cross-legged for a little bit once he figured the Lan disciple went for a long walk.

“So, your merchant friend didn’t come around today either,” Jin Zixun said, apparently unable to not be an ass for even an incense stick’s time. “Guess you forgot to pay him his due for the week? You’d have to pay him. How else would anyone spend time with someone like you?”

“Unlike you, I don’t have to pay people to be my friends,” Nie Huaisang replied, still a little unhappy that Su She hadn’t tried to come again but refusing to let it show. “Or do you think those other Jin guys hang out with you because they like you?”

“Shut up!”

“Well, I guess it’s really your uncle paying them to stay around you,” Nie Huaisang mused, carefully stretching a little as well. “It must be costing him a fortune, too.”

“Maybe you’re not paying them, but you think your brother isn’t forcing his disciples to hang out with you too?” Jin Zixun scoffed. “You think your merchant friend would have bothered with you if you weren’t so high up in Qinghe Nie’s hierarchy? Someone like you, aside from your connexions, what’s your appeal?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that. Su-xiong doesn’t care about these things,” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, allowing his voice to rise higher than was prudent. 

The Lan disciple in charge of them, alerted by the sudden noise, returned and mildly scolded them for not being quiet, though he said nothing about both of them having obviously changed position while he was gone. He didn’t leave again for the rest of their time in the disciple halls, for which Nie Huaisang was secretly a little glad. He hadn’t liked at all where that conversation was going.

Su She wasn’t the sort to use others for their connexions. He was too proud for that, too determined to succeed by the strength of his own hard work. He was Nie Huaisang’s friend, sincerely so. And just because Su She had not tried again to see Nie Huaisang since the beginning of his punishment, since Lan Xichen had been manipulated into taking his side at last, offering him the support within his sect he'd always wanted… 

Nie Huaisang was angry at himself for having that sort of doubts, and angry at Su She for acting in a manner that allowed doubts to be formed.

But Su She had to have an excellent reason for keeping his distance, and Jin Zixun was just jealous because nobody would ever take a hit to protect him. 

Besides, even if they both only had an entourage because people were forced to hang out with them due to their rank, at least Nie Huaisang had a better one. His brother’s disciples, even after three days, were still sneaking him sweets and medicine at dinner, to help him deal with his punishment, still whispering that the whole thing was unfair, that Jin Zixun had been asking for trouble and everyone knew the gossip about him was true. Meanwhile, the Jin disciples were mostly avoiding conversation with Jin Zixun unless he talked first, and didn’t appear to particularly worry for his well-being. Every time Nie Huaisang glanced that way during meals, Jin Zixun was looking sullen and quite lonely.

It made sense because Jin Zixun was the worst person in the world, while Nie Huaisang knew himself to be lovely and delightful.

Well.

He knew himself to be kind of funny and generous with sharing the perks that came with his position, anyway, and that was almost the same.

-

On the fourth day of punishment, Nie Huaisang ended up doing some comparison of his and Jin Zixun’s situation. He hadn’t meant to. But Lan Wangji was the one watching them again, Nie Huaisang was so bored, and he just didn’t have anything to occupy himself except introspection.

Jin Zixun, he promptly decided, was an awful prick and people were right to dislike him. But at the same time, there was a good chance that some people had disliked him from the start, just because of who he was and how he was born, which might have turned him into a prick as a reaction. Nie Huaisang knew he’d been close to doing the same when he was younger, except he was too lazy for that, and also he’d always had his brother who both sincerely supported him and didn’t let him get away with hurting others on those occasions Nie Huaisang had tried abusing his position.

There would have been nobody to be there for Jin Zixun like that, he figured. Maybe his mother, but everyone knew she kept away from the world these days. His uncle could, and certainly should have been a model and a guide, but since the uncle in question was Jin Guangshan, and with the whole scandal around Jin Zixun’s birth�� At that point Madam Jin should have stepped up when her husband failed to take care of the nephew they were half raising, but that wasn’t going to happen, not when she was well known to despise all of Jin Guangshan’s bastards. And aside from these two, who could have dared to stand up to that young master, second in line to inherit their sect and with a personality so awful that he was sure to develop a personal grudge against anyone who opposed him?

Maybe in another sect, someone would still have had that courage. But Lanling Jin was a sect of ambitious cowards, or so Nie Huaisang thought after listening to his brother rant against them.

So the only difference between Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixun was that one had been raised right, while the other had barely been raised at all. It made for an unpleasant conclusion: they weren't so different.

And then, there was the matter of gossip. Both of their births had been tainted by scandals caused by adults who really ought to have behaved better. Nie Huaisang had suffered a little from it, mostly when he was very young, but it had been years since anyone but his father had thrown that to his face. But Jin Zixun… everyone knew about Jin Zixun, and everyone brought it up every time he was annoying, which of course happened a lot.

It had to be awful, Nie Huaisang thought as he knelt over gravel, stealing a glance at his companion of misfortune. And so, having reached that realisation, Nie Huaisang felt some guilt over the way he’d acted that day. Sure he had just been trying to protect Su She but maybe, just maybe, he’d taken that a little too far when he’d started insulting Jin Zixun’s birth instead of just his sect and atrocious personality.

Then, to make everything worse, Nie Huaisang realised that just like in his own case, everything about Jin Zixun might have just been baseless gossip, a complete invention.

That ruined his mood for the rest of the day. When he saw Jin Zixun being ignored by the other Jins at dinner, Nie Huaisang almost sprung from his sitting place to publicly apologise to him.

He might have, if he hadn’t disliked Jin Zixun too much to be nice to him in front of an audience.

-

When day five arrived, and it was again that rather less serious Lan disciple watching them rather than Lan Wangji, Nie Huaisang realised he really was guilty for what he’d said to Jin Zixun, guilty enough to consider making an apology. A real one, too, not just the tearful thing he’d already planned on reciting in front of Lan Qiren.

Because while Jin Zixun was, in fact, the most disagreeable person in the world, a bully, an asshole, self important, and just generally unpleasant… throwing it in his face that he might be an unwanted bastard was a low blow, and had nothing to do with the things that were so detestable about him.

Nie Huaisang waited until, once again, the Lan disciple grew bored of watching them kneel silently and went for a walk. He then waited a moment more to make sure they were alone, before finally daring to speak.

“So, I think I should apologise.”

“Keep that for later,” Jin Zixun snapped at him. “It’s Lan Qiren you’ll need to impress, not me.”

“Old man Lan is a different problem, I’ll convince him,” Nie Huaisang boasted. “But you… This is a real apology. I shouldn't have said that. About your father. I shouldn't have."

Jin Zixun glared at him, looking furious enough that Nie Huaisang feared he was going to be punched again. In the end though, Jin Zixun wasn’t stupid enough to do that again when it had gotten him in such trouble the first time, so he just shrugged.

"Everyone says it anyway. Why should I expect any better, especially from an idiot like you?" 

"Because I should know better. I'm… at home, they say the same about me." 

Jin Zixun threw him a suspicious look. Probably he'd heard that Nie Huaisang's mother had a bad reputation or he wouldn’t have mentioned her that time, but he'd likely never heard the actual story, though their parents' generation were usually aware of the scandal. Nie Huaisang himself avoided talking about it. It was something of a sore point to this day. He wouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone normally, happy to let the matter be forgotten, but then again he hadn’t really ever met anyone else whose situation was quite so close to his own.

And what was the worst that Jin Zixun could do anyway, when every grown up already knew the story? When they'd just fought so publicly, and sharing gossip would just be seen by other kids their age as a petty and pointless attempt at revenge?

"My mom was married to another man when she started seeing my dad," Nie Huaisang whispered, glancing around to make sure there were no Lans around waiting to punish them for chatting. "A magistrate, I've heard. A bad man, for sure. My father always said he was a very corrupt man, very cruel to the people depending on him." 

Nie Huaisang paused for a moment. It was never easy to think about his father, even worse to think about his mother. He missed them both, even if he didn’t remember either too well, and what he could recall was unpleasant in both cases. His mother had died so young, and his father...

"I think my father killed that man, but I'm not sure,” Nie Huaisang continued. “Everyone says if he did, it was a good deed. But anyway, my mother was with child already when she came to the Unclean Realm, so of course people said…" 

"With the way your cultivation sucks, they might be right," Jin Zixun said in a flat voice. Nie Huaisang looked around, and punched him in the shoulder. Jin Zixun didn't even wince. "What? It's true, you're terrible at this! What sort of cultivator faints just from being punched? But if neither of your parents are cultivators, I’m surprised someone like you made it this far." 

"Shut up! My dad is my dad," Nie Huaisang insisted. "He always said he was sure of it, no matter how many others doubted it. He'd say my mother also was sure, and he never let anyone say otherwise. I was his second wife's son, so I was his son, and anyone who had a problem with it could fight him. And he never changed his mind about that!"

Not until his sabre broke and his mind with it, anyway. Then he'd taken to calling Nie Huaisang a bastard when they were alone, a conniving schemer trying to steal his true son's inheritance, the son of a corrupt man, no better than a cuckoo taking space in a nest that wasn’t his.

Nie Huaisang’s father had had many things to say, by the end, and Nie Huaisang, who’d been ten at the time, hadn’t been so sure anymore who his father was. Not until Nie Mingjue had started pointing out how much he looked like this or that cousin, how the two of them had their father’s eyes.

Nie Mingjue had protected his brother before and after their father died. If he hadn’t been there...

But those last few months didn't matter. That wasn't who Nie Huaisang’s father had really been. Just an empty shell with his face. 

"Lucky," Jin Zixun grumbled. 

Nie Huaisang thought of his father threatening to strangle him, a few days before finally dying, and nodded anyway. He was lucky, compared to some others. 

He was lucky compared to Jin Zixun. 

"My dad never defended me," Jin Zixun said after a moment of silence. "The idiot died too soon." 

A little surprised that Jin Zixun would make such a confidence, Nie Huaisang still nodded.

It was a well known story, and the Jin hadn't managed to smother as efficiently as the Nie had done with their own scandal. Mostly, they hadn't really tried. 

Jin Zixun's father had been Jin Guangshan's younger brother, and he had married a famed beauty who many men of their generation had set their eyes on. Jin Guangshan himself had tried his chance, only to be forced instead into a political engagement with a woman he didn't like while his brother got the true prize. Of course, being Jin Guangshan, neither his own engagement nor the lady's wedding to his brother had changed his interest in her. He had pursued her with ruthless persistence, while she had avoided him with growing desperation. 

Only a few weeks after the marriage, the unfortunate lady became a widow when her husband died during a Night Hunt, and it said something about Jin Guangshan that whenever Nie Huaisang had heard that story recounted, everyone always felt the need to point out it really had been an accident. As for his sister-in-law, she immediately announced she would enter permanent seclusion, out of respect for her husband she'd said. 

To put herself out of reach of her lecherous brother-in-law, everyone believed. 

That seclusion hadn't lasted a month when it was announced that the lady was pregnant. She gave birth shortly after Jin Guangshan's wedding to the fearsome Madam Jin, only for Jin Guangshan to promptly announce that his sister-in-law's son would be his heir if he didn't have sons from his own wife. 

With all this happening in less than a year, of course people gossiped. The true parentage of Jin Zixun, then and now, was a matter of much debate. 

It didn't help that he looked so much like his uncle. 

"I've heard that your mother has always denied all the rumours," Nie Huaisang said, more out of pity than conviction. "And, I mean, she'd know, right ? And if you were your uncle's son you'd have a real claim to Lanling Jin, so she could have tried to scheme and..." 

"My mother is an honourable woman!” Jin Zixun barked. “She'd never have borne it!" 

"And your uncle is a prick." 

Jin Zixun grabbed Nie Huaisang by the collar, and dragged him closer.

"Take that back, or I'll find another part of your face to break!" 

Nie Huaisang looked around, in case that outburst had been heard, then shrugged.

"Your uncle is a prick, or else he'd have done more to defend your mom's reputation. I bet he likes that people think he seduced her." 

"I'll break your teeth!” Jin Zixun threatened, but he released Nie Huaisang's collar. “Uncle said nothing because gossip aren't worth his time. Only the weak and powerless care about rumours, so he refused to give them any consideration." 

"And he likes to have people think he can seduce any woman,” Nie Huaisang pointed out, straightening his clothes. “You know, I've heard that he even went after Qin Furen, from Laoling. You know, that beautiful lady? And…" 

"Shouldn't you know better than to spread gossip?" Jin Zixun snapped.

That was the whole problem of course. Nie Huaisang should have known better. It annoyed him to no end when people talked about his parents, because he knew the truth, and they’d told the truth to everyone, so it was ridiculous of people to still debate that.

But other people’s gossip was fun to collect, and sometimes fun to spread as well. Especially when it had a chance of being the actual truth...

"Shouldn't you know better than to bully people for their origins like you do for Su-xiong?" Nie Huaisang grumbled. "Anyway, it's not real gossip, it's real truth. My da-ge saw your uncle try to kiss Qin Furen once some years back, only he interrupted, and later she thanked him for it." 

Jin Zixun gritted his teeth. He fell silent a moment, considering the information.

"She's very beautiful," Jin Zixun said with some reluctance. "And just his type. It could be true." 

"Da-ge says you can usually trust the women when they speak about these things. He says my mom never showed any doubt at all, no matter how many people pestered her. And I guess your mom's the same. So don't worry, I think we're both our fathers' sons."

"Of course I am," Jin Zixun grumbled. "I didn't need some second rate cultivator like you to tell me that." He paused a moment, and sighed. "I guess I should say thanks anyway. Most people just say my mom wouldn't say it even if the gossip were true. And that's not fair. She's a good person, she wouldn't lie!" 

Nie Huaisang looked away to hide a grin. Jin Zixun was a prick and a bully, but he might also be a bit of a mama's boy. 

It was kind of cute. 

"What's she like, your mom?" he asked.

"Why should you care?" 

Nie Huaisang shrugged. He glanced back toward the gate, just to make sure the Lan disciple in charge of them wasn't returning. But they'd truly been abandoned.

"We can have a nice chat,” Nie Huaisang offered, “or we can continue reflecting on what awful people we are for having a personality, which is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. C'mon, tell me something fun instead. Like how your parents met? And I can tell you about mine? Anything as long as I can forget how bad my knees hurt."

Jin Zixun huffed and puffed, but he started telling the story of his parents' meeting. He was a horrible storyteller, but Nie Huaisang balanced it out by being a great audience. 

-

When the end of the week arrived, and they had to make formal apologies to each other, Nie Huaisang's was more earnest that he'd ever planned it to be. He thought, also, that Jin Zixun seemed a little sorry as well, but that might have only been wishful thinking.

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 6

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron 

Chapter 6 - Ruin

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of war/death, kissing, a healthy dose of the ‘sharing a bed’ trope, ANGST, sexual education because who doesn’t want to read about that in fanfiction, vague description of a female medical procedure

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

A softened sigh left me, knowing it was probably time to let Poe say his piece. He’d been so silent until now that I felt compelled to hear what had been stirring inside his mind while I’d held him in quiet contempt.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

He flicked on one of the dimmed lamps next to the bed, a gentle glow illuminating the room, watching as he proceeded to carefully extricate himself from under the sheets, the soreness as a result of the rehab we’d performed today now evident in his concentrated expression.

I drew myself up into a seated position on the sofa as he made his way to sit on the small table at my front, not attempting to meet my eyes until he’d slowly placed himself down on the metal. His face was less than a meter from mine, pupils drifting upwards until finally, our stares locked.

“I’m sorry,” he declared, his words heavy. “I understand why you’re angry. I get it, okay? Years of battle after battle, fight after fight, it becomes difficult to consider those working under the First Order’s control as people. People with families, loved ones, even children. They appear as targets, there simply to be eliminated. And it’s you or them. Either you perish, or you put the rational thought into the back of your mind and fight back.”

Poe glanced down, fixated to the floor, his jaw tight. “I do think about it sometimes, the people I’ve... murdered. I’ve spent sleepless nights wondering if killing in the name of freedom was a good enough reason to send people to an early death. When you don’t see their faces it’s…. easier. You don’t see the bloodshed, the corpses. You just see the fiery explosion of their ships fading into the black void of space.”

I stayed rigid in the sofa, hands clutching the into cushions. It was difficult to hold down the simmer of anger that boiled in my stomach, since everything so far only reinforced what I felt like I’d determined hours ago. Even while my demeanour remained stormy, Poe continued.

“All I heard in my childhood was my father reminding me of the way he and my mother fought for what they believed to be right. Both of them lived and battled through a time like ours, under the thumb of a regime hungry for power, sparing no innocents in their pursuit of it.” He became lost in memory, the aura drifting around him stained with a subtle sorrow. “‘People were hurting. People were suffering. Your father and I couldn’t sit and do nothing.’ That’s what my mother had told me, a child of two, as her reasoning for joining the Alliance in their efforts to push back against what threatened all type of freedom in this galaxy. My parents offered to sacrifice their lives on the tiniest shred of hope that me, and every other being on every planet, would see peace in their lifetime.”

His eyes finally shifted back to focus on mine. They were determined, yet soft, the chocolate fibers of his irises melting together. “I just... wanted to be like her. Like them. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted them to be proud of me, to have faith that their legacy would live on after they were gone. To provide freedom and peace like they had. Even if that meant sacrificing my own life, even if that meant killing those who opposed it. I had to. I had to join the people that wanted the same thing as me.”

A growing ferocity began to radiate, his voice severe. “I witnessed so many of my fellow soldiers, my friends, die thoughtlessly at the hands of others. And I wanted them to feel the same pain that I felt. Is it hypocritical? Of course, I know that. Is it cruel? Yes, murder is rarely not. But it's in the name of protection, defiance against control from an overpowering force. Those who fight with the First Order, who take over planets and kill innocents for the sake of power, they know what they’re doing. They know the consequences, the outcome, the hold the galaxy will be strangled under if they succeed. And they do it anyway. Our cause isn’t more noble, it’s self-defence. We’re trying to protect the ones who aren’t able to fight back, and those who don’t deserve to be born into a world that will crush them into submission.”

Poe’s features turned darker, leaning in close. “I will never stop thinking about the lives I’ve taken. I will never not hold myself accountable for the sins I’ve committed. But I will also not sit and do nothing. I don’t need you to accept it, but at least try to understand. You and I want the same thing, in the end, to save as many people as possible in our short lifetime. I’m just doing the best I can to see that through.”

While I instinctively took a breath in preparation to speak, nothing came. He’d rendered me speechless.

I had no reply to give, no counterargument, no flaw to point out. His honesty floored me, raw emotion and long-felt guilt rising up for me to observe so openly. The pain behind his eyes seemed so much more acute than any of the other injuries he’d sustained, not trying to shield it from my view as he spoke.

I tried to find words, anything to articulate my forgiveness. Because I did understand. He’d made me see it, the same anguish over death that I felt. But he’d also made me realise what a coward I was.

Against the people who would kill him or control him, he fought back. While I hid myself away under the guise of selflessness.

I thought I was the hero of my story, giving up my home, my old life, for the benefit of the downtrodden people of this planet. In reality, I was a scared little girl, too gutless to push back against those I, and so many others in this galaxy, feared. And here Poe was, putting himself in harm’s way, every day, in the hopes that he could take away our fear forever.  

He began to rise in front of me, taking my lack of reply as an answer in itself. He seemed despondent, his face sullen as he turned to limp back to the bed.

A different kind of fury coursed through me, fury at myself for how easily I’d judged him, at how cruelly I’d treated him.

I couldn’t let the night end this way.

I picked myself up from the sofa and quickly lunged at his wrist, pulling him to face me. He was surprised, glancing with wide eyes to where my hand had caught him, then to my face. I tried desperately to convey it there, everything I wanted to say, struggling to find my voice. Poe waited for me to speak the words I clearly had sitting on the edge of my tongue, but everything I conjured didn’t seem to be enough, the jumbled thoughts swirling incoherently in my mind, never letting me quite grasp onto them long enough to form exactly what I needed to express.

Tension filled the space between us, thick and overwhelming. I soon began outlining the lines of his face, the crease currently stuck in his brow, the curve of his nose, the contour of his jaw, the arch of his lips.

My hands found themselves catching each side of his face, pulling his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss.

I’d held it back for so long, too long, now unable to deny the burning urge to melt my lips into his. He was alarmed at first, his mouth frozen from movement as he comprehended my sudden attack.

Yet quickly he was syncing his lips fluidly with mine, a hand rising to clutch the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His casted arm curled around my waist, pressing my body into his, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.

The fire in my lower abdomen roared into bright red flames again, spreading into the rest of my body like molten lava. He tasted even better than I’d imagined, our tongues beginning to find each other through parted mouths. Fingers moved into his hair, hungrily grasping at the curled strands, causing a low moan to seep from his throat. The sound made me even more forceful in my need for his lips to be connected with mine, barely having time to breathe in-between our eager kisses.

I wanted to have him, all of him, so deeply it was painful, the searing burn lighting up in my veins.

Don’t do this Alexys. It will ruin you.

My breath hitched as I reluctantly pulled away, looking up, seeing his pupils swollen. He was cautious then, moving his hand from my neck to push a strand of hair behind my ear, almost if at any moment I would flee from his embrace.

And that’s what half of me was begging to do, the other screaming at me to lock our lips together again. I felt split into two, a cracking beginning to divide me roughly in the middle.

I could see Poe searching through my gaze, trying to assess my thoughts, whether it was safe to continue. He leaned in gradually, testing my reaction. I didn’t recoil this time. I didn’t want to.

His lips melted into mine, less insistent than before, although somehow just as intimate. Inhibitions lowered, my hands slid down to his chest, noticing the hard muscles underneath my palms and feeling the fire inside me surge. I wanted to feel the bare skin underneath, to have it pressed against my own. To explore the other parts of him covered by clothes. To forget even for a short time that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this.

Poe gently withdrew, leaning his forehead into mine. “I know.”

“Know what?”

He exhaled a long breath. “I know you don’t want to do this.”

I replaced my hands to his cheeks. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.” The truth of the words made me feel both vulnerable and safe, for the first time giving in to the yearning I’d hoped to keep locked inside my chest.

He tensed, a slight tremble in the arm that curved around my body. But his face grew sombre, almost... sad. “You don’t. Not completely. I can feel you wanting to hold back,” he murmured. “I can feel your fear.”

I swallowed hard, unable to refute him. “…I’m sorry. I want to. But I just… I can’t."

We both looked down, my confirmation making the tone of our connection shift. He was silent for what felt like a long time, and we stayed motionless in our embrace, neither wanting it to end, knowing it was inevitable that we would have to part.

“Why?” he breathed. “Why are you afraid?”

I wanted to be honest with him, like he had been for me, so much the sensation felt like it was clawing out from inside me, determined to burst through the skin. But there was a barrier there, one I had forged long ago. Unyielding and impenetrable to anything or anyone.

Although, I felt another realisation simmer to the surface of my mind, one that was not nearly as exposing, but still true.

“You’re going to leave. And I have to stay here. I don’t… I don’t want that to hurt any more than it has to.”

It seemed to hit him then, like he hadn’t let the thought enter his mind before. The awareness of our predicament shone brightly in his eyes, a light switch flickering on.

His hand moved to my cheek, grazing his thumb softly against the skin, my heart throbbing inside its cage at his light touch. I watched as eyes scanned over my face, back and forth, as if memorising the features. It was then I knew he’d come to the same conclusion.

It wouldn’t be long before we would part, most likely to never see each other again. If we went any further, if we crossed that line, the pain of saying goodbye would become so much more unbearable.

Almost simultaneously, we let our hold on each other loosen, the disappointment in the air almost palatable on my tongue. The smouldering inside had burnt out, suffocated by the gloom weighing heavy in my chest. Poe took my hand in his, his eyes pleading. “Can I ask one thing of you?’

I moved my head in a slow nod.

“Sleep in this bed with me tonight. Just sleep. I promise.” It was an earnest request, his face imploring and unguarded.

In contempt of the voice in my head bellowing at me that this was a terrible idea, I agreed. “Okay.”

Together we tentatively walked to each side of the mattress, making no rush to slip under the covers and settle into the pillows. I faced away, fearing if I looked at Poe's charming face any longer, I would surrender to the pull of desire that never seemed to relent. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to fall asleep like this, his body radiating an energy that vibrated into the space between us, keeping me all too aware of his presence.

There was movement, a dip in the mattress, Poe’s arms curling around my torso, pulling me close. His face buried itself into my hair, the warmth of his gradual exhale sending charged shivers down my spine. Placing my arms over his, silently accepting his embrace, I felt my heart thump a calming glow through my chest, all the way to the end of my limbs.

I’d never felt so peaceful, so whole, becoming lost in the comfort of his hold, wishing I could bask in it forever.

But reality bit at me, cold and uninvited, reminding me of the goodbye I would have to give soon enough.

*

We were still entangled when consciousness came again, the dim light of early sunrise leaking through my window. Poe’s arms circled around me, my body fitting perfectly into his.

He was still asleep, his face resting just at the back of my head, slow breaths bristling into my hair. I relished the feeling of it all, trying to commit it to my memory.

I stayed there, motionless, waiting for time to run out, knowing I would be chasing the feeling of this in the months, maybe years, to come. Thinking about his future absence made me terrifyingly lonely, even with his arms wrapped around now.

Eventually the seconds ticked down to my chronometer alarm buzzing, rustling Poe awake from his slumber. I assumed he would begin to move, pulling away, this one night that bonded us together finally ending. Yet he stayed as unmoving as I had been, the only indication he had awoken the increased depth of his inhale, a small tense of his muscles. I went to move, to switch the screeching sound off, but he clutched me back into his chest, squeezing tight.

As much as my heart thumped at the pressure of his hips into mine, the noise of my alarm was grating. “Let me turn it off,” I whispered. “I’ll come right back.”

Poe loosened his grip reluctantly, allowing me to reach over to the screeching machine and mute its sound. I settled back comfortably into his arms again, as he nuzzled his face into my neck, lips faintly placing a kiss on the skin.

“Poe… please… don’t…”

His sigh whistled past my neck. “Come with me, when I leave.”

It annoyed me, his fleeting demand so easily spoken. As if I could suddenly give up all that encompassed my life before he appeared, the beings that depended on me. But his voice was so sincere, so entreating in the early morning, that the irritation dashed away from the forefront of my mind.

“You know I can’t do that.”

He acknowledged my answer in the shift of his body from around me, moving himself out of the bed we had shared for the night and leaving me alone underneath the sheets.

It burned, the unprecedented disconnection of his shape from mine, my chest forming into a black hole in the realisation I might never feel him that close again.

I wanted to let my emotion to take over, to give in to the pain that rushed to me now as the finality of our night cradled together became evident. But I refused to release it, my resolve from the night before holding strong. I knew I’d made it harder by giving in to Poe's innocent plea of sharing a slumber within his embrace, but I wasn’t going to let our farewell completely ruin me.

With a forced composure, I rose from my bedside, focusing on the appointments scheduled to fill my day. Through my haze I recalled many of them being young female patients in need of birth control. I would somehow have to shut Poe away, wanting to give these women the privacy they deserved.

*

Poe and I appeared to use the ‘freshers at the same time, the searing heat I usually liked being showered with restrained no matter how high I pushed the temperature button. Eventually I’d readied myself for the workday ahead, deciding on a pencil skirt and lightened blue blouse tucked into the waist, working my hair into a ponytail.

It was when I’d begun making breakfast, for both myself and all the company that I kept in the clinic at the moment, that Poe emerged back into my quarters in a set of dark black hospital clothes. I glanced at him only briefly as he entered, hearing him pull out a chair, not daring to look at his face yet.

“Smells good,” he uttered, breaking the silence that existed in exemption to the sautéed chicken eggs and nuna bacon sizzling in the large pan in front of me.

“It’s almost ready,” I remarked, feeling completely the disconnection between us in his tone. Half of me was glad he accepted the separation we needed to make, the other mourning the severed bond we had formed in the connection of our bodies. But I had to let it go, whatever was left of the fragile link that survived the night.

I continued preparing the hot meal, separating the foodstuff between Poe and Vixur’s crew. Once I’d gently placed a share in front of Poe at the table, a smile meeting him fleetingly, I took the rest with me, balancing the four dishes on my hands and forearms, moving cautiously through the hallway.

With impeccable timing Vixur and his students were conversing between each other, obviously having woken just before I came to greet them.

“I’ve got breakfast for you all,” I announced, setting it down at the meeting table across from my computer. It was generally used as a place I could sit with patients and their families when giving them their diagnosis or explaining treatment plans, but today it would have to work as a secondary dining table. All four men jabbered back thankyous as they moved quickly to sit and eat, their appreciation evident in the way they gulped down the meal without hesitation. I returned to my quarters to find Poe picking lazily at his food, only a few bites eaten.

“Does it taste bad?” I asked from behind him, before circling to my seat at the table.

He looked up swiftly, as if I’d startled him. He must have been deeply lost in thought not to hear me treading down the hallway.

“It’s delicious,” he urged. “I’m just… not that hungry.”

“Are you feeling alright? Are you still sore? Are you-“

“Alex, I’m fine,” he interrupted. “You can’t fix a bad mood with any of your treatments.”

I looked at him curiously. “Bad mood?”

Did I do that to him?

“Did you not sleep well?”

He didn’t answer me right away, a subtle scowl settling in his lips. “It was actually... the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

I fought the urge to beam at him, a smile waiting to form, but the gloomy expression he wore held it down. I had to agree with him - it truly was the most comfortable rest I’d experienced in recent memory. And knowing I would never feel that peaceful, dreamless slumber in his arms again made me fully understand why he was frowning.

“Thank you so much for the meal Alex. I just... don’t have an appetite right now.” Poe rose from his seat and took his plate to clean, his sombre mood spilling into my body and taking over. Wringing his hands dry, He turned back to me. “Is it still alright if I keep using your office to continue working on BB-8?”

I nodded. “It would actually be preferable. Most of my patients today are women, and I need privacy for their appointments. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out, okay?”

Poe understood what I’d only hinted at. “Sure thing. I won’t step a foot out that room without your permission.”

A kind smile formed on his lips, but it fell as he moved from my quarters, leaving me to my breakfast, which now seemed extremely unappetizing.

*

“Well, Kaia, you’ve got a couple of options,” I started. It was my 5th appointment of the day, and I was starting to lose all hope in the young generation that followed mine. “You can get the implant, which lasts 5 years and protects you from pregnancy. But it can be a painful procedure, and unfortunately the implant itself is quite expensive. There are injections which last 3 months, but you’ll have to see me again in that time frame. I know that’s hard for you being from the South village. But there’s always prophylactics, which your partner has to use, every separate time you want to be intimate.”

Kaia was a 17-year-old human girl who had obviously not been taught any helpful sex education. Although, that wasn’t uncommon in these villages.

“But, like,” she began to question. “Can’t he just, like, not, um, finish in there?”

I drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time I’d explained this today. “Technically yes, if he withdraws from you before that moment comes, it does lessen the chance of pregnancy. But Kaia, there’s a lot of fluid already leaking from him before then, fluid that can contain sperm. It doesn’t protect you. Not fully.”

Kaia was thoughtful, taking in my words. “But what if he doesn’t want to use the sheath?”

“Well... that’s his decision. But then you have to make yours. A decision that you’re more than allowed to make. One night could lead to either a future of motherhood or even diseases that could cause a great deal of damage to your body.”

“Ew,” Kaia recoiled. “I mean, I get what you’re saying. But Miss Jago, haven’t you ever been so swept up in the moment that you didn’t think about any of that?”

My jaw clenched, catching me off guard with her question. None of the other women had posed it to me. “It’s not been an issue for me,” I said flatly.

“Because of the birth control, right?” she surmised. “Which one do you use then?”

Oof, caught me out again.

“I don’t have the need for it. Kaia, this is not about me-”

“Wait, what?” she gasped. “But you’re so pretty?”

I soaked my voice in its professional tone. “This is your appointment Kaia, we’re not here to discuss my personal life.”

Kaia refused to comply. “But you’ve done it, right?”

I sighed, irritated. “Yes Kaia, but we took all the necessary precautions.”

“Well that doesn’t make it sound very fun,” Kaia huffed.

I tried desperately to hold back the aversion wanting to show on my face. It hadn’t been fun. It was clunky, awkward and somewhat painful. And I felt a spike of envy that this teenager already seemed to have had better experience with the opposite sex than I did.

“Look, your options are there. If I had to choose one, and I was with a partner I could trust had nothing that could spread to me, I’d go with the implant.”

She contemplated my advice, pulling her hands up to let her chin rest on them. “I think you’re right Miss Jago. But my parents would never help me pay for it.”

“That’s alright,” I replied, already knowing the home situation Kaia found herself in. She’d made the trek to my clinic alone, without her parent’s knowledge, just to see me for this single reason. I doubted they even knew she had a boyfriend. “How about I put the implant in today, and we figure out payment later?”

Kaia’s face lit up, eyes brimming with delight. “Really?”

I smiled at her and nodded.

“Thank you!” she squealed, face barely containing her excitement.

Really, this was for both her benefit and my own. I wasn’t about to face her parents when it would ultimately be me providing the news their daughter was pregnant. I didn’t want Kaia to go through that, a young pregnancy in a poor village after her parents would most likely cast her out.

“Remember I said this can be a painful procedure, and you’ll be sore for a day or two afterwards.”

Kaia nodded, understanding, yet unable to hold back her joy.

*

I worked my way through the process of setting her implant, my mind on autopilot while I thought more about the question Kaia innocently queried. I’d never come close to the type of desire that would have caused me to throw away all caution and rational thought. Not until-

“Hey Alex!” I heard from the other side of the curtain I’d drawn for Kaia’s discretion. “I know I said I wouldn’t come out until you said, but I’ve got something I need to show you.”

Poe’s voice was exuberant and proud, annoyingly unaware of the fact I had my hand in a very delicate place. My eyes shot to Kaia’s, her cheeks already flushing red with mortification.

“Poe!” I fumed, not hiding my anger. “I asked you to do one thing!”

I sensed his panic from behind the fabric separating us. “Kriff! Sorry!” His voice changed when he spoke next, a hurried whisper. “BB, come back here! We can’t show her yet!”

A streaming mechanical movement could be heard in my periphery, turning my head to see a shadow moving along the bottom of the curtain. I took the moment to stop what I was doing, covering Kaia with a sheet.

I was thankful I did that when the BB-8 droid slip through a break in the drape, caring little for what Poe had ordered him to do. His little head sat hovering above his balled body, for the first time actually staying in position. The photoreceptor, which looked like a singular eye, was also finally lit as he zoomed closer. While an impressed smirk started to beam as I realised Poe had managed to get his little friend working, it was rapidly overtaken by irritation at the droid’s lack of courtesy.

Poe was cursing under his breath, then apologetic. “Alex and uh, patient, I am so sorry. BB, get out of there!” BB-8 let out a few indiscernible beeps, a language I didn’t understand, although Poe seemed to. “I don’t care! They need privacy. You can see her later!” he hollered.

The droid made what sounded like a high-pitched huff as its head dropped, like it knew it had been scolded. Its head swivelled around on top it’s body and rolled away, again sliding through the break in the curtain.

“Come on, back this way.” I listened to the combination of footsteps and mechanical whirring move back into the hallway, a door eventually clicking closed. Looking apologetically back to Kaia, her face was still stunned at the intrusion.

“I am so sorry. I told him to stay put until my appointments were over. It’s okay if you want to stop for a moment,” I offered, trying to stay as calm as possible.

Kaia blinked purposefully a few times before being able to focus back to me. “No it’s okay. I’m ready.”

I admired her composure, while I remained silently boiling under the surface.

*

“What the hell Poe?” I snarled, barging into my office where Poe sat, seemingly interrupting a conversation he was having with BB-8. I’d clawed my anger into submission for the rest of Kaia’s appointment, but now it was ready to surge outward.

Poe stood, arms held up in surrender. “I know! I’m sorry! I didn’t think, and it was just really bad timing.” BB-8 beeped in what sounded like agreeance, rolling around from behind the office desk into my view.

“It was the worst timing!” I snapped. “That girl was 17, in a very vulnerable position, and you scared the living daylights out of her!”

“I know, and I can’t apologise enough Alex, really!” His face was pleading, brown eyes soft yet desperate. “I was just so excited about BB working again, and I wanted to show you.”

His sincerity disarmed me, my fury sizzling down, suffocated by his apology. I took a slow breath in, eyes closed, reigning it in further. “Please don’t disregard my instructions again,” I grumbled.

He nodded, as did BB-8, and my eyes focused on the droid. He was oddly cute in his appearance, his small beeps already annoyingly adorable. “Hello,” I greeted, all frustration now clean from my voice. “My name is Alexys.” I kneeled down to his eye level and he immediately wheeled directly in front of me, beeping somewhat of his own introduction.

“He said it’s nice to meet you,” Poe clarified, still hesitant at the easy change in my mood.

I looked up at him, curious. “You can understand those sounds he makes?”

“Most of it,” Poe answered. “It’s a form of Binary. Having him with me for so long helped me grow accustomed to the pitch and time changes in his beeps.”

My eyebrows rose, fascinated. “That’s so impressive.” BB-8 squealed in uneven time, his eye looking over to Poe, who almost looked bashful. “What? What did he say?”

He shot BB-8 an irritated look before meeting his eyes to mine. “It’s nothing important. His circuits are still a little fried.”

I wasn’t convinced, but then again I didn’t speak droid. "I'm glad you got him working,” I said earnestly, pleased there hadn’t been any type of casualty from his crash.

Poe sighed, relieved. “Me too. He’s the best co-pilot I’ve ever had.”

BB-8 whistled happily, evidently pleased with the praise, and its sweetness made me smile.

“Alexys?” Vixur suddenly called, his voice echoing down the hall. “Are you back there?”

I left Poe and BB-8 without a word, finding Vixur standing at the hallway entrance, his clothes smeared in dirt and dark grease. “Everything okay?”

Vixur nodded, evidently tired, still an accomplished grin filled his face. “We’re done actually. The comm-tower’s fixed.”

I wanted to smile back, to show my appreciation for his hard work, but it all became too hard to fake anymore.

This was it, the beginning of my goodbye to Poe. He would now be able to contact the Resistance, his friends, and he would soon be gone from my life just as suddenly as he arrived.

I forced the tears back as I hugged Vixur, doing all I could to hide my pain and show some kind of gratitude for the selfless work he had done.

Somehow Vixur sensed the turmoil simmering through me, patting my back softly. He pulled out of our embrace, speaking softly enough so Poe wouldn’t hear. “You needed this done for him, didn’t you?”

I nodded, the sadness hard to contain on my face. Vixur’s own expression was sympathetic as he squeezed my arm reassuringly. I didn’t need to explain anything, he just seemed to know.

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again.”

I drew in a long breath, furiously smothering the need to cry. I wanted to thank him more, for giving his time to me for little in return, but I couldn’t say the words out of fear the sudden sorrow would overwhelm me if I spoke out loud.

Vixur understood this, giving me a caring smile as he took his leave. “Well, we best be heading back to the village. I’ll see you sometime soon Alex. If I don’t, I wish you luck.”

And he was gone, the clinic door closing behind him, leaving me frozen in dread. A large part of me was reluctant to tell Poe the ‘good news’, but he’d waited long enough for his rescue from this planet.

I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d slinked out of the office to find me stuck where I stood, BB-8’s soft whirring following him.

“The comm-tower is ready, isn’t it?” Poe asked gently.

I forced myself to smile as I turned around, Poe’s expression not showing the relief I would have expected.

“Sure is,” I replied, the hint of quiver in my voice. “You can finally go home.”

I saw Poe’s lip tremble as he too attempted a smile, the disappointment in his eyes more indicative of his actual reaction to my answer.

Neither of us spoke for a long time, BB-8 looking back and forth quizzically, a few unsure beeps finally pierced in Poe’s direction. The sounds knocked us back into reality, as I moved to find the transmitter I’d stashed back into my tech station after determining its redundancy days ago.

The memories felt foreign, like they were from a different age. So little time had changed me so much, making me feel the most unstable and fragile I had felt in so long, on the verge of tipping into an overwhelming pain.

Poe had watched me in silence, unmoving. I eventually shifted the transmitter into his arms, an extremely aged, large box with an array of dusty buttons poking out of the rusted metal.

“It’s old, but it still works,” I insisted in a monotone, the emotion sucked from my voice. Poe only nodded, and gave me one last despairing glance as he turned away, carrying the machine into the study, BB-8 trailing behind him.

When the door closed, I couldn’t hold onto it any longer, the overpowering misery bursting free, its icy presence consuming me in a singular moment, the cold burn stinging as a few tears trickled down my cheeks.

What did I tell you?

The tears came faster at the sound of the voice, it’s condescension only making the suffering more excruciating.

No.

You’re wrong. I’m stronger than this.

I wiped away the errant tears defiantly, pulling myself together at the seams that had broken a few minutes ago, calming my breathing, trying to settle the trembling on inhale.

I’d made it through so much worse, pushed past crushing loneliness, fear and sadness, to make myself more resilient than I was behaving now. And I wasn’t going to let myself be caught in this vortex of emotion any longer.

I will not let this ruin me. 

~

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About Seelie

From Records of Jueyun: 

Another old legend told in the mountain villages claims that there was once a time, before the adepti had come into being, when the seelie who meander in the mountains knew an altogether different existence, one in which they had beautiful physical forms and possessed great wisdom. That era, when the seelie roamed the mountains and strolled through the grand halls in the cities of old, is said to date back even further that the days when Rex Lapis fought bitterly against countless rival gods.

At a far-flung moment in the distant past, the ancestor of the seelie met a traveler from afar, with whom they swore an oath of union witnessed by the three sisters of the Lunar Palace. Just thirty days later, a sudden disaster struck. The seelie and their lover fled into exile as the world collapsed around them, fleeing until the terrible calamity caught up with and seized them. Their cruel punishment was to be separated from each other for eternity and to have their memories wiped without a trace.

The graceful but heartbroken seelie and the sisters grew more sullen and withdrawn with each passing day, to the point where their wondrous forms withered away, leaving fragments of their former selves scattered in the mountains and ruins, where they turned into tiny little life forms. They had forgotten so much, lost so much, and been stripped of their voices and wisdom, yet they continued to sing the same songs of grief. Because of this, still harboring a shred of the deep love they once had for their long-lost lover, they will act as guides to travelers who stop in the mountain mist, seeking to retrace their memories of an ancient story in long-abandoned ruins, disused makeup cabinets, and now-undecipherable poetry.

This is presented as just one possible origin of the Seelie and only a folktale, but it has several things to it which I think refer to other lore bits, making it more credible. 

First, the reference to “three sisters of the Lunar Palace.” Heart’s Desire says, “Or that once there were three bright moons in the night sky named Aria, Sonnet and Canon, sisters who were parted by death in a great catastrophe.” 

Even more, from Moonlit Bamboo Forest: 

"Long ago, three bright moons once hung high the night sky. These three moons were sisters, their years numbering more than that of the Geo Archon and their year of birth dating before the very bedrock upon which Liyue Harbor now rests.

The moons were daughters of prose and song, sovereign over the night sky. They navigated the heavens above in their silver carriage, alternating with one another thrice a month. If the reign was not promptly passed from one sister to the next, a terrible disaster would occur that very day.

These three luminous moons shared but one love, the stars of daybreak. Only at the fleeting moments when day and night converged could one of the three sisters pass the fading stars and gaze upon the chambers of the morning stars. Moments later, as the new dawn would break over the horizon, the carriage would quickly ferry the night's sister away.

The three sisters shared an equal affection for their one and only love, much like the affection they shared for one another. But this was all before the world was smashed against the tides of great calamity.

With time, disasters overturned the sovereign carriage and laid ruin to the halls of the stars. The three sisters of the night turned against one another, leading to their eternal parting by death. Only one of their pale corpses now remains, ever shedding its cold light..."

This seems to be an actual thing. Are we going to this Lunar Palace someday...? If you read between the lines, the disaster that followed only a month after the seelie and her lover pledged at the palace probably had to do with the sisters needing to switch control three times a month. 

Additionally, from A Drunkard’s Tale: 

This wasteland is said to be a land beyond the dominion of the deities, inhabited only by the grotesque ghostly remains of fallen gods, where the former palaces of the Seelie now stand empty. So when the solitary old wolf passed by a gray palace and heard the sound of music coming from within, it caught its attention.

Intrigued, the wolf stepped inside the gray hall, trod across the overgrown weeds, and passed by a broken sarcophagus, on which a portrait of the deceased ruler was still clearly visible.

Finally, he came to an inner room, where he saw a fair maiden strumming at her instrument. Her skin was ashen white and her head was bowed down, her slender fingers gently stroking the fragile strings of the lute as she played a long-forgotten and mournful melody.

"The last singers, the first Seelie, they played their final tune in the halls of angels."

The tiny Seelie playing in the forest were also drawn to the young maiden's tune, and flocked to her to pay their respects.

"What is this song that you play?"

"A song of the Seelie," Replied the pale young maiden in a soft voice. "Long, long ago, we wrote this song for the human savages. Yet now, we sing it to mourn our own fate."

So the Seelie having originally had human forms is also a thing. (Not thrilled with the human savages angle, but whatever.)

[cassava-49]

Death 2

Part 1/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/Part 6/ Part 7

"Seriously? You did that to him?" Marinette asked trying to control her laughter. "Adrien's very easy to fool. He lets his guard down every time he feels like he could trust the person," Felix answered as he grinned at the girl in front of him.

It has been five days since Marinette got into a coma. The doctors said that she'll recover and would be able to wake up in soon. However, Felix's condition was slowly deteriorating. There were times when his heart would stop beating for a second or two. This caused a massive pain to those who knew and love him. Given that he's already a month in.

Although, the two ghosts seem to not mind it at all. Given that they're both just chilling at the roof. For the past three days, the two of them had been entertaining each other with their life stories, given that they know both of them were not going to live anyway.

"Hey, I saw your classmates trying to visit you again," Felix said as he stands up and goes to the ledge. "Who stopped them this time?" Marinette asked as she continues to finish the flower crown. "Security," he replied casually as he watched his mother entering his room to visit him again. "Your parents talked with the head and asked to have your classmates stopped if they're just here to visit you," he added as he faintly feels his mother's hand in his. Distracted by his mother, Felix didn't notice that Marinette had placed a flower crown on his head. "There, now you look a lot less like a creepy ghost," Marinette smiled as she looked at him with the flowers on his head. He smiled at her and adjusts her flower crown. This made him slightly jealous of his cousin for scoring a sweet, innocent girl in his life.

"Getting cozy up there you two?" a voice called from the other side. "Claude, what kept you guys?" Marinette asked as she approached the new comers, leaving Felix behind. Claude, a supposedly 17-year-old boy, who had been in a comatose state for a year already because of a car accident right after an akuma attack. "Hey, why does Felix get a flower crown?" Claude pouted. Marinette giggled and went to her pile of floor crowns. Giving each one of them a crown.

"Oh darling, it's beautiful," Allegra gawked with pride as she lined the outline of each one of the petals. Allegra is a 15-year-old who just got in a coma yesterday because of diabetes. Practically she's the one who's most likely to go first, given that was close to death's door when she arrived. "How are you feeling Allegra?" Felix inquired trying to see if she's recovering smoothly. "I feel better. I'm starting to feel the nurses whenever they touch me," she replied to him with a smile.

"Does it look good on me?" Kenya asked as she adjusted it on her brown locks. "Yup, you're totally rocking them," Allan replied with a wink. Kenya is an eight-year-old who got into an accident a week ago. Allan, on the other hand, is a soul who is trapped inside the hospital. He had been there for two years now, and he could have been 17 by now if it weren't for a rogue bullet.

"Marinette, do you like how I did my flower crown?" Lindalee asked as she showcased her new flower crown which was now in her two hair ties that held her blonde hair. Lindalee is also an eight-year-old who fell off the staircase about a month ago. "It's beautiful Lindalee. I love it," Marinette praised as she stared at it with pleasure. "You're looking great in that crown," Allan teased Felix. "For your information, I look majestic. It is, after all, made by our future fashion designer Marinette," he replied, which causes everyone to laugh.

"I really hope that you'll wake up soon, Marinette," Kenya exclaimed. "I hope that all of you would wake up," Marinette replied as she crouched down to meet the girl's eyes. "And don't forget to go to my grave when you guys all make it out," Allan reminded to them all, who nod in agreement.

"Hey guys, another one is in the emergency room," Claude called as he looked at the nurses who were rushing a young boy who seemed to have broken his leg. "Ooh, this one's interesting," Lindalee exclaimed as she examines the damage. "Is he going to be okay?" Kenya wondered in worry. "Don't worry honey, he'll be alright. It seems to be fracture, nothing as serious as death," Allegra said as she takes the little girl's hand. "It's funny how our only entertainment here is the emergency room," Felix commentt as he stood beside Marinette, who giggled in agreement. "Well, it's not like we could get out of the hospital, can we now?" Marinette replied with a smirk.

"Why can't we leave?" Allegra complained, still wondering the reason for it. "You guys are bounded to your bodies, so leaving it may become a welcoming invitation for the lost souls like me," Allan explains. "Why don't you leave?" she asked. "Why should I? My friends are all here," Allan replied with a smile. "My family moved away so I knew that I should just let them move on. From what I heard my sister's wedding was a blast and her husband is a nice, rich guy, who was her classmate in high school, and my little brother will be taking medicine for college and has a lot of achievements so far. So basically I'm not needed there, too much. They still come here on my death day so that's enough for me," he answered.

"That's so sweet of you," Lindalee cooed as she hugged him. "I'm definitely visiting your grave, first thing I'll do once I'm out," she adds. "Guys, the old man in room 404 is dying. I can see Grim waving at me," Felix said and pointed as room. "Let's go. I want to talk with Grim," Allan said as he begins to jump from the roof to the room. "Alright! Let's go!" Claude responded as he took Allegra's hand, who was still unaware of the perks of being separated from your body. They took a running start and jumped as well, aiming for the room. "Let's go Kenya!" Lindalee said as she took the girl's hand. "Yeah!" the two girls exclaim as they jumped. Marinette laughed at their reactions, since it became a game for them to jump into the room of the person who's about to die and surprise them.

"Come on Marinette, maybe today's the day," Felix said after chuckling as he sticks out his hand for her to take. She smiled and laughed as she takes it. "Let's go!" she exclaimed as the two began running towards the edge jumping through the window and landing in front of the group.

"About time, I thought that the two of you would be staying up there and make out," Grim said as he rolled his sunken eyes at the two. "What gave you an idea that we'd be doing that?" Marinette asked oblivious to the fact that they were still holding hands. The reaper, with his bony phalanges, casually pointed at their hands leaving the two teens flustered at their cluelessness. He chuckled at the two as he looked back at the old man, who was having a heart attack.

The Grim Reaper is as old as time. He wore a vanta black cloak that's tattered at the hem. His whole body is but of bones, a symbol of man's future after death. He carries a scythe to help end a person's suffering when it's too much, however he cannot use it unless the Fates allow him. But, it can also be used to transport the person's soul into the other side. Some may say that he's merciless, cruel, unforgiving and a thief. However, if they get to know him more, he's actually very nice and entertaining. He enjoys the company of ghosts, however is very sad for not being able to transport them to the other side.

"Grim, how's the number of deaths doing?" Claude inquired to pass the time. "It's the same. One person per second, we're just getting stretched too thin. Welp, better than the black plague is what I'd say," he replied. "What about the 1909 Provence quake?" Lindalee asks. "Wow, even for a kid you're really well informed with this," Grim commentt. "But yeah we had to pull out a lot of us just to accommodate all those souls before dinner or some of them decide to go haunting. And believe me the paperwork on it is not fun," he complained. "Grim Reapers have paper work?" Felix queried. "Nah, I think the right question is, Grim Reapers eat?" Claude asked. "Yeah, I guess. More or less, we kind of do," Grim replied as he gestured.

"Hey, look," Kenya pointed as the man's soul was slowly slipping away, as the heart monitor went crazy. The doctors and nurses kept on trying to revive him, but to no avail his soul finally separated. His old wife's tears continue to fall as she reached out to him. The doctor and the nurses give their sullen condolences to the woman.

For the old man, he slowly caught up on what was happening. He tried to go to his wife to comfort her, only to have his body phase through. He then turned around to find the group looking at him.

"W-who are you?" he asked pointing at Grim. This made him smirk and strike a sinister pose. "Who do you think?" he asked in a terrifyingly low voice. This made his eyes widen in horror as he made his way to the children and slowly push Grim away from them. "Stay away from them. You can't just take away children's souls!" he shouted, horrified at the thought of the young children dying. "Why not?" Grim snorted and taunted in a threatening tone. This causesy chills to go down the old man's spine as he tried to protect them. "Don't worry kids, I'm not letting this monster take any of us," he declared.

However, he turns to them when he heard a laugh coming from behind. He scowled at Allan and said, "This is not funny boy, can't you see he's going to drag us all to hell!" This caused the rest of them to look at each other and start laughing as well, confusing the man. "Well, now I know why you guys enjoy doing this," Allegra exclaimed in between laughs. "By the way Grim, I think you made that scary pose a bit too horrifying. I thought I was going to die as well," Allan added. "Who-who, what are you kids?" the old man asks with a shaky voice.

"It's alright sir, we're not demons, and Grim is just here to help you cross over," Marinette calmly told the old man. "You don't have to afraid. He's here to help," Felix reassured. The old man's features slowly relax as he looked at them all. "So, what are you?" he asked in concern, mostly looking at the two kids with worry. "Just souls of comatose victims," Claude replied casually. "Except for Allan, he's dead," he added. "Speaking of which, so do I get to crossover today?" Allan asked with hope. Grim looked him with a pitying look and shook his head no. This made the young soul frown in disappointment as his friends have him a hug for comfort.

Grim looked at them with a desolate look as he takes the old man's hand with reassurance. "Don't worry, I talked with the Fates and they said your time is near, so no need to worry about it," he says to Allan. "Easy for you to say, your dead. Time of different in your realm," Allan replied. Grim gives him a smile as he says, "Lighten up kid, at least you get to enjoy your friends company more."

He turned to the old man and offered his hand saying, "Grab on, the Fates have been expecting you, as well as your son." The man's eyes widen as tears began to fall at the mention of his deceased son. He hesitantly lookef at the hand, not trusting Grim one bit. However, he turned to his right to find Kenya holding his hand with a smile on her face. "There's no need to fear anything sir. He'll guide in your journey to the afterlife as your angel guided you in your life. Your son is waiting on the other side for you, I'm such he'd want to see you," Kenya guaranteed.

The old man's features slowly relaxed as he turned to Grim and slowly made his way to him and took his hand. "Come along sir, we're taking you home," Grim said as he placed his scythe back on the ground, which in turn encased them into a sphere of water, from the river Lethe, to help them easily crossover, forgetting of all the hurt and pain. It was always enchanting to watch souls crossover from life to the demimonde. After the event, Marinette turned her attention back to her despaired friend. She scrunched her eyebrows and looked around.

"Where's Allan?" she asked, concerned for her friend's wellbeing. This caught their attention as they began noticing his absence. "Wasn't he with you?" Lindalee pointed at Claude. "He was. He was right next to me," he replied a boy confused as well. "Let's split up and find him," Kenya suggested. They nodded at each other as they separately began their search.

"Why are we supposed to look for him?" Allegra asked. "He's a lost soul left to wander the earth and had been denied entrance to the afterlife, it's usually heartbreaking, mostly on his part," Felix replied, clearing the air. "Lost souls are more powerful than you think. They have the ability to disrupt the living world. Unlike us who just go through things, they can haunt anything and anyone. On bad days, they're the worst to deal with, and Allan hates being denied entrance to the afterlife after the 100th time," Claude answered with a hint of fear. "How many times had he been denied, including now? curiously queried. "157," Felix responded with a sigh.

With that in mind they all went forth, searching every corner of the hospital. Though they hope that he's still in the hospital.

[themadauthorshatter]

I'm bored.

I'm continuing with that Tagatha rework I made little while back, the one where Tedros is with Sophie even though he starts having feelings for Agatha.

We start off where we left off last time, but with Tedros and Sophie in their Surviving Fairytales class. She kicks her apologizing into overdrive and states she had panicked and didn't want to be indecent, going as far as to say she had gotten some bruises and cuts she didn't want him to see.

He nods and fakes a smile, telling her to drop it so they can just go back to how they used to be, since that's all she wants.

A little too much salt for her liking, but she hugs him and promises to be the best girlfriend he's ever asked for.

Agatha sees this exchange, and Tedros look at her with a look that says, 'There. Happy?' She mouths back, "Thank you."

If this were a movie, we'd see Tedros roll his eyes and smile back, but frown as he and Sophie join the rest of the class.

TIME JUMP TO TEDROS AND AGATHA'S SHATED CLASS!!!!!

Everyone's being good little students and taking notes or working on their assignments in a mostly quiet classroom, mostly because there's the scratching of quills on paper, the chirping of birds, the blowing of the wind, rustling of trees, and maybe some humming from Dovey as she sits at her desk. I'm not sure what she's doing, but it's keeping her busy enough to not notice Tedros and Agatha's whispered conversation, which goes as follows. Remember, they're whispering, and Dovey is right in front of them:

"I get wanting to keep your friend happy, but why'd you REALLY want me to talk to her?"

(Agatha keeps writing necausr she wants her lost points back, the ones she lost from 'helping' Sophie) "Shh!"

"Agatha."

(Agatha uses Ignore, which doesn't seem to be very effective.)

(Tedros uses Poke) "Agatha."

"Do your assignment."

(Tedros shows her a full, complete paper as he smiles.)

(Agatha glowers at him, quickly checks on Dovey, and keeps writing her paper.)

"What's Sophie ever done for you after all your favors for her? Aside from being your friend?"

"Let me work."

(Tedros leans back in his seat and thinks back on their conversation from the other night, about how she misses home and Sophie is possibly the only friend she has. He also remembers that they're both Readers, how Agatha asked how someone could talk to the School Master, and Agatha's claim that the two of them met the School Master. With all that, he puts the pieces together, and the final result makes him a little sad.)

"You think she's my true love, too, huh?"

(Agatha stops writing for a second before continuing, eyes locked on her paper.)

"And you think that if we kiss, you'll get back to your village?"

(Agatha nods this time, finished with her paper.)

(Tedros is silent as well for a while. The students turn in their papers, one after another, and Tedros catches Agatha just as she comes back from turning hers in.) "Do you really think you'll be happier in your village instead of here?"

"Tedros, Agatha, since ypu two have takem a liking to each other, would you mind sharing your conversation with the rest of us?"

(Both almost jump out of their skins when Dovey speaks up, and soon all eyes are on them, especially a jealous, angry Beatrix, a confused but encouraging Chaddick, and Kiko, who blushes and stares at Agatha.)

(Agatha starts fretting over the attention, but Tedros, for once, has her back.)

"I had a hard time with the assignment. Since Agatha's so smart, I figured I'd ask her for help."

(The whole class gawks at the two of them, surprised at his kindness towards Agatha, who is staring wide eyed at him.)

(Dovey's stern look changes to one of surprise and then to glee.) "How nice to see you've had a change of heart, dear Prince."

On her way to her dorm, Tedros catches up to Agatha, and walks next to her, repeating his question before Dovey cut him off.

The only answer she gives him is, "I'll know when I'm back home," and a door in the face.

Tedros gives a smile. It's not that she's playing hard to get, he just wants an answer out of her. And he's starting to like this down to Earth, real girl.

And she NEVER said she would be happier back home.

IT'S THE NEXT DAY IN SURVIVING FAIRYTALES! ANOTHER FINDING GOOD CHALLENGE! RULES: 6 EVERS AND 6 NEVERS WILL BE DISGUISED AS ROSES OR TULIPS. THE FIRST TO FIND AND CORRECTLY IDENTIFY A PERSON ON THEIR SIDE WINS!!

Tedros listens to his heart completely and is the first to find a disguised Agatha.

Both win the challenge.

Agatha is surprised.

Sophie is a little pissed.

She's even more pissed when the nymphs kick her out of the Ever line at lunch and sees Tedros not only ignore her, but walk toward Agatha and Kiko.

"Is it okay if I join you two?"

Kiko immediately responds, 'yes,' and Agatha makes room for him.

Sure, Kiko has a crush on Tristan, but she's a little more interested in Agatha and Tedros; if she's failing, at least Agatha will have herself a date for the Snow Ball.

Tedros is silent as they eat, Kiko and Tedros making small talk and trying to include Agatha. It eventually leads to one of them telling a joke that makes Agatha laugh, and Tedros and Kiko seeing a softer side to Agatha, one that CAN laugh and be beautiful.

She stops after a little while and remembers Tedros's question, which makes her frown.

Now that she has a friend that is actually nice to her, amd is starting to somewhat have a good time in her school, Agatha can't help but wonder if going home would really make her happy.

She avoids him and Kiko for about a week ,taking her assignments and homework and then locking herself in her room.

It also doesn't help that Sophie's been avoiding her and yelling at her because, "she's stealing her prince, and ruining her fairytale. If she had the chance, she'd throw Agatha off the bridge between the two schools for ruining everything in what was supposed to be her Happily Ever After and her life as a whole. She's nothing but a cruel, evil, ugly witch, and she wishes she'd left Agatha to rot in her house on the hill in the cemetary." There's more, but you get the point.

To get in on the "being nice to the witch train," and to try cheering her up because she heard Sophie going off on Agatha(Tedros ALSO heard this, but pretended to ignore it. You'll see why later), Beatrix tries coerce Agatha into a makeup and gossip session with the other Evergirls, even letting it slip that Sophie has been talking shit behind her back more than she thought and it might be good for Agatha to spill the beans and get it all out.

She gets a clump thrown at her face for this.

Agatha's silent in Good Deeds, after almost two weeks of hiding away in her room, though does have to fight a mini giggle fit as Tedros acts silly behind Dovey's back, i.e. waving and 'psst'-ing to get Agatha's attention. He doesn't get caught.

Agatha shakes her head and ignores him, tired from crying and just wanting to stay in her bad mood.

With a challenge accepted, in his mind, Tedros tosses some crumpled up notes her way, five to be exact.

THIS gets him caught, and a week of clappong chalkboard erasers.

These are the notes he tossed to Agatha in order:

'Sorry if what I said made you upset. Still, would you be happier here ir back home?'

'Kiko's nicer to you than Sophie. Just saying.'

'Please stop ignoring me (insert sad puppy face doodle)'

'Meet me in the hall after everyone's asleep, around ten or eleven. We have to talk'

They meet and Tedros, covered in some chalk dust, asks his question a third time.

Agatha snaps with, "I don't know!"

It silences Tedros, even as Agatha goes off on a very tearful and flustered rant about how she WANTS to go home, but doesn't want to leave Sophie behind, because she's Agatha's best friend, or, admittedly, Kiko, because she's super nice and didn't want to see her fail. She hadn't fully had a good time at school, but it has been enough for her to reconsider going home a little bit. She misses her mother and knows she's probably worried sick, even though Callis is probably just anxious about hearing Agatha's adventures in Evil. She wants to go home, but doesn't want to leave Sophie behind, as she's in danger in Evil.

She's worried about her mother back home, but is a little more worried about Sophie's safety.

Tedros states it shouldn't matter because of how Sophie's been treating her.

Agatha only responds, "She's the only friend I have. I don't have anyone else."

Tedros sits next to her and almost holds her hand, but falters, sort of getting that even though they're not insulting each other, they're still not THAT close yet. "You have me. A-and Kiko. Is... that enough?"

Agatha awkwardly wraps her arms around his neck and keeps crying, muffling the sound in his shoulder.

Tedros returns her hug and rubs and pats her back, telling her to let it out and that it's okay, she's going to be okay.

In his heart, he makes his decision in who he might love more.

The next day, while Agatha's sitting alone, hidden from the sight of anyone, hiding really well somewhere, Tedros asks Sophie if they can talk alone.

They go off into a small clearing away from everyone else, Sophie smiling and happy to possibly get her prince back and Tedros sullen and quiet.

He asks her if she cares about Agatha, mentioning all the things she did in order for the two of them to be together and kiss, which should send them home.

Sophie brushes it off by saying Agatha is a liar and never keeps her word.

"Funny. That sounds more like you than anyone else."

Sophie snaps that Tedros that he shouldn't care about Agatha because she isn't his true love.

Tedros counters with a question: Does Sophie REALLY love him? If she did, then why hasn't she told him more about Gavaldon, her family, even about her basic school life? Even better, what's the REAL reason she didn't she help him in the trial?

Sophie doesn't have an answer.

He apologizes and says that the two should just stay with their respective schools, even apologizing that he couldn't help get her or Agatha home.

Sohpie tries callimg him back, but he ignores her and starts looking for Agatha.

It takes him a WHILE, but he eventually finds her.

Apparently she's a better observer than he could imagine because she is sitting perfectly balanced in a willow tree.

"What do you want now?"

"I was just wondering if you needed a hand, but I don't think you do."

"Anything else?"

"The mates have practice later, and I still have detention. Are you doing anything at sunset?"

Agatha blushes and says no, and then admits she can't get down.

Tedros holds out his arms, Agatha slides and falls off the branch she's on, and lands safely in Tedros's arms, leading him to notice some climbing bruises on her legs.

"Come on, let's go to class."

"You're just doing this to get out of detention, aren't you?"

Tedros smiles and shrugs. "Your shoes aren't tied. I don't want you falling flat on your face."

This was part 2 of the Tagatha Touch-up AU!!! A bit longer, but kinda worth it. The ending was a little cheesy, but I hope you guys liked this! I had a good time with this, it's fun being cupid☺️!

Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoyed!!

[sunshinereversed]

𝙙𝙮𝙡𝙖𝙣’𝙨 “𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡”: 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙨

I think it’s eerily prophetic how the song “Flowers on the Wall” (performed by the Statler Brothers) radiates so strongly with Dylan Klebold. The country tune has already been associated with Dylan because it appears in the background of the video where he and Nate are driving to school. But if you really listen to the lyrics and reflect on Dylan’s inner struggles, they coincide strangely well.

Let’s take the very first line of the song.

I keep hearin' you're concerned about my happiness.

The constant ‘Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so down lately’ from his parents, especially Sue, is reflected here. His mother sees that Dylan is ‘moody and irritable,’ often withdrawn, spending time hauled up in his room. She notices the tightness of his voice, which is unlike him, and she offers to make him French toast or an omelet. This must be about something small, she thinks. Yet his sullen demeanor stays as days turn to weeks, and she must ask again in vain, ‘Are you okay?’

But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess.

It doesn’t even cross Sue’s mind that her son may be unwell. She is simply asking out of concern for him looking unhappy, believing whatever it is will solve itself out. His mother wears her heart on her sleeve, and it pains her to see him so sad. But what can she do if he refuses to talk about it? All she can do is ask and wait for it to pass. He’s a good kid, after all. He’ll do the right thing because she’s worked hard to instill her morals into what he does.

If I were walkin' in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.

Dylan reassures her repeatedly. ‘I’m only tired. I have a lot of homework. Nothing’s wrong. No one gives me a tough time, I’m 6’4”.’ He wishes she would leave him alone. He thinks she wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t listen. He tells his parents not to worry. ‘You can trust me,’ he tells his mother one evening after the prom. Dylan goes out of his way to prove that he is the golden child. It works, and they worry none.

While you 'n' your friends are worried about me I'm havin' lots of fun.

Dylan’s social life serves as a mask for what is going on in his mind. He goes over to his friends’ houses, bowls on Friday nights, makes videos after school, plays catch with his dad, and even watches old movies with his mother. He has pictures of good times with friends. Outwardly, he is smiling; life is a dream. This makes his parents rethink their concerns. He’s a happy kid who does normal teenage things. What is there to worry about? He’s assuring those around him that he’s fine.

Now here comes the chorus, which is a bit tricky but makes sense when you consider these things:

Countin' flowers on the wall.

If anyone is familiar with the book The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, this might be a clue. Like the protagonist in the book, Dylan is trapped in his four-walled cell (his bedroom) which is where he does most of his thinking and spiraling downwards. This is where he writes in his journal and vents his frustrations. It’s a toxic environment for his brain. His room is where he cries himself to sleep; hugs his pillow in loneliness; gets drunk by himself. Most importantly, it’s where he blurs fantasy and reality. While not as plainly mad as the poor woman from Gilman’s novel, Dylan is mentally tortured by what he perceives to be ‘an unfair/miserable existence’ and being ‘stuck in humanity.’ He rejects both, and often retreats into his fantasy where he is with his love and away from the world. The ‘flowers on the wall’ symbolizes his own deception of life when he is alone, and might not only symbolize his bedroom, but also his brain.

That don't bother me at all.

Unlike the real world, Dylan very much prefers to live in the fictional one he’s conjured within his mind. It’s his safe place. Paradoxically, his mind is also where he tears himself down and others around him. It’s a poisonous escape. Yet he is already so far gone in that escape, he can’t see the damage he is doing to himself. And he continues to do so, unbothered, and unaware.

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.

‘Playing solitaire’ could be a metaphor symbolizing his isolation and loneliness, his solitude. Solitaire is a single-player game, and Dylan feels alienated most of the time, especially when he is sulking in his room. Thinking, always thinking. Sometimes, as the line implies, until dawn. He is a night owl who cannot sleep because his mind is constantly awake. Playing music, conversing in chats on the computer, formulating poems in his notebooks, doodling, or just thinking (negatively). He oversleeps often because he is up late doing these things. He is alone, in the middle of the night, consumed by his own sadness. Something is missing inside him, and that is why he plays with ‘a deck of fifty-one.’ He thinks a significant other is the thing that is missing, and if he finds her, he will finally be playing with fifty-two cards, figuratively.

Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo.

For Dylan, this is a dichotomy. An everlasting contrast. The balance between two things, lightness, and darkness, good and evil, etc. He’s doing grown-up things like holding a job, applying to colleges, driving a car, and as the lyrics say, smoking cigarettes. Marlboro, preferably. At the same time, Dylan is caught between acting his age and longing for simpler days. This is where ‘watching Captain Kangaroo’ comes in. It’s a kid’s show and is intended for such an audience. Dylan thinks back with nostalgia for his childhood, when life wasn’t full of disappointments, stress, high school bullies, responsibility. He hangs onto items that remind him of his youth: his stuffed koala, origami, classic movies, his trademark baseball cap, his love for fixing old cars with his dad. Dylan is stuck somewhere in the middle of the two, never truly satisfied with one over the other.

Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

Again, Dylan tells those around him that he is perfectly fine by engaging in normal teenage things. He hides how depressed he feels. Dylan becomes increasingly irritated the more people ask if he’s okay. The repetition of this line throughout the song is more like a cry for help than a reassurance.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.

This could symbolize several things, but what comes to my mind is Dylan’s prom night. The fact that he even goes to prom is a pleasant surprise to his parents, confirming that there’s nothing abnormal lurking on the horizon. His father helps him get dressed in his tuxedo, struggles to figure out how the bow tie works, and he pulls his newly washed hair back into a neat ponytail. His mother thinks he looks quite handsome, comparing him to a character in a movie they are both fond of. For a moment, he is just a normal high school kid going to a dance. Nothing out of the boring ordinary.

As long as I can dream it's hard to slow this swinger down.

For one night, at the prom, Dylan pretends this is his life. He is good at blocking out what he considers evil, and Dylan allows himself to enjoy the moment. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his pain. If he can retreat into the fantasy he’s created in his mind, he is capable of anything, good or bad. It’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s not there when he’s there. Nothing can stop him. He has two settings at this point, 0 and 100. An unhealthy dreamer can be deadly not only to others, but to the dreamer himself.

So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doin' fine.

As mentioned previously, Dylan flies under the radar to not be asked about his well-being. He holds out his arms to point to all these social activities he’s engaging in with his friends as if to say ‘Look what I’m doing. I’m fine. Do not worry.’ It’s a cruel deception, and he doesn’t even realize he is being deceived as much as those around him are. Dylan starts to believe what he’s telling others. He doesn’t think he is worth the worry.

You can always find me here; I'm havin' quite a time.

‘Here’ can mean one of several places: his bedroom, his mind, or perhaps his existence. Either way, ‘I’m having quite a time’ is a sarcastic remark. He’s drowning in his harmful thoughts, yet that’s where he feels the safest. It’s his protective shell that he puts up against the world. Dylan entertains the idea over and over in his mind that his love is waiting for him in another existence. No matter where he physically is, he’s ‘always there’, lost in his thoughts.

The chorus repeats. Dylan outwardly seems okay. Left to his own devices, he is not.

It's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.

This is a goodbye. Even though it is a casual farewell, it has deeply painful undertones. He says he didn’t like life too much but hopes he will find peace in the next one. He offers a final goodbye to those he loved, family and friends. ‘It’s good to see you’ displays how detached he feels toward the end. These are no longer people he knows fondly; it was simply good to see them. The thoughts must end, and he must leave before they worsen. Like the lyrics suggest, he doesn’t want to stick around and knows he must go. A big part of his self-esteem had to do with his self-image. The line ‘I know I look a fright’ symbolizes how negatively he thought of his own appearance. Dylan couldn’t see his own attractiveness. He felt awkward due to his height, long facial features, shaggy hair, and the way he dressed.

Anyway, my eyes are not accustomed to this light.

This is the trademark dark sunglasses that Dylan wears almost everywhere. He hides behind them, shielding his tears from the world. The light comes from the sun, and he cannot withstand the same light that others can, a nod to him feeling isolated from humanity. Though he is called the ‘sunshine boy,’ his eyes are not meant for its light. So, he dawns the shades to (metaphorically) keep it out.

And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.

Unlike the sneakers worn by the jocks at his high school, Dylan sports black combat boots. They are unusual among the other students, but Dylan feels comfortable in them. Again, he separates himself from the rest of humanity. He is not meant for it. He knows he must go somewhere he feels free.

So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

By the end of the song, it becomes clear that Dylan now lives inside the world he’s created in his mind. It almost becomes odd for him not to retreat there at least once a day if not all the time. But like the final lyrics, he goes to stay there forever and never to return.

The final repetition of the chorus only emphasizes the truth. He was not ‘doing fine’, despite all the work of convincing others the opposite.

The last line loops again before the song ends. The upbeat and happy tune only makes the message more haunting.

Don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

And no one did.

[celestialmark]

Solitude - Epilogue

Characters: Mark Lee x reader, members of nct 

Category: sniper!mark, mafia au 

Word count: 4.9K

Warnings: death, cursing, violence 

Navigation: preview | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue  

Author’s note: ahhh! this really does mark the end of this series ;; I felt emotional writing this I had to stop every now and again hahaha but I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who have been patiently following this series from the day the preview was released. I had so much fun working on this and I hope I did the plot and characters justice. love you guys, and I really hope you like this. 

The sun shines brightly above Johnny, the cloudless skies giving it all the space it could possibly need to spread as much light as possible. Still, the wind that blows occasionally is cold, sometimes even biting his skin, but nonetheless, it’s a beautiful day to be out and about. Too bad, the weather just didn’t seem to fit Johnny’s mood, no matter how much it would’ve lifted his spirits on any other given day. 

Johnny sighs for the umpteenth time in the day, too early for his liking to be sulking when he hasn’t even gone through half of it yet. His hard eyes are trained below him, re-reading and re-reading the words engraved on the cold stone. Lee Taeyong’s name shouldn’t be on it, it really shouldn’t because Taeyong was still so young and still had so much ahead of him, still so much to patch things up with Johnny. Yuta was gone, but Taeyong was too. It’s been weeks, it’s been long agonising weeks after the incident but Johnny remembers it all so well, like it was just yesterday. But what he remembers the most is his best friend, slipping away right in his hands where he vowed to save him, to save his life, because Johnny swore he couldn’t deal with another loss of someone he wanted in his life forever. 

But Lee Taeyong is gone. Forever. 

And Johnny isn’t so sure exactly he’s holding up because he’s always known that being a part of this kind of world, of this kind of a job even when he left ages ago, that lives are bound to be lost. He just didn’t expect it to be Taeyong. And he most definitely didn't expect it to be so soon. At the back of his mind, Johnny was for sure convinced nothing would be worse than losing the love of his life, that maybe nothing would ever compare to that kind of loss, but being here now, standing right in front of a dear friend’s grave, reminds him that losing anyone you hold so close to your heart will always be just as heartbreaking and as painful as the first. 

Johnny bends down after a good fifteen minutes to set the bouquet of flowers he’s been holding in his hands since his arrival, setting it down beside the others that had already been put there by previous visitors of the group. Johnny’s eyes are empty when he stands up straight again, releasing a big sigh. It’s a pity, he believes, how his last moments of Taeyong weren’t pleasant, how he’s grown all too complaisant the past two years of always believing Taeyong would be around, and that there’d always be a time to make amends whenever the time was right and when he had properly healed himself. 

That’s when the guilt sets in. 

“Hey.”

Johnny finds Jeno to his left with an arrangement of flowers in his hand. He smiles at the elder as he walks towards him and Johnny tries to return it. Johnny watches as Jeno sets the flowers down next to his, falling into the space beside him as he breathes in the fresh air of the hills. There’s silence for a good two minutes, each of them unconsciously studying Taeyong’s headstone laid flat on the ground. When Jeno sees Johnny sigh again from the corner of his eye, that’s when he decides to talk first. 

“I hope you’re not blaming yourself,” he starts lowly, not really sure how to address such matters to the elder who’s always been the one on the giving end of advices. “You’ve been here every single day for the past two and a half weeks.” 

Johnny should have expected this from Jeno by now, his sharp personality literally not missing a single thing without even trying. It’s no surprise he’s noticed something even he didn’t, for coming here every single day didn’t feel like anything to him at all anymore. “I don’t know.. I just.” 

“Yeah,” Jeno agrees even when Johnny doesn’t finish his sentence. “We.. the boys still can’t believe it either.” Jeno kicks lightly at the ground, tearing his eyes off Taeyong’s name for the first time since he arrived. “But, it’s not right to blame any of ourselves, I think.” 

Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “I just feel like I should have done more to keep him alive. Maybe if I’d just taken him out of there sooner-” 

“Okay Johnny stop,” Jeno interferes, twisting his body to face him. “We were all there, alright. And if you had done that, who knows, we would have lost more than just Taeyong that day.” Jeno sighs, his shoulders dropping, “Taeyong is already so much to lose... we can’t afford to have lost you either.” 

Johnny doesn’t answer, still too lost in his own thoughts. 

“Look,” Jeno huffs, but feels for Johnny. “There is nothing Taeyong wouldn’t have done to protect all of us, to make sure we’re safe, right? It’s always been his utmost priority to keep us alive and knowing him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do anything to stick to that.” Jeno reaches a hand out to pat Johnny on the shoulder. “Yes, it’s a shame to have lost him in the process, but Taeyong... he would never want any of us to point fingers because it was no one’s fault.” 

Johnny sighs again, the last memory of Taeyong too similar to his last memory of Ari and he thinks that’s why it’s killing him inside. 

“Just..” Johnny murmurs. “His last words to me were “I’m sorry”... I wish it was something else. Because knowing he died feeling sorry to me, just makes me regret so much, makes me feel like there was definitely more I could have done to save him.” 

Jeno gives Johnny’s shoulder a squeeze, seeing him vulnerable for the first time ever since Ari’s incident. “You know, for the past two years, Taeyong has wanted nothing other than to say sorry to you.” Johnny looks lifts his head from the ground and looks at Jeno. 

“And the fact that he finally got to say it you, already meant so much to him.” 

Donghyuck heaves a sigh to himself when he sees Jeno, Renjun and Jaemin all slumped on the couch on a Thursday evening, right before they’re about to set out for a transaction that’s been planned from way before. Nothing feels right, his chest too heavy sometimes it’s too much for him to bear. But knowing he’s next in line after Mark, he couldn’t help but shoulder all the responsibility that’s suddenly thrown in the air after Taeyong’s passing. It’s cruel, he thinks, how the world continues to revolve even after something so tragic occurred. But it’s a reality he knows they’re all going to have accept sooner or later. Sure, they’ve lost members before and have definitely put their lives on the line to secure deals and payments, but this time it was different, because it was Taeyong they’re talking about, the very alpha of the mafia, the very person who breathed them into life from years back. It felt weird not having him around, despite the constant fear he elicited in them, because at the end of the day, Taeyong always looked after their wellbeing on the down low even if he didn't show it. 

Donghyuck’s never seen the boys so sullen before and now that he’s suddenly in charge for the time being, he needed to be the one to pull them altogether, otherwise, they’d all fall down together and that was the last thing he wanted.

 Life had to go on. 

“Alright boys,” Donghyuck half yells as he claps his hands together once, the sound echoing in the almost empty room. “Let’s get this done fast so we can all go home and plan for our next.” 

Jeno rises from the couch quietly as Renjun follows almost begrudgingly while it takes Jaemin a little bit more effort to get up. Donghyuck sighs again, walking over to Jaemin and grabbing his hand so that he can pull him up. Jaemin grumbles, his body flimsy from not wanting to get up. 

Donghyuck is about to snap, his short-tempered nature threatening to show but he figures it’s not what the boys needed today. So he sympathises instead, “Look, I know it’s hard. But we have to do this. We can’t sit here and mope around all day. We have to keep going.”

Upon hearing this, Donghyuck gets the most response from the boys for the first time in a while. Jeno had been doing well up at this point, but seeing Renjun and Jaemin acknowledge him and his instructions, makes him a little relieved and a little less on edge, the determination on their faces evidence of the need to do well. 

They were going to be back in business in no time. 

It takes no less than thirty minutes for Jeno to drive to their destination with the crates secured in the boot. From what they’ve gathered, it’s a small transaction with a group they’ve almost never heard of but upon research, are supposed to be very brutal with exchanges. Donghyuck’s not too worried and he can tell the others aren’t either when Jeno pulls up to a secluded area right in front of an open gymnasium. It’s the perfect place be, no people around, dim lights flickering over the whole building, and just three people waiting in the middle for them. Donghyuck steps out of the van first, followed by the rest of the boys who take it upon themselves to grab the crates from the back. But what surprises Donghyuck is not by what he sees, but by who he sees. 

He runs his tongue across the inside of his cheek and a smirk follows when he realises who he’s about to make a transaction with. He raises a brow as a he rests his hands on either sides of his hips, tapping his foot on the gravel three times. 

“You’re Charlie?” 

The woman in front of him tips her head upwards, raising her chin as she inhales a breath, crossing her arms across her chest in the process. 

“And you’re eighteen minutes late.” 

Renjun and Jaemin stop right behind Donghyuck as they place the crates on the ground in front of them. He’s just as surprised as Jeno when their eyes widen, their attention falling on the woman who appears to be the leader of the two men on either side of her. 

This was definitely a first. 

Donghyuck frowns when she retaliates, not only was she meeting a female leader of a mafia for the first time, she was calling into question his authority of the situation too. Donghyuck suddenly feels threatened, and it hasn’t even been five minutes yet and she’s barely spoken a few words. But Donghyuck is convinced it’s because of the way she’s looking, no, glaring at him from where she stands, facial features sharp that make her look extra aggressive. Her orbs are dark, the dark shadows on her lids adding to the intensity of her stare with her black hair tied up neatly in a ponytail, loose curls falling just past her shoulders. When Donghyuck eyes her up and down discretely, he realises they’re wearing almost the exact same clothes, all black from head to toe, topped with a leather jacket that hugs her body perfectly that he can't seem to take his eyes off of her. 

Jaemin blinks from behind Donghyuck when he notices how long the silence has stretched on and how his friend is just only ever gawking at her. So Jaemin nudges Donghyuck using his elbow to hopefully snap him out of his trance. 

Donghyuck’s throat runs dry and he coughs when he finally comes back to his senses. Straightening himself up, he reminds himself what he’s here for and that he wants to finish strong, just like how he always does. 

“Better late than never, right?” Donghyuck challenges, his voice mocking. 

But Charlie does not look amused, she doesn’t even twitch a muscle, just continues to stare at Donghyuck like he’s the most absurd creature she’s ever seen. And this puts Donghyuck on edge even more, more than he’ll ever admit. 

“Either you arrive on time or never come at all,” Charlie replies calmly, pulling the sleeve of her jacket to briefly glance at the watch on her wrist. “My time is too valuable for people who can’t respect it.” 

Renjun makes eye contact with Jeno and they both share unsure looks with each other, already knowing Donghyuck was going to have a hard time dealing with the lady who’s probably making him sweat by now.

Donghyuck is never nervous nor intimated, and absolutely never both at the same time. But Charlie has made history tonight because those two are exactly what he’s feeling. And it feels so unfamiliar it makes the hairs on his skin stand. 

Donghyuck clears his throat again and it only makes the three boys behind him even more nervous. “So then why don't we get this transaction on the road so that we no longer “waste” your time?” Donghyuck attempts to fight back, making sure to use quotation marks as a way of obviously mocking her in attempts of masking what he’s feeling. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Charlie mumbles but loud enough for Donghyuck and the boys to hear as she rolls her eyes. 

Renjun and Jaemin push the crates to the middle, in between where Donghyuck and Charlie stand. Charlie walks over to it, tapping both boxes with her foot before signalling her two men to step forward and examine the contents of each wooden crate. She doesn’t take her eyes off the two even for a second and when they're done, both looking back up at her with a nod to let her know everything in there is everything that was initially agreed on, Charlie nods back, the two falling in place behind her again. 

Charlie throws a black duffel bag on the ground and it lands right by Donghyuck’s foot. Donghyuck, taken aback by how laid back this person is, especially considering she might have a good idea of who he was and which mafia he belonged to, looks back up at her slowly after watching her toss the bag to him. 

“The exact amount is in there,” Charlie says, unbothered and clearly bored. “See you around.” 

There’s something about this woman that Donghyuck can’t seem to point his finger at, something about her that makes it almost impossible for him to take his eyes off of her and he’s annoyed with himself for feeling so... mesmerised by her, by her every word, by her every move. No one, and he means no one, has ever caught his attention this much before. So he continues to watch her, continues to examine her to try and find what it actually is about her that's gotten him in a tongue-tied mess, as she lowers herself, readying to pick up one of the crates from the ground, pulling both the sleeves up of her jacket in the process. 

Donghyuck’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets in that second. 

Because that’s when he sees it. 

The dragon etched on her right arm. 

The exact same one as his. 

Mark keeps you close, as close as he could possibly have you, pressed up against his body as you become oblivious to the world around you when you fall into slumber. He still can’t fathom that you’re here, with him, right beside where he can hold you like this, arms wrapped around your frame, your breath against his skin. And what’s even better is that every now and again, you’re scooting and shuffling in your spot, needing to feel more of his warmth unconsciously. He’s never been this close to you before, not even during all those times you shared shelter in the same roof and to finally be able to embrace you for as long as he desired, for as long as you needed him to, feels too good. Too good it doesn’t seem real.

But when you jolt under his arms, he knows it’s real.

And as much as he loved the idea of you right beside him like this, he hated the fact that you were suffering and hurting right before his eyes.

You startle in your sleep again, a jolt that’s stronger than the first, your body trembling from its after effects. You’re having another nightmare, Mark believes, and he’s almost sure it’s a replay of one of the events you’ve had to witness in the past few weeks. Nights have consisted of these, of him losing sleep just to he can make sure you’re getting yours, of him holding you close because you’ve told him it helps you sleep better, of your nightmares seeming too real you jolt awake in tears.

Mark begins to rub your back with his palm in a soothing manner in hopes of putting your nightmares to rest. The shaking stops momentarily and that’s when your consciousness brings you back to life, making you flutter your eyes open only to be greeted by Mark’s orbs that are already staring at you.

“Nightmare?”

You force a small smile before you move closer to rest your head against his chest, “Mhm,” breathing a sigh of relief at his warmth. “Taeyong, this time.” 

Mark has apologised to you a thousand times before, so much so that you’ve had to stop him from ever saying those words to you because even without vocalising how sorry he was, you already felt it. You felt it in the way he tended to all your needs during the aftermath of it all, in the way he looked at you with sad eyes and in all the ways he’s made extra effort to look after you even in the smallest ways. Mark didn’t have to say he was sorry, his body gave him away too much, it always has. 

But Mark has never felt even more compelled to say sorry than now, at times where you can’t sleep at night. Because at the end of the day, he will still always feel responsible for your suffering now, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him. 

“Please don't say sorry,” you murmur into his chest, Mark’s eyes widening at your words that correlated with his thoughts. “Please,” you lift your head away from his chest and crane your neck to look up at him, “Don’t say it.” 

And Mark understands. 

“Okay,” he breathes. “I won’t.” 

You let your eyes linger on his sparkling ones, captivated by the thousand galaxies they held, even in the darkness of the room. They’re searching yours, looking for something, anything he can possibly hold on to so that he doesn’t feel the need to say sorry any longer, something that can tell him you’re okay now. 

“I feel safe with you,” you almost whisper, meaning every word, gazing straight into his painfully crystal eyes that are reflecting you. 

Mark doesn’t move, letting the words sink in because if there was anything else in this world he wanted you to feel around him, it would be safety and security. And knowing that now, those words coming right from the deepest part of you, relieves him in so many ways he didn’t expect, from having been on edge the moment he chose to drag you into his life. 

He knows you mean it, but a small part of him wants to make sure, “You do?” 

You nod, bringing your thumb to swipe across his cheek repeatedly. “I do,” you smile, feeling him lean into your touch, “I feel the safest with you.” 

Mark doesn’t remember the last time he cried because he isn’t the type to and never in a million years did he imagine he’d be on the verge of tears from having heard those words come out from you. But then again, they’re words he’s been longing to hear, and it’s coming from the one person he’s always wanted to hear it from. 

“You don't know how happy that makes me,” Mark whispers back, a smile now lifting on his face, his cheekbones appearing in the dark. “That’s all I ever want.”

You mirror his smile, content to have put his worries and doubts to sleep, his smile reaching his glistening eyes. “Hey, what time is it?” You ask. 

“A little past two in the morning.” 

“Let’s go for a walk?” 

Staying in Johnny’s for the meantime house had a lot of pros, and one of them was that you had access to the beach in no less than two minutes. It’s a full moon tonight, the bright light it emits shining through the few clouds and reflecting right onto the gentle waves lapping by the shore. You’re warm in Mark’s hoodie, one of the many things you missed during your time apart and he reaches for your hand and laces it with his fingers, like it’s the most natural thing for him to do. But you smile anyway, because his hand feels warm in yours and he’s smiling gently at you with a gaze so soft it can melt your entire being. 

It all feels nostalgic, remembering the very last time you were here was with Mark and with the discovery of him being your soulmate. You remember how scared and confused you were then, wondering what the future had in store for you. But tonight, there was none of that. It felt right to be here, to be here with Mark and even though you still had no clue what the future held for you, you didn’t seem to mind it too much anymore, because you knew that you weren’t going to be fighting for your life anymore. 

You let your bare feet sink into the sand as you traipse along the shore, the stillness of the air soothing you, untying the knots in your muscles you weren’t aware had formed. Mark falls in step with you and you feel his eyes linger on you, not even one short moment passing where you don’t feel his gaze on you. 

“Mark, I’m going to melt if you keep staring like that,” you say without even looking at him, catching him off guard. 

Mark chuckles bashfully and finally tears his eyes off of you, “Sorry.” 

The sound rings in your ears and it makes your heart stop momentarily, remembering just how endearing this man was. No one speaks for a few moments, allowing the gentle sounds of the waves take over and that’s when you realise you’ve never really talked about soulmate aspect of your relationship with Mark, the only time it ever really came up was when he confessed. So you decide to ask him tonight. 

“Mark?” You call out, making his head turn. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

You purse your lips together as Mark anticipates your question before you finally muster the courage to ask, “When... you found out, about, you know, about me being your soulmate,” you pause, looking upwards to see him react. He only nods at you with a smile, urging you to continue. “How.. how did you feel?” 

Mark draws in a breath as he looks away from you, looking straight into the distance to help himself find an answer. He begins to think back to that time, when he unintentionally came across that picture of you and your mark. “I felt curious, I guess. I mean I never really believed in the whole soulmate thing you know? Or, well, I mean I didn't believe in it happening to me. I just never thought about it up until that point.. that I actually have one. But-- it’s not that I didn’t believe in them completely, Johnny found his.” 

“And then I found out you were mine. I felt shocked because wow, I actually do have one, someone out there exists for me. But then you turned out to be the person I had to...” Mark trails off and looks at you with a shrug of his shoulders and you get what he’s trying to say. “Fast forward, we began to live under the same roof, I got to know you over the few weeks that we had and if I'm being honest with you, I slowly started to understand why you’re my soulmate.” 

Your brows shoot up, your curiosity growing, “Mhm?”

Mark laughs to himself awkwardly, avoiding your eyes as he uses his free hand to rub the nape of his neck. “This is going to sound really cheesy. Are you sure you want to hear it?” 

You chuckle and urge him to continue speaking with a nudge, “I’m sure.” 

Mark blows air out of his cheeks and braces himself, pretending to stretch his muscles in the process. He gives your hand a light squeeze and you return the favour to let him know you're all ears. “Okay, here goes. Have you ever noticed the way I've never talked about my family before?” You blink and then nod when you have no recollection whatsoever. “Well, that’s because I don't have any. I’m an orphan. I used to live on the streets y/n, for a really long time until Taeyong found me. And that’s how I got into the mafia.. the boys have similar stories, and that’s why we owe everything to Taeyong.” 

You feel Mark hold your hand tighter and you prepare yourself for what he’s about to say next, comforting him by using your free hand to rub his arm. “That mafia, the guys, this thing that I do, that was all I ever knew growing up. I didn’t have anything else. And I guess, a part of me, there was always, kind of, some place empty, you could say. I was looking for something I didn’t even know, just because, I didn’t feel enough. I- I, didn’t know what it was like to feel.. complete.” 

Mark stops in his steps and turns to face you, your heartbeat pounding and your knees growing weak because you see something in his eyes you haven’t noticed before. “But then.. you. You changed all that. You’re my soulmate because, you,” Mark pauses to smile, bringing both of his hands to cup your cheeks. “You fill all the empty spaces. You, you make me feel complete. And for the first time I'm not wondering what I'm missing, because I finally have it, 

I.. finally have you.”

You’re not sure how you’re not crying yet but you can definitely feel the tears brimming your eyes. “God, I'm so glad you feel the same way,” you blurt out in a breath, half laughing to yourself incredulously. 

Mark’s eyes widen, “What?” 

You chuckle as your first tear falls, “It means I like you too, idiot.” 

Just when you thought Mark’s eyes couldn’t get any bigger, they do, “You do?” 

“Mark, I’ve lost count of all the times I thought I was going to die..” You start, just as Mark runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe away your tear. “And then I met you and a part of me, a big part of me wished and hoped my soulmate would’ve been you because God, everything with you just felt so right. I felt so safe and secure and it was a feeling I never knew existed but couldn't get enough of..” 

Your breathing starts to become uneven when the tears don’t stop, but Mark doesn’t drop his gaze and never stops catching your tears. 

“After years of running away, for the first time, I, I felt at peace,” you muster a weak smile, your vulnerability on full show.

You step away from Mark, using the back of your hand to wipe away the remainder of your tears. You turn your back to him and bundle up your hair to one side before you're tugging down at his hoodie to show him your mark on the nape of your neck. Mark, having seen it for the first time in real life, thinks it’s beautiful, that tonight, you've proven him it was actually possible for you to be even more beautiful than you already were. 

“This mark,” you say, your back still facing him. “Our marks, do you know what they symbolise?” You turn to face him again when he doesn’t answer, fixing his hoodie on your body. “It symbolises peace Mark, and it fits so well because you’re my peace.” 

Mark falls for you even harder than the previous times. 

“Why are you crying?” You ask with a breathy laugh, another set of tears falling when you see Mark’s. 

Mark laughs and is quick to wipe away his tears. He shrugs his shoulders after, “I don’t know. I'm just really happy.” 

You reach to embrace him and he holds you tight by the waist, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder and hoping for this moment to never end. You run your fingers through his hair, a sigh of relief and contentment leaving you to finally have everything off your chest. 

When Mark pulls away, his hands never leave you, lifting them both up to hold carrels your cheek and neck. He’s looking straight into your eyes, his orbs shining like they always do, and there’s so much adoration and affection in them and knowing that they’re all for you makes you feel overwhelmed all over again. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours. 

You close your eyes to relish in the feeling of having Mark so close like this, “Yes.” 

Mark takes another moment to study your features, mentally thanking the heavens for blessing him with someone as painfully amazing as you. 

Then he kisses you. 

And you swear that nothing has ever felt this right in your whole life ever. 

[hypochondriacattack]

Lonesome Town

Frank folded the oversized jacket that was definitely not his over his arm. It was 3am, the year was 1972. He traced over his engagement ring sullenly as he leaned against the overpass that used to be the place he spent most of his teenage nights. Times were simpler back then, when a boy could be out all night with his best friend, no eyebrows raised. He missed the blissful, warm summer nights, untouched by the cruel world that enveloped him now. Sonia, his fiance, she wasn’t so bad, but the brunette knew he didn’t love her. He fished the folded paper from the jacket pocket and unfurled it delicately.

Frankie, you don’t have to do this. - Went

But Wentworth was wrong. Frankie wanted more than anything for him to be right, for once, but he was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to be in Went’s arms, but he couldn’t be. Kaspbrak knew that he had to understand, and the idea that he could still be disillusioned was unbearable. Surely not, as hard as he tried to hide it, Wentworth was more intelligent than that. Frank knew it was all the denial talking.

He pushed through his wavy brunette locks with a heavy sigh, heart aching like it always did when he thought about the marriage. He could only hope work could keep him busy and away from home. Sonia was an okay gal, but she was loud, and rather possessive. He just wasn’t as invested in the union as she was; Sonia wanted him in a way he could never give to her. He did not love her. He never would. His mind returned to Wentworth, the nights they spent in his car out on the overpass, “Kissing Point” as it used to be called by his tight-knit little group of four, composed of himself, Wentworth, Maggie, and Andrea, who preferred Annie. The latter two were also dating, though recently had to go through a similar event, as Annie had to marry local douche bag, Donald Uris. The only benefit was that he left Derry frequently while training to be a Rabbi; though Frankie didn’t know how long that process was, it at least gave Maggie and Annie some parting moments of privacy. 

Frank heard the distant tires on pavement veer closer then all the previous passing cars, headlights hit his car, illuminating the area. Stiff as a board now, he folded away the note and took a couple cautious steps towards his car, rubbing away at the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, he then shifted to shield his eyes from the blinding light. The car pulled in next to him, he could hear music blaring from the inside, which progressively got louder as the driver-side window rolled down. 

Andrea. He exhaled sharply and pursed his lips into a straight line, gesturing broadly at her, “You scared the shit out of me, I thought I was going to get killed like-- secluded, unsolved murder style.” Annie chuckled to herself, combing back her short hair with a grin. “I figured this is where you ran off to, Maggie called after you because she heard you and Sonia got into a tiff at the store today?” Her tone turned to that of sympathy, which made Frank shift uncomfortably on his lonesome in the cold. The argument at the store was minor, but it did attract quite the audience. Sonia was a rather robust, loud woman, and she certainly enjoyed eyes being on her whenever possible. The brunette couldn’t even remember what the argument was about, frankly, he just remembered the yelling and stares, “Nosey, as always,” he retorted, crossing his arms and rubbing them for warmth. 

Annie rolled her eyes and turned down her music so it was barely above a whisper, patting her passenger side seat, “Come sit.” Frank hesitantly obliged, crawling into her car and holding the jacket to his chest. She looked over with a side eye, fidgeting with the wheel, “Went’s Letterman? I didn’t know that you still had that.” The uptight brunette grinned awkwardly down at his most prized keepsake of his childhood, which he kept neatly folded in an old, locked suitcase that used to be his father’s. “I never lost sight of it,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over the worn leather sleeves. His strawberry blonde friend chuckled “Right, cause you’re a fruit.” He twitched irritably, knowing she was only trying to lighten the mood, but he was generally easy to piss off, “Don’t.” 

Annie raised her brow and held up a hand in mock-defense, “Okay, okay.” The silence crept into the humming car, music  played quietly as they both sat there, inept of communicating emotion unlike their counterparts. Frank could appreciate the little things, like the fact Annie was clearly playing the mixtape he had made her. Currently, the track was on See My Friends by the Kinks. The ambience began to drown in the awkward, sullen atmosphere. 

“How did you do it?”

“I just did, I had to.”

“Did you cry?”

“Of course I did, Frankie.”

“Do you like him?”

There was a pause. The strawberry blonde shifted uncomfortably, “No, do you like Sonia?” The short man bit the inside of his cheek, picking at the fuzzy felt texture of the jacket, “Not like I do Went. But I think she’s okay. She’s pretty easy to handle.” “Easy to handle?” Annie echoed, her tone incredulous, “Frankie, you can say she’s awful.” The brunette’s eyes went wide as he threw up his hands in an anxious fit of a gesture, “She’s not! She’s not awful, Ann!” “You aren’t even married yet and she acts like Don does with me. You’re an adult, Frankie. You should make your own decisions without being scared she’s gonna be pissed off.” “She’s nearly my wife.” “And?” Frustration that was built up was starting to show in his body language, his knuckles white-clenching onto the jacket, he huffed. His friend’s tone softened as she rested a hand on his shoulder, “You might have to marry her but you don’t have to lie to me or yourself, Frank. Her being exactly like your mother isn’t a good thing. She isn’t your mom, she’s your fiance, she should act like—” “Woah, hey. When the fuck did my mom get pulled into this? Sonia is not acting like my mom.” Annie shot him a red-hot glare, knowing, searing. Frank responded with more reproach, “She’s just excited, so she’s a bit clingy.” “Okay, Frank,” Annie retorted bitterly, “I’m not having this debate with you. Maggie said you were difficult, but you know that is bullshit.” He opened his mouth to respond and quickly closed it, gently biting down on his own tongue. He hoped she would just veer away from the topic. He knew Sonia was like his mother, in certain respects at least, however, telling himself that really made it difficult to remain optimistic about his marriage. The silence returned and his paranoia built up all at once, filling his throat with so many questions while filling his eyes with buckets worth of tears. He sat in complete quiet, shifting uncomfortably.

Annie eventually looked over and went stiff, inhaling, “Shit, hey, Frank I didn’t mean to—” “No, no it’s not- Not you, Annie, I’m just scared. I really don’t want to do this.” Her expression softened further and she unbuckled, leaning over to bring him into a quick embrace, “Well, we can deal with this shit together okay?” The moment she touched him, his ears started ringing and he sobbed, hard, he could only manage a nod. The song turned over, one of Frank’s favorites. 

There’s a place where lovers go

To cry their troubles away

And they call it ‘Lonesome Town’

Where broken hearts can stay.

You can buy a dream or two

To last you through the years

And the only price you pay

Is a heart full of tears.

[yeojaa]

SWEET LULLABIES, chapter iii. (w. JJK)

You've never loved in half measures.  It's always been all or nothing.  You didn't even mind when your heart was bigger than theirs.  Lopsided or not, you made up for whatever they wouldn't give.  But when you've finally met your match, what will happen?

alt summary.  You're crazy in love and for once, so is he.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  

genre + rating.  a whole lot of angst with a bit of fluff if you squint.  general.

warnings / tags.   friendship, best friends, best friends to lovers, friends to lovers, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is whipped, smitten jeon jungkook, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings.

reading.  sweet lullabies is a series of one-shots that tie into and conclude my other story, sugar high.  both are part of the best friends means forever series.  this is a bonus chapter from kook’s point of view. 

word count.  ~6250

chapter 3.  Save Me

The one where he’d almost lost you.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it;  luckily, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to.

After all, you’re a dream come true.  You’re everything he’d ever hoped for, years of toffee-sweet daydreams and quiet desires wrapped up with a ribbon and presented in the form of his beloved best friend.  His Polaris - his north star in every sense of the word, guiding him home whenever he needed it.  A person to hold him close, to tend to the oft-neglected garden blooming behind a brassy ribcage.  You’re everything he’d ever wanted and even the things he hadn’t known he had.  

“What’re you thinking about?”  A question slotted into silence by a gentle hand and half-lidded stare, warmth dusting over the exposed expanse of Jungkook’s collar.  It feels like a beckoning to dreams and he can’t help but smile, expression endlessly soft as he inspects the girl in his arms.  His girl.  

He hums once, a noncommittal sound.  “Nothing.  Go back to sleep, baby.”  It’s true for the most part.  It’s nothing now.  But once upon a time, it’d been the single most frightening possibility.  Losing you.

And oh, how close he’d been to that.

NOVEMBER 27, 2017

“Seriously?”  It sounds bad - he knows it does - tight and terse between his teeth.  It’s coloured an alarming shade of red and acts like a beacon to those around him because there aren’t many things that have him acting out in this particular way.  

After all, he’d grown up in a very short period of time - something he was endlessly proud of and incredibly grateful to his hyungs for.  Their patience and mentorship had helped shape him into the well-adjusted young man he was now.  

Or usually was.  Not right now, though.    

“What’s wrong, Jungkookie?”  It’s Jimin -  seated closest to him and always somehow strangely aware of everything - who speaks first and in dulcet tones meant to coddle and soothe, lithe arm finding its way around his maknae’s shoulders.  Seated how they are, it’s easy, but Jungkook notices with amusement that it won’t always be.  Soon, he’ll be far too broad for this.  Their little muscle pig wasn’t so little anymore.

His response is immediate, though filled with petulance and beneath that, the tiniest tinge of shame.  “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,”  comes the same songbird, his head dropping to rest easily against the youngest member’s.  Jimin knows he’s pushing but he also knows he needs to.  It’s easy to read the golden boy.

Silence stretches for a beat, then another, and he almost sighs - but doesn’t.  Jungkook can feel it rising in the other’s chest before it’s stolen away by his grudging response.  They’re less childish now, though still a bit sullen, rounded by a pout that he can’t seem to help.  “It’s just Soo.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise to the smaller dancer, his expression thoughtful.  “What’s going on?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure if anything was going on - or if it was all just in his head.  That was the worst part:  the uncertainty.  Each intrusive thought, each second guess.  It felt like a downright disease, taking up precious space in his skull and refusing to let go.  

“Jungkookie?”  There’s no expectation in Jimin’s inflection.  It’s only concern in sugar-spun tendrils, holding the nickname aloft.

“I don’t know,”  Jungkook finally manages in a whine.  The slope of his brow is knit together, distress threaded into every line as his arms fold, crossing in a huff over his chest.  He hates feeling silly like this, so he does his best to turn the emotion on its head and force it into something else.  It’s not necessary but it feels a bit better, like a fortress he can hide his heart within.

A sigh expels, exits through his nostrils in a sharp push of air.  He knows Jimin is just trying to help but he’s having trouble formulating words into coherent sentences.  The thoughts are too jumbled in his head, bouncing around like an overzealous energizer bunny.

“She’s been really distant lately.”  A partial answer, because he’s sure there are a million other reasons he could give.  Like he was simply stressed (true) or you’ve been posting about your great new life in the States and hardly answering him (the same answer as his original but a little too much to admit).

Or even that you’d mentioned a new friend - a male friend who, surprisingly, hit closer to home than he’d expected - and now he was seething.  Except he’d never repeat that last one.  It wasn’t his place to.  He was your best friend.  Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aren’t her exams coming up soon?”  

Leave it to Park Jimin to find the middle ground - that grey area in between all the good and the bad and frame it in a way that had Jungkook frowning, softly rounded mouth dragging in distaste.

He hadn’t even thought about that.  Or maybe he had, but it’d gotten lost among all the white noise and loneliness.  Frankly, he’s not sure.  His thoughts were always full of you and it was hard to distinguish sometimes.  “Maybe.”

“So maybe she’s just busy?”  As if Jungkook hadn’t already considered that.  He wasn’t trying to be crazy.  In fact, he hated it with every ounce of his being.  But he’d seen the photos you’d sent (admittedly, directly to him) and he knew you weren’t too wrapped up in your finals.  You’d found time in between the late night study sessions to attend house parties, knocking back venti-sized Americanos the next morning to stave off hangovers.

It was surprising, actually.  You’d never been great at handling your liquor - something you insisted you got from your father - but you were out all the time now and always with them.

Yejin, he didn’t mind.  She’d appeared in FaceTimes with you often enough that he’d developed his own sort of rapport with her.  She didn’t give a shit about the Korean music industry and treated him like anyone else, albeit with a lot more scoffing English than he’d ever faced before.

It was her cousin that left a bad taste in his mouth, a mixture of vinegar and battery acid.  Not that Kim Woosung was a bad person - at least, from what he’d heard from the people here, and definitely not from you.  Rather, it was jealousy, that cruel green monster rearing its ugly head.  It’d made a home in his chest, unleashing balefire at anyone remotely close to the aching thing in his chest.

Because that’s what you were - his heart in human form.  

But he’d never expected you to disappear halfway across the world.  He’d always thought you’d be here, holding his hand.  Now he had this gaping you-shaped hole in his chest and he didn’t know how to fill it.  Truthfully, didn’t know if he wanted to.  

“Maybe,”  he relents, quiet as a mouse.  He knows he isn’t fooling anyone by the whispered admission but it’s a shutting door, sealing the conversation for another time.

NOVEMBER 30, 2017

He can feel the stare burning into the back of his head before the words reach his ears.  

“What time did you sleep last night?”  There’s no judgment, no anger - just soft shades of concern and coaxing swept across each syllable. That’s why Namjoon was such a good leader - he knew how to approach his members.  Understood them, possibly, better than they did themselves.

“I don’t remember.”  Jungkook’s answer is full of apology, a guilty smile framing the pink turn of his mouth and forcing a dimple into his cheek.  He thinks it must’ve been around two or three in the morning, as he’d stayed up to talk to you after your first class.  Stayed up after being out all day and practising for hours.  

The shadows under his eyes might as well have been a glaring neon sign or an advertisement for the sleep-deprived.

Namjoon says nothing, his expression still endlessly kind, just barely touched with reproach by the line of his lips and the subtle tension in his jaw.  He’s careful - he needs to be when it comes to matters of the heart with his maknae.  Because despite his dismissive laughter and playful nature, Jungkook was also one of the most sensitive members.  He just hid it well - sweeping it behind his bunny smile and witch’s cackle.  

Consideration stretches silence on for a beat longer before the taller of the two is smiling, crescent moons forming his eyes.  A hand cards through silk the colour of smoke and he regards the younger boy with tenderness.  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I won’t.”  What Jungkook means to say is he’ll try to remember.  He has to, for them.  Because his actions weren’t just his own - hadn’t been since he’d committed to this crazy wild path years ago - and he has to be considerate.  Has to be better.  “Thanks, hyung.”  

“Just watching out,”  comes the elder’s response with a noncommittal wave of his hand, focus already reassigned to the book laid across the table in front of him.  He’s so immediately absorbed into it that Jungkook’s a little envious, legs of his chair dragging over linoleum as he edges himself into Namjoon’s personal space.  

It’s a testament to their close bond that he doesn’t even flinch, simply shifting ever so slightly to the right to allow Jungkook a better view over his shoulder.

Maybe this is what he needed - a distraction.

“Hyung.”  The inflection immediately perks Namjoon’s attention, head turning just so to acknowledge the other’s address.  “How do you...”  A prolonged pause as Jungkook mules his next words over, finger resting delicately on his cupid’s bow.  Was he really doing this?  “How do you... distract yourself?”  Okay, so not quite the question he’d meant to pose, but good enough for the time being.

Straight brows pitch higher, shooting up in surprise.  Whatever Namjoon had been expecting, it isn’t this.  “What do you mean distract myself?”

Suddenly, Jungkook’s on the spot, the full weight of the rapper’s stare turned on him.  The focus makes him waver, teeth wearing through the supple interior of his cheek and the soft petal of his bottom lip.  Fingers fidget, push and pull on the sweater paw he’s formed.  

“Uh.”  Good one, JK.  

He clears his throat once, twice.  He looks a little chagrined, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  

“When you’re going through things—”  The attempt at ambiguity is as transparent as the windows around them.  “—that are hard, how do you distract yourself?  How do you forget about it?”

“Well, you don’t just forget about your problems.”  Something about Namjoon’s expression has him looking away, flustered.  “I say it’s always better to try to fix your problems than to run from them but,”  and Jungkook latches onto this inch of give,  “if you need a distraction for a while, find something that takes up the extra time you’d otherwise spend stressing about the problem.  A hobby, maybe.”

Well, he had tons of those.  He gamed in his downtime - his Widow headshots were unparalleled, if he was being honest.  He filmed whenever they were out;  he’d even cut and uploaded his and Jimin’s recent trip to Tokyo.  He worked out, forcing his body into a state of fatigue that left his thoughts far too tired to run cruel circles through his mind.  But it was never enough.

“I have hobbies.  It doesn’t work.”  There’s a desperate edge to his words that he hadn’t meant to let slip.  “It’s fine.  Whatever.”  Again, another door closed.  Slammed shut by his own foot in his mouth.

“Then maybe it’s an issue you can’t just distract yourself from.”

Of course Namjoon’s right.  Jungkook knows that but it doesn’t help the bitterness that bleeds onto his tongue and rots enamel.  “That’s not an option.”  Rather, he wouldn’t let it be.  There were do’s and don’ts in best friendships and confessing your unrequited love was on the hard list of don’ts.

“Jungkook-ah...”

“What?”  It explodes off of his tongue, though he doesn’t mean for it to.  The nerves are fizzling in his stomach, ricocheting from his mouth like fireworks into the quiet between them.  They’re too bright - demanding attention.  He thinks, if they were real, they’d paint pretty silhouettes of the girl he can’t get out of his mind.

“Just tell her.”  

“No.”  

They’re an immovable object and an unstoppable force.

Harder now, edged with exasperation and so much concern it makes Jungkook’s heart stutter in his chest.  “You have to.”  

“I can’t.”  Emphatic, spoken with both lips and eyes.  They beg for understanding, like a man lost at sea desperate for a ship on the horizon.  Because that’s exactly what he is – a lovelorn sailor swept to his doom by the siren call, one he’s utterly defenceless against.  He wouldn’t be like this if he had any other choice.  

“Okay.”  A pause, a sigh, a relent.  “I’m here if you need anything.”

DECEMBER 14, 2017

It’s two weeks later when he needs that anything, driven to it by the radio silence he feels in his bones, tearing apart each and every part of him like a black hole devouring the stars.  Because rather than it being a tangible pain he can distract from - replace with another, sharper sting - it’s become a dull ache that exists in every action and inaction, engulfing his thoughts even as they try to focus on anything else.

He thinks he can’t be held responsible for the choices he makes when there’s too much going on in this head of his, his thoughts far too jumbled to be held accountable.

So he smiles at the very pretty girl that’s been deemed the anything he needs and tries to focus on the way her mouth curls, painted an intoxicating shade of ruby red.  He trains his attention on the flutter of her lashes, the coquettish way she ducks her head when he meets her stare.  He memorizes the way her voice pitches and drops, sugary sweet and decidedly feminine.

Does it because it’s the only way to fill the lovesick hole in his heart, even if it doesn’t really work.  Even if the puzzle piece doesn’t quite fit, corners snipped and reassembled to take up the space the essential piece has left behind.

“I can’t believe you asked for my number,”  she's saying, all rose-tinted cheeks and a smile he finds endearing.  Fingers - short, slim, dainty - smooth over the ceramic of her cup and she peers at him from over the edge.  It’s meant to be sly, to draw his attention to the way her mouth curls around the lip, and for a moment, it does.  It piques something in the back of his mind, apathetic green monster rearing its ugly head at the prospect of something new.

Something not named Park Soomi.

He latches onto the interest with both hands, proverbial grip torn apart by rug burn and his attempt to hold onto it.  He needs this.  He needs this so fucking bad.  “Why not?”

“I mean, you’re you.”  The way she says it makes the hair on the back of Jungkook’s neck rise and the fingers in his lap curl into fists.

It brews bitterness on his tongue - the aroma of his coffee lost to the taste.  He can’t help the reaction, even while he knows he can’t blame her for it (nor should he).

After all, she had the Namjoon stamp of approval.  And if there was anything he trusted, it was his leader‘s judgment.

“I’m just a normal guy,”  he insists, mouth full of laughter he forces out.  He says it with as much meaning as he can, though he knows the words don’t hold much weight.  Not when they’re so at odds with the truth.  Luckily, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

She doesn’t have a rebuttal now, only choosing to offer that same soft smile. 

It doesn’t trap him like a star in the galaxy, but it holds his attention.  It reassigns it from the hole in his chest to the brightness of her teeth and the sweetly rounded cupid’s bow and that’s enough.

“I’ll prove it to you.”  Whether he means the words, he’s not sure, but they come of their own volition, sounding off like a promise.  He thinks he can feel warmth spiking across his neck, creeping up past the collar of his flannel once the words settle, a blanket draped over the cozy space they've carved out in the hole-in-the-wall cafe.  When her eyes follow the heat, coaxing it higher with her stare, he knows it’s there.  It makes him swallow thickly - was he in over his head?

When her hand drifts - those big doe eyes of his tracking every movement - and fingers ghost over the tops of the back of his, he knows he is.

“You’re dangerous, huh?”  He asks, though he knows the answer.  Can see it reflected in the impossibly dark depths of grey circle lenses, contrast stark against the perfectly layered and blended makeup smudged around her eyes.  It’s something he’s used to - that idolizing, somehow endlessly adoring stare he’s seen a million times, in the sea of faces he performs for - but here, it feels different.  A little closer to home.  

"Only if you want me to be."  And he thinks he does.

DECEMBER 21, 2017

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Your voice cuts through his early morning exhaustion, striking a proverbial match as neurons fire off beneath his skin, nerves fizzling in his stomach.  It rings clear across the airwaves and for the first time in what feels like ever, it feels like nails on a chalkboard.  For the first time, it doesn't have honey melting into every crevice, warming him from the inside out.

The smallest flash of irritation flares - a lightning strike in his jumbled thoughts.  It's so drastically different from anything he's ever associated with you.  Maybe this was good.  Maybe this was progress.  

"You called."  Deadpan, because Jungkook's still half-asleep but more than that, he's rough around the edges, your hot and cold treatment of him the past few weeks simmering bitterness in his veins.  "Finally found some time for me?"

The intake of breath has him immediately regretting the words, a breath sucked in sharply through his teeth.  He imagines you're doing the same, by the silence that stretches on.  That, or you're tearing a hole through your cheek.  He wants to tell you to stop - to apologize for being an asshole at 7 o'clock in the morning, but he doesn't.

"I've been busy with exams,"  you finally speak and it sounds so small, his heart twists itself over and over.  It doesn't break, though, and that's a feat he never thought he'd accomplish.

"I know."  It’s all he can say, an octave softer but still miles away from the sunny warmth he's used to spilling forth like an overflowing bucket of yellow paint.  It feels strange to hold himself so closely, refusing to allow his abundance of affection colour every syllable and sweep him headlong into the love he feels for you.  "Did you need something?"

Another inhale and - maybe his ears are playing tricks on him but it sounds strange, wet - you're speaking as quietly as he's ever heard, as if you're afraid your words will elicit an reaction somehow worse than what you've already faced.  "Did you want to watch a movie tonight?"  

He has to applaud you for your insistence, though the tiny, bitter part of himself glimpses that flair of annoyance at the edges of his vision once again.  

"I'm busy."  It's the truth but it's not something that's ever stopped him before.  Jungkook was notorious for making time for you, rearranging his schedule enough to make Namjoon want to rip his hair out.  So it's odd, even to him, that the next words - the lie - rolls of his tongue so easily.  "We're working on a new routine tonight."

"Oh."  

The single word has enough weight to crush his heart beneath your heel.  How fitting that it's actually the opposite now, and your own is crumbling beneath his foot.  At least, that's what he thinks - assumes by the dead silence that follows it.

"Sorry then."  You're trying so hard to keep your voice chipper that it leaps higher than is natural and rings in his ears, making him grimace.  Even if he didn't know you so well, he'd be able to read you like a book.  You're far too transparent.  "Good luck.  I know you'll do great - you always do."  

A thanks is all he offers in response, ready to end the call and only stopped by a heart-wrenching last goodbye.  "I love you, Kook."  

He wishes he'd hung up faster.  

Instead, he utters a soft "you, too" and ends the call.  He has a date to get ready for.

DECEMBER 22, 2017

When he stumbles through the front door of their shared apartment, he can still taste the sticky, not unpleasant sweetness of her lips.  It tingles his tastebuds like fresh berries and makes him laugh a little to himself, back of his hand rising to wipe away the residual gloss.  

Peeling off his shoes - he’s careful not to cause too much of a ruckus because it’s almost one in the morning and the last thing he wants is to wake anyone up - he finds himself humming quietly.  It’s low in his throat and muddled by the taste of beer but it’s there, sweeping the quiet from the entryway as laces untie and boots are neatly tucked away out of sight.

He’d had fun, much to his surprise.  Honestly more than than he’d expected, because he'd never been the biggest fan of upscale restaurants, or bustling bars, or glossy pink lip gloss.  But that'd changed in the span of one night, all those strange things somehow sparking a bunny smile and his trademark, boisterous laughter.

Because Jungkook likes that she comes with all of that and she’s everything he needs - at least for now.

She’s a breath of fresh air in a life dominated by strict practice schedules and mandated appearances.  In a way, she’s everything he'd ever hoped for in a distraction - pretty, fun, a little demanding.  She keeps him on his toes in a way he isn’t used to, never giving his thoughts enough time to re-centre on the silhouette that exists like a cookie-cutter carving in his chest.

A temporary fix, possibly - surely - but he didn't mind.  Couldn't find it in himself to when he'd found some semblance of peace for the first time in weeks.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"

The voice breaks him from his thoughts, shoots an arrow that lands bullseye on his heart, and he gasps.  He hadn't noticed the figure lingering in the kitchen, hunched over their kitchen table with one headphone in and a sketchbook in his hands.  

Of course Taehyung would be awake.  Why was he surprised?

Oh, because of the question.  The one he hasn't answered, instead gaping at the other like a fish out of water.  Mouth opens around sound that doesn’t come out then closes and repeats itself twice more.  Taehyung doesn't repeat himself, simply staring at Jungkook with an expression that cuts him to his core.

Because he's not angry, or judgmental.  No, he's disappointed.  It's written into the arches of his brows, the way his headband-covered forehead wrinkles just so.  

"What?"  It's soft, hesitant, careful.  There's already embarrassment crowning, locking into the column of Jungkook's spine and rooting him all the way through to his feet.  It keeps him from advancing further into the apartment, caught halfway between the adjoined living space and the hallway that beckons him to the safety of his bedroom.  

Instead, his gaze swizzles, bounces and leaps between the door at the end of the hall and the other member sitting at the table, focus trained wholly on him.  It's hard to meet Taehyung's eyes - and that feels uncomfortable in a way he doesn't want to think about.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"  Finally repeated, verbatim, in that some low drawl of his.  

It's posed as an innocent question, all sleepy eyes and carefully trained mouth.  It makes Jungkook's own purse, tongue rounding the hollow of his cheek.  Though he knows he shouldn’t, the desire to bite back stirs in his stomach and he has to clench his fists at his sides, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his palms.

“Why?”  He’s aware he’s answered a question with another question - something he finds infuriating himself, but he can’t help it.  He’s not ready for the lecture he’s sure will come.

Taehyung shifts, arms folded across his chest, and says nothing.  It’s somehow more unnerving than if he were to tear into Jungkook.

“We were talking earlier.  She asked how practice had gone.”  There’s a sour edge to Taehyung’s explanation, colouring words highlighter yellow and toxic green.  “Imagine her surprise when I had no idea what she was talking about.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no point - no reason to voice the shame he already knows stitches his features together.  Taehyung presses on, nonplussed by his maknae’s discomfort.

“You didn’t tell her you had a date?”  

“Why would I?”  It’s defensive, juvenile, a world away from what he wants it to be.  It garners him a look that teeters dangerously on flabbergasted, Taehyung’s groomed brows gathering tightly over his stare.

For what it’s worth, his words are measured - far more reasonable than Jungkook deserves.  “Because she’s your best friend?”

“I don’t need to tell her everything,”  and while that’s true - it somehow doesn’t feel great with life breathed into it.  Fully realized, it’s harsh and covered in thorns that catch on the way out of his mouth, tearing up the insides of his cheeks with razor-sharp edges.

“She was hurt.”

That should be enough.  At any other time, it would be.   It’d have Jungkook crawling on his hands and knees - anything to wipe that sadness from your face.  But here and now, caught between a rock and a hard place, it means nothing to him.  At least, that’s what he tells himself, forcing down the bile that rises in his throat.  “Then she should mind her own business.”

Taehyung knows this isn’t the Jeon Jungkook he knows.  Knows that this version of their beloved maknae is but a caricature carved from hurt and frustration and bruises that bloom like weeds.   It doesn’t mean it’s okay.

“You don’t mean that,” he says kindly, softer than he has the whole interaction.

“I do,”   comes Jungkook’s immediate retort, though it lacks any real strength.  It’s small, like it wasn’t meant to be said.

“You need to tell her.”

It’s not the first, second, or third time he’s heard these words;  he wishes it were the last.

“No.”  And he’s walking away again, disappearing into the safety of his own room where he spends the next five hours wide awake and miserable.

DECEMBER 25, 2017

It’s the first time he’s spent Christmas without you. It feels wrong, like any other Monday morning rather than the merry day it is. There’s no golden tinsel strung throughout his thoughts, no cheerily sang carols on repeat in his mind. The magic is gone - stripped away by the loss of you.

You haven’t spoken to him in days.  Since his little white lie - because that’s all it’d been, he tells himself - had come to light, you’d made yourself scarce.  There were no more stories posted to social media, no mentions of your name from the other members.  It was like you’d disappeared, taking all the sunlight with you.

Where he’s once laid his head and called home, there was nothing left.

“Come have breakfast, Jungkookie.”  It’s Jimin peeking into his bedroom, small hands curled around the door frame.  His hair’s a little wonky - sticking up at odd angles - but he appears happy, like he should.

Jungkook wonders how he looks.  If the shadows under his eyes give away all the demons that make homes in the hollows.

“I’m not hungry.”  Or rather, he didn’t have an appetite.  Didn’t have much of anything, truthfully.

“You need to eat.”  It’s the same wide-eyed concern he’s seen edged in everyone’s expression.  It makes his throat constrict, the thing in his chest thumping an erratic rhythm as it threatens to launch itself out of its brassy, broken confines. 

Shoulders shift, rise and fall like a breaching wave, and he shakes his head again.  “I’m really not hungry.”  Even to his own ears, he sounds strange.  His words are held together by flimsy strings, knots frayed and ready to split.  There are stirrings of guilt, tendrils of it curling like smoke through his lungs.  It’s only a matter of time until the fire engulfs every inch of him, scorching all in its path. 

He thinks he wouldn’t mind, if it’d replace the ash that lingers in a fine layer over each thought.

What had happened to his distraction?  Where was it - she - now when he needed it most?

Namjoon’s words reverberate in his skull, rattle around like coins in a pocket.  Maybe it wasn’t something he could distract himself from.  Why hadn’t he listened? It would still suck, surely, but he thinks it might not have mutated, shaped into this new divide by his own hand.

Because now there were miles between you and he only had himself to blame - his own face reflected back at him when he sought to find an answer for the radio silence.

It felt worse than he could’ve imagined.

“At least come join us.”  Jimin is insistent, refusing to let Jungkook wallow in his own self-imposed misery.  Hands coax, tugging at the hem of the younger’s sleeve.  It doesn't move him from his spot, two feet planted firmly as the wheels of his desk chair roll in a semi-circle and return to their original position.  They both know Jimin's weight means nothing against Jungkook's but the dancer is insistent, refusing to budge from where he stands, chest to shoulder with the stubborn boy.  "Jungkookie."

When Jungkook remains steadfastly focused on his computer - on the glowing lights of his keyboard, the front page of Naver - Jimin sighs loudly.  He feels a little bad about it.  Jimin's not the reason he's in this position.  

"Jin-hyung went all out.  You don't want to miss this."  

It's a good tactic.  Any other day and Jungkook would've jumped at the thought of a feast.  After all, he was a growing boy which meant he was always, always hungry. 

As if in response - in a great show of rebellion - his stomach rumbles, breaking the silence he'd meant to drag on.  Betrayed by his own body.

He blanches in the same instant Jimin grins, full mouth spread around a smile that screams victory!

"Come on."  This time, Jungkook relents, lets the other's hands coax him from his seat.  He's still a little begrudging though, shoulders inched forward and chin tucked against his chest in an exaggerated display of resistance.  He even drags his bare feet a little, but Jimin is wholly unbothered.  

Because whether the maknae believes it or not, his members know best.  They know the size of his heart and the fact that a very vital piece seems to be missing.  But that doesn't mean they can't fill it in the ways they know how, with boisterous laughter and his favourite ice cream, hand written letters and silly elf hats.  

They might not have been his Christmas miracle but that didn't mean they wouldn't try.

JANUARY 1, 2018

He thinks it should be easier.  The worst had come and gone, after all.  

He'd spent the rest of the holidays occupied with public appearances and precious moments with his hyungs, exchanging small presents and doing everything he could to keep his mind off of you.  It'd worked, for the most part.  He hadn't had enough time to wallow in that pit of despair he'd come to call home, instead pulled from it by obligations and the hands of his loved ones.

And yet he can't help the way he checks his phone, turns it over and over in his hands like another flip might throw the universe into motion, righting its off-kilter axis.  

"You look stressed."  A voice purrs - but it's not you so he doesn't really listen.  Doesn't even flinch when a warm body settles itself against his side in a veil of vanilla powder and glossy curls.  "What's wrong, babe?"  There's a hand on his knee and lips at his ear, roses painting the shell as she presses herself closer.  

Jungkook’s certain it's meant to be reassuring but he can only lean away, eager to put as much space between them as possible.  For the first time, it feels wrong.  Like the distraction wasn't made for him, but by him.  This isn’t what he wants.  It throws every action, every minute adjustment of her features, into stark relief.

So it's impossible to miss the look on her face, how it screams hurt and surprise and what the hell are you doing?  

"What?"  The word comes in a pair - from him and her.  It's almost comical how she sounds in comparison to him, all edges and affront to his soft utterance.  There's venom in her single syllable, laid there by a sharp tongue and sharper teeth.  It's the first time he's been on the receiving end of it and he has to admit - he hates it.  It gnaws at his insides.  He realizes he's letting her down.

Like Frankenstein, he's created a monster he can't control.

"What's your problem?"  She's far less angry than she deserves to be.  If he were in her shoes, he'd be black and blue, howling at the moon.  Instead, she's still soft, affection dulling the bile that rightfully rises in her throat.  Even now, he can see the way she looks at him - larger than life, with stars in her eyes.

Jungkook doesn't find it in himself to answer immediately, instead staring adamantly at an indiscernible point behind her.  "Nothing."  It's the farthest thing from believable, a lie that fixes itself between them, bright red and beguiling.  

"It doesn't seem like nothing."  For what it's worth, she's trying.  He can tell she is by how her tone changes, adapts to the relutance he shows.  She's trying to coax something more from him, shifting slightly closer when he doesn't immediately recoil.  "The fireworks are on.  Let's go join everyone else."

It's a great idea in theory but it's the last thing he wants to do.  So he says as much, shaking his head in the same moment.

"I'm heading home."  It doesn't matter that he's nowhere near their dorms or that she suddenly looks like a kicked puppy.  All Jungkook knows is that he has to be anywhere but here.  "Have fun tonight."

He's rising before she even has a chance to respond, flipping the hood of his sweatshirt up over his carefully styled strands.  When she reaches for him, he retreats a step, putting as much distance between them as he can in the small room.  It isn't easy - she's everywhere, light reflecting off the sequins of her pretty white dress, the scent of her perfume presenting itself with every inhale.

"I'm sorry,"  he says and he means it, despite the disbelief that paints her features.  

Without looking back, he disappears out the door, sliding past the milling bodies, the various performers and staff that wander the halls.  Excitement still buzzes among the dispersed crowd and he finds himself getting swept up in the occasional hello, deterred from his mission over and over again.  

It isn't until his phone rings, tone interrupting the one-sided conversation, that he's able to pull himself away.  He thanks his lucky stars - until he sees the caller ID.

Because it's you.  You - the person he's been waiting for all this time.  

It has his heart hammering in his chest, his grip on the device suddenly so tight he worries he might crack the screen.  You're finally calling him.  After weeks, you were there, familiar contact photo beaming up at him.

"Hello?"  He can hear the hope in his own voice.  

There's a long pause and he feels his throat constrict.  Had you not meant to call?  Was it a pocket dial?  A million questions run rampant through his thoughts, kicking up dust and gravel that he nearly trips over in his haste to get a response.

"Soo?"

"Happy New Year, Jungkook-ssi."  The way you say his name makes him want to cry with relief because there's tenderness still, hidden beneath the soft, half-whispered greeting.  You sound exactly like you always have, if not a little quieter, with more reserve, and he wants to live in the sound, how it settles into his head like it belongs there.  

"Happy New Year,"  he echoes back in a voice thick with emotion.  

You were finally home.

notes.  this chapter is the painful brainchild of mine and @keywepie​ and as such, is dedicated to her.  thank you for letting me talk your ear off and i’m sorry it took so long!

and yes, this kook is very different from the present-day kook in the series but that’s the point.  he was!!  hurting n sad!!  and way younger!!!!!

[cyb-by-lang]

Phone a Friend

A drabble based in that one OSF AU called All The Little Children. You know, that huge one-shot where all the Tailed Beasts are the size of cats and also the ASL bros are kids. This is the start of Side B, like on a record. At least it’s not broken.

With all the chaos that the kids got up to last time, I figured there was still a bit of space to insert yet more shenanigans.

I’m also thinking of having the Kiddie Crew have their own series of drabbles and one-shots, but we’ll see how that works out~

“I wanted to ask you something,” Ace said one day, in Kei’s clearing with his pipe slung across his back and his arms crossed, more defensive than trying to start a fight. 

The turtle-toting woman still wasn’t in Fū’s good books, but Naruto and Gaara loved her. Luffy would latch onto anyone who lived on Mt. Colubo for long enough and wasn’t cruel to his brothers, so his judgment was definitely in question. Especially when food-based bribes were so close at hand all the time. Sabo was more cautious, but it’d been a whole month without unwarranted punches to the head from an adult and he’d started to drop his guard. He wasn’t as wary as Ace was, ever, but he was closer. 

Ace wasn’t sure what he thought. The first adult to brush off his concerns about being Roger’s son was still a bit of a mystery, even now, but not so much that Ace couldn’t come up here alone while the others kept Luffy distracted. With that bloodthirsty first impression well out of the way, and the second one knocked out of reality by someone who could take Gramps’s punches, that just left this awkward, intermittent caretaker. 

“Okay,” said Kei, up to her elbows in what’s going to be their group’s dinner tonight. Under the work table, Isobu lurked like a grumpy footstool. “Do you mind if I keep working?” 

According to Naruto, the vaunted Kei didn’t spend much of her time dressing wild game before arriving on Dawn Island. The huge alligator lying in fifteen pieces all around the clearing would beg to differ, probably. Sabo even made a deal with her a while back for all the pelts and skins of the beasts everyone hunted, just because it never seemed like she had any use for them. The ASL brothers got money and fed, and Kei got…to not deal with animal skins? 

It was probably a win-win situation, somehow. 

“Go ahead,” said Ace, and just made sure he was outside of the potential splash zone. “You might wanna keep chopping anyway. Fū promised to keep Luffy running around all day. You know how they are.” 

“I’ll take your word for that, then.” She slammed her cleaver down on the stump she’d been using as a knife block. “Go ahead and ask whatever you need to ask, Ace.” 

“That thing you did with Bluejam and Sabo’s dad.” Ace paused as Kei’s swings slowed for a moment, watching her reaction with ice rolling down his spine. Then, as the tempo of butchering returned to normal, he said, “I want to learn how to do it.” 

Kei scooped the hash she’d made out of alligator tail into a waiting bucket with the flat of the cleaver. Then she said, “I’m not sure you can.” 

“What?” The flat, unfeeling tone to her voice set Ace’s temper flaring, just like it always did. It was the same tone shitty adults used when they said things they thought were true, and that kids didn’t need to know about. 

“I’m also not exactly sure what you’re talking about,” she added, tilting her head curiously at him. She rubbed idly at her face with the heel of one hand, then grimaced at the blood streak left across her cheek. She looked like a murderer, except for the confused tilt of her head. “Sorry, are you talking about the fighting part or…?”

“I meant the thing you did to make everyone afraid of you!” Ace bit out, desperation getting the better of his self-control. His fists clenched, though he didn’t go for his pipe. 

In some ways, Kei’s patient listening face was worse than being laughed at. Even if no one saw what happened in Gray Terminal, Bluejam disappeared. Sabo’s shitty dad never bothered them again. Ace knew this woman was strong enough to protect his brothers when he wasn’t. The difference between their strengths stuck in him like a thorn in his sandal. Nothing helped him dig it out, no matter how hard he trained or how many people he fought. 

Ace snapped into a bow, though maybe not as good as the one Makino tried to teach him. “Please tell me how to do that.” 

Thunk. Thunk. Then there was a sound like a flag flapping, but heavier, as Kei tossed the alligator skin over the drying rack. 

“You don’t need to bow to me,” Kei said, already making her way to the pump on the side of her little cabin.

“It is an interesting thing to ask us,” said Isobu, dragging himself out and into Ace’s eyeline. “Sit down.”

Ace did so, because he’d been doused by Isobu’s weird water gun mouth about fifteen times by now, and the sixteenth was not the charm. While the turtle-thing stared him down with his single unblinking eye, Ace fidgeted a little. Sat with his legs under him and listened to the sound of the pump working, nervous but not like actually afraid. Not like with Gramps. 

“Killing intent is what it sounds like,” Isobu explained, tucking his leg-arms under his belly. “It is not precisely a skill, but instead a matter of the sheer will to do harm to people.”

“Kinda figured that from the name,” Ace said, in a slightly sullen mutter. 

“It is self-explanatory,” Isobu agreed, curling his tails as well, “but for that reason, I do not know if you have the capacity for it.”

At this point, Kei returned while flicking water from her hands. She sat in the grass across from Ace, just far enough away and with her legs crossed, so that Ace’s nerves settled a little. Though he wasn’t sure how, she always tried to do little things like that to help Ace and Sabo feel a little safer around her. Sure, they both knew she was faster and stronger than anybody else on the island, but not showing it off was a sign she at least cared about their impressions of her.

It only helped so much, but it was noticeable. 

“Like Isobu was saying, killing intent is��not really something I thought you’d want to learn,” Kei said, scrutinizing him with her eyes barely peeking out past her bangs. “What brought this on?”  

“I’ve fought a lot of people before,” Ace said, staring back as steadily as he could, “but I couldn’t do anything against Bluejam. None of us could do anything until Gaara and Fū showed up to save us.” He gripped his knees hard enough for his knuckles to go white. “I need to get stronger.” 

“Does that remind you of anyone you know, Kei?” Isobu’s voice asked, but when Ace looked up in surprise, the turtle pointed firmly at Kei with his left tail. 

“Only everyone,” Kei sighed. She rested her chin on her hand, elbow on knee, and finally said, “As violent as you and your brothers can be, Ace, I don’t know if killing intent is ever going to be your thing.” 

Ace wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or an insult. “Why’s that?”

Kei glanced at Isobu. Ace did, too, and the little turtle wiggled his tails. “I don’t know you that well, but I do know you’d do anything to protect your brothers. That sound right?”

Ace nodded firmly. “Duh.”

“So would I.” That gave Ace pause. Kei had brothers? Since when? “But I was younger than you when I decided that anybody who hurt Hayate would die. I’ve had a long time to just…” She waved a hand as though searching for a word. “To just hone that feeling. It’s not a healthy state of mind, carrying murder around like that. Isobu makes it worse.” 

Isobu’s tails wiggled like seaweed in a current. “I would argue—”

“No.”

“But—”

“We’re already bad influences. Don’t push it.” Kei stared at Isobu until the little monster rolled his eye and subsided with a grumble. She then turned her attention back to Ace. “It’s not just about wanting to kill someone. It’s… I hate to make moral judgments like this, but it takes at least a little evil to get the raw power for it. When you’re using killing intent, any ideas about the value of life just don’t exist. ” 

Ace opened his mouth to protest. He’d wanted Bluejam dead. He’d been out killing wild animals since he could walk away from the Dadan pirates and explore the island. He fought everything, stole, and lied and cheated and—and he was Roger’s— 

“You’re not evil, Ace,” Kei said sharply, cutting across his thoughts like one of her swords. She peered at his expression with too-knowing eyes, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re a kid with issues, but you’re nowhere near as bad as you think you are. That’s why I don’t think you can fuel an attack like that through sheer malice.” 

“Like you said, you don’t know me that well.” Ace glared down at his knees.

Kei made a noise that sounded like agreement, but with strings attached. “Tell you what—there’s probably a better route, and it might be something your brothers can learn with you.” When Ace looked up in surprise, Kei went on, “It’s called haki. It’s a power that’s rare before you get to the later parts of the Grand Line, but it’ll save your life.” 

Ace stared at her. “I thought Naruto said his thing was called ‘chakra.’”

“His is, but he was born with the potential to use that. Haki can be learned by anyone.” Kei’s eyes rolled skyward for a second as she thought that over. “Mostly. Keep in mind that I don’t use haki, but I’ve known people who do. Their lessons may still help you.” 

Isobu swatted Kei’s leg with one of his tails. “I was also listening, thank you.”

She paused for another one of her awkward stretches, staring her little monster friend down. Ace was never sure what went through Kei’s head when she zoned out, but all of the kids Ace knew had tried attacking her during those silences just to see how she’d react. Mostly, she snapped out of it instantly and sent people flying over her shoulder or straight into the dirt. 

The second one was mostly for the FNG gang. She was gentler with Ace and his brothers, as weird as that was. 

Kei said at last, “I can teach you what I know. My first true demonstration was when a guy kicked me through an island, so I’m sure it’ll help you punch above your weight class.” 

It wasn’t what Ace asked for. Even so, the idea of being able to knock someone like Kei around was a tempting one. If Gramps had trouble getting Kei out of his face when he showed up to visit, then Ace aimed to be even stronger. Chasing One Piece demanded no less. 

“If you want to stick around and help me prepare all this, I’ll try explaining as we go,” Kei offered. 

There was still an awful lot of alligator lying around. For some reason, Kei almost always turned this kind of meat into tiny stew cubes and cooked it with vegetables instead of just letting the kids eat everything immediately. When Ace wondered about it aloud, Sabo said something about “food poisoning,” but none of them knew what that meant unless there were weird mushrooms involved. Meat didn’t go uneaten around them long enough for it to go bad.

Ace was tempted—he’d learned cooking meant snacking while they worked—but finally said when Kei went to retrieve her cleaver, “Do you have anything I can just take back to the others right now?” 

“The usual lunchboxes are in the cellar,” Kei told him, already getting back to work. She had big butcher’s gloves and everything. “Door’s open.” 

Ace left his pipe stuck in the turf as he headed into Kei’s little cabin. It was pretty bare, aside from cooking utensils and the kind of stuff even Dadan had—bed, storage trunk, and so on. She hadn’t even really decorated. Ace already knew from previous visits that Kei didn’t store treasure here or really anywhere, and so Ace pulled up the hatch and hopped down into the cellar without bothering to snoop. 

A minute later, Ace had dragged all of the lunchboxes—really medicine boxes with straps for carrying—out the front door. Between the ropes left at the front of the cabin and the length of his pipe, he tied all of them together in a huge stack and hauled them onto his back. The fact that the burden was bigger than he was didn’t slow him down for a second. He and Sabo had carried whole jungle beasts around for years, so the lunchboxes were barely noticeable. 

“Remind the others that dinner is at sunset,” Kei called as he left, still hammering away at the alligator’s tough ribs. “And tell Luffy that he needs to eat all the vegetables this time, or he might get scurvy.”

“…What’s scurvy?” 

“A disease that makes your eyeballs bleed and your teeth fall out.” 

Ace froze. 

Kei didn’t smile when she looked up, blood splattered across the front of her rubber apron. Her panda eyes were flat and serious. She even managed to hold that expression on her scarred face for a full five seconds, then shrugged and turned back to her work. “Anyway, have fun adventuring today.” 

Isobu’s high, croaky laughter chased Ace all the way down the mountain. 

This probably had something to do with the fact that the turtle rolled most of the way after him, but, regardless, there was still no way Ace would forget that lesson anytime soon. 

-

Unbeknownst to Ace, Kei spent the bulk of the afternoon after he left on a snail call. The eventual alligator stew components were cleaned, stored, and marinating in the largest vat of soy sauce she’d ever gotten her hands on, which gave her a little time to shore up one teensy little problem in her lesson plan. 

"This is Thatch's Pancake House! We slap ‘em, you stack ‘em! How can I take your order?" 

“It’s Kei,” she said, and waited for the sound of several pirates falling over to come to an eventual stop in the background. Before Thatch could yell at her for being out of contact, Kei said in a rush, “So, I offered to teach a bunch of kids how to use haki, except I don’t actually know how it works. How did you learn?” 

“THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE FINALLY CALLING FOR?!” demanded several people at once. Thatch was just the loudest of the kitchen crew.

“You what,” said someone else. Sounded a little like Teach, actually. Kei had never liked him much.

“I need to teach a bunch of kids how to use haki,” Kei repeated, with a little more impatience. 

“WHY?!”

“Because they’ll get themselves killed otherwise,” Kei said. “Again, a little help?” 

“You—ugh, I’m taking this snail to Pops.” Thatch sounded exasperated at best. “Stay on the line!” 

“Can do,” Kei chirped, and listened to several pirates on the other end crash to a halt at the sound of her voice using that tone. They were too far away to retaliate. 

“Quit sassing us and explain where you’ve been, you brat!”