#im once again sorry for the amount of times it goes sideways but it did end up at the execution bit

[the-heaminator]

Hello @deadandcheerful i was your Rusame secret santa for this year, i do apologise for me straying off plot for a bit, i hope you like it anyhow! 

2.3k, M

They had an arrangement, a deal concocted years ago, it was almost foolish at the time to believe that they could and would protect each other against people who wanted him, well the both of them dead, but they did, and more often than not a body was involved. Alfred had a nearly unquenchable thirst for the macabre, bordering on infatuation with the inner machinations of the being, animal or human, a slave to his desires, and Ivan loved it.

Alfred was smart, he didn't look it, but he was, he had to be, and he had the pure charisma that people turned a blind eye to his activities, the authorities never said anything, well he was never even suspected of anything serious, this good he was at hiding his tracks. He had a similar aura around him that his father used to, speaking of his Father, it was another reason he assumed Alfred was just so good at hiding his tracks, his father had taught him.

Ivan used to consort with Arthur often, there was something about him so potently supernatural that it was near impossible for him to look away, from the entire house (a large one, he was quite rich) there emanated potent sorcery, it seems he had dipped his soul far deeper into hell than he ever did, probably ever would. but he had seemingly paid the authorities to look the other way, and there is no more potent nor widespread human sin as greed, he paid the staff handsomely too, they looked the opposite way when his sorcery and witchcraft became apparent.

Ivan had heard he had a son just when he started to speak to him, Arthur guarded him viciously from Ivan until he supposedly came of age, but the few times he saw him as a child it seemed as something struck him different about him, Ivan had no way of knowing that he listening in on the conversations he had with Arthur, listening behind the door as they discussed of entrails and whatnot, he had once heard a little giggle, quickly stifled from behind that door, and thought it to be nothing important.

Ivan at this point didn't know the manner in which his Father nurtured his natural born talent for persuasion and violence, nurturing the newly germinated seed, allowing himand e vn encouraging him to kill small animals such as mice and rats, he taught him how to gut them and take out their organs without breaking them, he occasionally asked for said organs but more often than not Alfred was allowed to keep his trophies, the first creature he lured and killed intentionally was when he was two and ten.

His father led him out and told him to try and speak to the creatures, he demonstrated, he closed his eyes and suddenly creatures big and small came to him, he grabbed one of them, a small mole, and squished it with his bare hands. He motioned for Alfred to do the same, as he relinquished control over the animals, and Alfred did it, only with the smaller creatures but he would work his way up from there.

His father could see the gleam in his eyes, and he loved it, he knew his boy would grow up strong once he fully came into his power, that he would take a seat on his side, even an Archdaemon, though he shouldn't be getting ahead of himself, the child he had with a foolish mortal woman could very well be his own downfall, though if he wasn't meant to do great and horrible, horrible things, he would never have been born, they were barren unless the child was destined by Madam Fate to do great things, horrible things, but great things nonetheless, and more often than not their children became their heirs, and so he wanted to make his transition a little easier.

Once Alfred accounted to Ivan how his Father, often unavailable emotionally, praised him whenever he came home with a corpse of an animal, said animals kept getting larger and larger, creatures and beasts of larger sizes and higher intellect started to respond to his summons, birds like geese ducks and swans started to come to him, he preferred the geese snd ducks, his father told him not to kill swans, his father considered them to be too deeply tied to the folklore of the region to meddle with.

He was not allowed under any circumstances to interact with other townsfolk until he was of age, that age being 16 summers, so he knew not that most humans could not do what he could, he did not know that boys of 13 summers didn't take joy in killing animals, he didn't know that his father was suspected of being in ranks with Satan, well that was because he knew it for sure, it was no longer a suspicion for him it was a fact.

Geese were easy to kill, their aggression got the better of them as they usually didn't have anything to back up their claims of violence, and fear was not a thing that worked on Alfred very well, he wrung their necks and brought them to the servants to cook. Said servants had been paid handsomely to keep their mouths shut, and now Alfred turning up with two dead mallards and a goose, all expertly plucked and gutted wasn't much out of the ordinary, the organs were all in a small leather pouch that he took upstairs to father as proof of his endeavours.

By this point, Ivan and Alfred had both noticed that Arthur's physical body was growing weaker, but the menacing supernatural air around him only grew stronger, he was praised wonderfully and his father showed him something he never knew he wanted to see, he looked into a shard of a mirror and saw something, it looked like himself quite a lot, though older, and his eyes glowed an electric blue, similar to how his Fathers did on occasion.

He didn't know what it meant, but his Father said he would tell him once he came of age.

A lot of things seemed to ride on him coming of age it seems.

But until then he continued indulging his thirst for blood, large and larger creatures were lured and killed, as his Father's health failed, until the night before his 16th birthday, that was the first time he killed a man.

It was a travelling minstrel or bard of sorts, who had taken to their town for a short period of time, he lured the minstrel with no particular difficulty, who didn't k is who he was following, why he was following him, where he was following him to and why he felt so intoxicated being just near him; he could feel his mind working at halftime, as if he had drunk far too much that night, though he knew he didn't.

Did he?

He also wondered, quite mildly to be that, why he wasn't running away as the boy of no more than 16 summers wielded an axe with reckless abandon, he didn't wonder why he wasn't scared as he was about to be beheaded, and so no scream was heard nor made.

That evening he dragged the corpse home, now the only servant left being an old servant known as Grigory, the rest had been disposed of due to Father's ever-increasing paranoia, him and Grigory had an agreement to give each other no reason to tell on the other, and when Alfred brought a whole human corpse to the table it was nothing too far out of the ordinary, the had was carried separately in a satchel.

Alfred burst into his Fathers room, he was laying down, body exhausted, but his only son showing him the decapitated human head invigorated him, getting up and hugging Alfred, congratulating him greatly before a severe coughing fit caught him in his clutches, he covered his mouth with his hand, and a concoction of blood and black ooze was spattered all over his hand.

"Look I know I do not have much time left, it is to be your 16th summer very soon, i need to explain you many things, though I need Ivan, I trust you know where he lives."

Alfred rushed himself over to where Ivan lived, whilst Arthur wrote down, on a slip of paper in shaky spidery handwriting.

Your beloved will go up in flames, let them consume you too, let them lick your shattered psyche, and your calling will be known soon after, let it permeate your mind, let them do what they wish, do not try to stop them, you will join me not too long after, and your beloved will be there too, so don't you fret. Tomorrow I shall be gone and you will have to take over the business and cover your tracks my son, cover them well.

Ivan was brought over that night, to help with the preparation of the meat and for the introduction to happen, Grigory thought that the meat seemed most similar to pork and cooked it in the same was as he would do to a pig, while Ivan and Alfred were introduced in the sitting room by an utterly exhausted Arthur who kept coughing up more blood, though it started becoming progressively more that black ooze, the dinner was served and eaten, Arthur retired to his bedroom early as Ivan an Alfred talked late into the night, putting the slip of paper in an envelope on Alfred's bedside, before finally allowing hell to reclaim him.

This body lasted a while, far longer than most humans ever did, and just about fulfilled the 16 years he needed to remain on earth, and now the rest was in Alfred's hands.

The next morning he was dead, the illness or whatever it was having claimed him, theoretically Grigory could leave now, but now as he felt honour-bound to this house, he renewed his contract and continued serving the sole master of the house; he had a cushy enough life, a handsome wage and his job wasn't even the most difficult, Alfred wasn't unreasonable in any manner and he would never admit it but he had grown a taste for human flesh, like pork but better, almost richer in a way.

Ivan consistently kept coming to the house, and he could feel a similar air that Arthur used to have around him forming around Alfred, this seemed slightly less restrained, Arthur's was trained and bound, Alfred's fluctuated with his mood, he noticed that whenever he came over it always seemed more pleasured and seemed to surround him in a pleasant way that felt almost like a cat purring contentedly in his lap, it was odd. Alfred kept up his killings, but very few were investigated, who cares if a drunkard goes missing, who cares if a harlot gets misplaced.

Alfred still aged like normal, 4 years after his father had left the world he had grown to his full height, not as tall as Ivan no, but Ivan was also unnaturally tall, he was smart he kept the finances in good shape and avoided suspicion, they grew closer after this time, they slept in the same bed oftentimes, at one house or the other.

The note, the odd prophecy that Alfred had found on the side of his bed the day after his Father died had been read and tried to be comprehended many times in the first few days, and yet he still didn't understand it.

The tensions in the town had been getting high recently, witchcraft allegations had been running rife, and the fingers were pointing steadily towards Ivan.

Alfred was never suspected, he was smart and he was rich, he knew how to cover his tracks, Ivan had not the protection of money and he was a foreigner, already putting him under suspicion, he also aged slowly, putting more suspicion on him. It was on the eve some 10 years later from the night that they met properly that the prophecy seemed to come to light.

In an hour Ivan was due to be burned, the warrant was finally issued, he was to be burned as a witch, he told Alfred to leave, to run, to go far far away while he still could, but he didn't, he was to stay with his beloved while he could.

The prophecy made sense now, but they had an hour, so why not make the best of it no?

Alfred got onto Ivan's lap, and kissed him, pushing his tongue through his mouth and exploring all the ridges that he had explored so many times before as a kind of goodbye, he broke the kiss as Alfred held his waist tightly and ground his dick into Alfred's ass, it getting more and more erect before it stood at full height, Ivan unbuttoned Alfred's trousers, and told, no ordered him to make love.

And so they did, Alfred's mouth cupping his dick and caressing it until he orgasmed, this was the last time they would be able to do this, so they explored each other's bodies too, stroking each other tenderly before getting dressed and responding to his summons, but not before Ivan gave him his scarf, his most prized possession, something his sister had knit so so many years ago, they had died now but the scarf had remained.

He was dressed in a white robe with a symbol of Christ in the front and was shackled to his pyre with silver chains, the pyre was lit and his screams could be heard throughout the town, and Alfred never broke eye contact from it, clutching the scarf to his chest all the while.

He had to let the flames consume his mind, then he would see his beloved again, he needed to see him again.

[mooksie01]

With Teammates Like These, Who Needs Friends (4/5)

Chapter Summary: It turns out that the only thing worse than a tense first date in an airship... is an awkward first date in a haunted dust mine.

Or: In which Clover feels like a moron, Elm causes problems, and nobody knows how to deal with a crush.

Warnings: More swearing, canon-typical combat, SPOILERS for V7C3, light angst

AO3 Link: [X]

Link to First Chapter: [X]

Notes: THIS IS A REPOST. Tumblr basically blanked my first attempt at posting this a few hours ago. Hopefully this one will actually show up. 

Long chapter today to make up for the short one yesterday! I hope you all enjoy!

Please like, reblog, and comment if you like this chapter, and thank you so much to all of you who have been! Your support means the world!

(Just to preface, I haven't edited this chapter as thoroughly as I usually do, as I'm currently in the process of packing to go back to college tomorrow. I might come back later and give it another run-over when I have time, but for now, I'm sorry if there are any major mistakes or awkward spots in the chapter!)

---

Walking through the abandoned dust mines with Qrow, Clover can’t help but be… a little distracted.

Up until now, Clover had only ever seen the other man move in a manner so instinctively disconnected and introverted that he’d just assumed that that was how Qrow always was. Now, though, he sees that he was wrong before; beside him, Qrow marches forward, back straight, shoulders carefully held lax in preparation for any possible conflict, head high, and eyes shining with a startling clarity and determination that takes Clover’s breath away.

In short, he’s a vision and it’s a herculean task not to stare.

Still, Clover is a soldier first and foremost, and he doesn’t allow himself to be sucked in so much that he might lose focus on the mission.

After a few long moments punctuated by nothing but his team’s routine check-ins, Qrow speaks up, “Gotta say, ’m still not really used to working with other huntsmen in the field.”

Clover glances at him out of the corner of his eye, mentally jumping hurdles in an attempt to figure out what the best route to steer this conversation in would be. He decides to tread lightly--nothing too personal. “But you were on a team before, weren’t you?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know. That should be safe.

Qrow sighs softly and his gaze darts to the ground.

Fuck.

Just kill him already.

“Long time ago…” Qrow’s voice comes out sounding gruffer than usual, “I’ve just found working alone tends to be for the best.”

Clover’s heart constricts in his chest. What is he supposed to do?! He’s already upset Qrow (twice, now!), how is he supposed to avoid doing it again?! He doesn’t want him to shut himself off from the Ace Ops just because Clover can’t stop sticking his foot in his mouth! Should he comfort him? He seems like he needs comfort. Fuck, he has to respond. What can he say?!

“Well, I think that’s a shame,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to punch himself.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he is saved from having to ruminate over his social missteps when Qrow suddenly pitches forward, his foot catching on the uneven terrain of the cave floor underneath them.

Clover dives after him, seizing him by one arm and grunting with the unexpected strain of having to pull his partner back to his feet, then moves one hand to clasp his shoulder and make sure he’s steady. He is unsure if he has his skill or his semblance to thank for the feat, but he is grateful nonetheless to whichever it is.

He determinedly does not think about how this is the second time today that he has gotten the opportunity to hold Qrow close. Because that would be weird.

Once Qrow is standing again, they stare at each other for what feels like a long time, but is probably only a split-second. Clover feels like tiny nevermores are making a mess of his insides the longer he looks into Qrow’s eyes.

Then, those incredibly nice-looking eyes narrow into a slight glare and Qrow takes a firm step back. Rather than think about what he’s messed up this time, Clover decides that now would be a perfect time to report in to his team.

“Alpha, here. Give me an update.”

Qrow falls into step behind him as they proceed forward. Once again, the minutes pass mostly in silence but for the intermittent interruptions of their comms. Unlike Squads Bravo and Charlie, they see no sign of any sentinels or the target itself, but Clover has a feeling that they will soon enough.

His comm buzzes in his ear and makes a soft beeping noise, a signal that someone is contacting him through the Ace Ops’ private channel. Clover is about to answer aloud, but stops when a quiet series of taps and drags echoes down the line. It takes him a second to realize he’s being spoken to through morse code. His heart starts racing. They almost never use morse code in the field. Has something gone wrong?

He listens closely.

“ ....  ---  .--  …  /  -.--  ---  ..-  .-.  /  -...  ..  .-.  -..  “

HOWS YOUR BIRD

He takes a deep breath in and steadily lets it out through his nose. Now is not the time to figure out if it’s possible to throttle someone through a comm line. Instead, he tries to discreetly raise a hand to his ear and respond:

“  ..  --  /  --.  ---  ..  -.  --.  /  -  ---  /  ..-.  ..  .-.  .  /  -.--  ---  ..-  “

IM GOING TO FIRE YOU

“Who are we firing?”

Clover startles, whipping his head around to look at Qrow. The other man stares impassively at him, a single eyebrow raised. Clover swallows hard because oh no, he’s hot. “Nobody. Well, Elm, probably.”

“What did she do?” Qrow asks, quickening his pace half a step until he is walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Clover again.

“Fooling around on comms during a mission. Don’t worry about it.” Clover stops walking, turning to face Qrow, who takes the hint and also comes to a halt. “How do you know morse code?”

Qrow shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. “Just a useful skill for a huntsman to have, isn’t it?”

Clover scrutinizes Qrow for a long moment, detecting that there’s something more to that. Unfortunately, though, he’s not Robyn, and he doesn’t know Qrow well enough yet to pick up on any tells he may have, so he just nods and they continue walking.

“Must’ve been something real interesting,” Qrow says after a few more minutes spent in silence, “to get you to blush like that.”

Clover’s steps falter. His face grows hot as he stares after Qrow’s retreating back.

Fuck.

He isn’t allowed to stew in his embarrassment for long, as their target suddenly phases through the cavern wall and appears right in front of them. Before Clover can even react, Qrow has already drawn his weapon and started shooting one-handed at the geist.

While Qrow keeps the creature busy, Clover shakes himself out of his stupor and speaks into his comm, “This is Alpha! We’ve engaged the target!” He pulls Kingfisher from his belt. “All squads head towards our position!” He extends the pole, and casts out the line, hoping to catch the geist by its ribs and haul it in before it can reach any materials to build a body out of. Unfortunately, his shot misses, the hook clattering to the ground just as the target darts into a giant chunk of ice sitting on the cavern floor.

Pieces of rock and ice begin to float into the air around them, pulled unrelentingly into the geist’s orbit. Clover curses under his breath and rushes forward, hoping to snag the geist and pull it out of its half-formed body before it can finish construction….

...Only to hear Qrow’s panic-filled voice echo from behind him, “Wait, stop!”

Clover looks up just in time to see a large metal beam tumble from the ceiling above. He raises his arms and takes a stumbling step back as it crashes into the ground just a few feet in front of him.

When the dust settles, he peers down into the hole it had made, taking the target with it.

Dammit.

He knows for certain that that beam would’ve done some serious damage if not for Qrow’s warning. He probably wouldn’t have died, but he certainly would’ve been out of commission for more than a little while.

Still, the target got away, and as Qrow runs to stand beside him, he reports in to the rest of the teams, “Target escaped. Last seen headed east.”

He shoots a sideways glance at Qrow, who is staring contemplatively down into the chasm, a strange light in his eyes that Clover can’t quite comprehend.

He looks back into the seemingly-bottomless darkness. Kicks a medium-sized stone into the newly-made pit in an attempt to get a rough estimate of how deep it goes. “Thanks for the call-out,” he says, suddenly remembering that he should probably express his gratitude toward Qrow for saving him an awful lot of injured leave. He props a hand on his hip and shifts his weight as the rock lands below. “That could’ve been bad.”

Qrow sighs heavily next to him, “I wouldn’t thank me….”

Clover is taken aback at the sheer amount of self-loathing and shame loaded into those four little words. He looks at Qrow. The other man is firmly avoiding his gaze, and the strange quality that Clover had noticed in his eyes earlier now registers in the back of his mind as guilt.

This… was not the Qrow Branwen that Clover had thought he’d be dealing with. Just a few hours ago, he couldn’t fathom a world in which such a famous huntsman would be anything less than confident and secure in himself, but it is becoming increasingly clear that that assumption couldn’t have been more wrong, as the intense self-contempt Clover hears seems to settle within a well-worn place in Qrow’s face and voice.

Qrow angles his upper body away a bit more so Clover can no longer see his expression. “My semblance brings Misfortune. Sometimes… I can’t keep it under control.” His voice gets weaker at the end of the sentence. His fists clench weakly at his sides.

Clover’s chest seizes with some unnamed emotion.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course Qrow had been upset this morning--his semblance was literally bad luck and here Clover had been, walking around with a bunch of good luck charms and making luck-based puns.

Reviewing the events of the past hours, more and more pieces fall into place. Qrow’s sudden shift in mood from playful to downtrodden after they’d run into each other, how he’d repeatedly downplayed his hurt feelings as “dramatics,” the way he’d said on the airship that he “couldn’t blame” Clover for--for what?

He remembers the way Qrow had gestured to his ensemble earlier. His world tilts on its axis.

Oh, Brothers, Qrow thought that Clover already knew his semblance and had been wearing all of his charms as some sort of twisted precautionary measure. To ward off him. A human person with thoughts and feelings.

Stupid, stupid, so stupid.

He shakes his brain’s attempts at self-punishment away. What’s more important at the moment is that he now knows what’s wrong, and that he can fix it, and Clover decides in this moment, a million thoughts running through his head, that he no longer cares about the other Ace Ops’ teasing. If hanging around Qrow from here on out is what it will take to boost this gorgeous man’s self-confidence, then that’s what Clover will do.

“That so?” Clover asks, as though he hasn’t been rethinking every single one of their interactions up to this point. When Qrow turns to look at him, eyes wide with shock, having obviously expected a far worse reaction, Clover flashes him the most reassuring smile in his repertoire (and that’s saying something, since he has a lot of reassuring smiles saved up at this point). “Well, hey,” he says, purposefully making a show of glancing casually at his scroll’s screen and extending Kingfisher, “don’t beat yourself up about it.”

(He hopes desperately that this remark comes off as encouraging, rather than callous.)

He pulls down what’s left of the metal beam that had almost crushed him, resulting in a small-scale landslide that just-so-happens to give them a way down with which to follow the target.

He turns to face Qrow, making direct eye contact with the other man, who seems to have frozen in place.

And hey.

“My semblance is good fortune….”

If he can get in a little flirting while he’s hanging around the aforementioned gorgeous man?

“...lucky you, huh?” He gives the other a wink as he speaks. Qrow’s eyes widen. Clover raises his eyebrows and turns away, watching Qrow until the last possible moment.

Well, that’s neither here nor there.

---

More Notes: And there we go! Only one chapter left in this part of the series! I'm glad everyone seems to be liking it so far, and I'm so, so thankful to those of you who have been so kind and supportive in the comments. You're all amazing! Lots of love, fair game rights <3

[chocafe]

muse — lee byounggon

summary: an empty studio filled with nothing, but love. genre: fluff word count: 1.5k pairing: boyfriend!byounggon x reader a/n: i combined two anon’s requests together which were 1. a cute byounggon bullet scenario and 2. late night studio visit with byounggon. i hope everyone enjoys this and i personally believe that this is a little sloppy, so sorry about that!!! ( ᵘ ᵕ ᵘ ⁎)

“you don’t know how badly i want to see you right now” byounggon mumbles into his cellphone

“you’re not the only one feeling this horrible pain.” you spoke into the other line as you agreed with him

it was midnight

the loneliest hour of the night

at this time, byounggon was pulling another all-nighter in the studio as he worked on a self-composed song

you were awake solely based on the fact that you wanted to keep byounggon company by talking to him on the phone (it may also be because you messed up your sleeping schedule by playing so much games during the late night)

“you know, you can come over right now.”

“to the yg studio?” you exclaim since you’ve never stepped foot in such a luxurious building before. “i thought you all weren’t allowed to bring visitors in?”

“who said i was bringing in a visitor?” byounggon began to chuckle in a mischievous manner. “listen, it’s twelve at night and the security guards could care less about who walks in. trust me, you won’t get caught.”

in a matter of minutes, you found yourself standing right outside of the building

after all, you would do anything for byounggon

“over here!” byounggon tried his best to stay quiet as he called out for you

in order to not get caught by the security guards, you entered through a back door, which was only used by people who were the most familiar with the structure of the building

byounggon clenched onto your hand as he guided you through the deep, yet empty, hallways

when the two of you encountered a security guard, you both began to dash, but that couldn’t hide the fact that you were both giggling like little childrens

in all honesty, the security guards weren’t bothered by your presence, even though visitors weren’t allowed at such an hour

if anything, fellow security guards thought you two were trainees who were secretly dating when they checked the cctv footage

“see! those were the two trainees i saw last night in the hallways. man, if only our lives were that simple.”

“once their managers find out about them— bam! it’s game over.”

the studio was quiet

maybe too quiet

it wasn’t how you imagined it to originally be

there were no groups of crazy, yet youthful, boys in sight

and instead, the only person you saw, was byounggon

you didn’t mind that and if anything

you really enjoyed the view you had of him

“now that you’re here, i can finally focus and work on these lyrics.” byounggon gripped onto your chair, that you were already currently sitting on, and pulled it closer to him

the less space

the better

he wanted to be close to you

physically and mentally

“you said that you can finally focus on your lyrics, but why is all of your attention on me?” you jokingly claim while staring directly into byounggon’s eyes

you knew his weakness

and it was you

“well,” his eyes creases into mini crescent moons as he reaches out to grab a hold of your hand “my lyrics are being written after you, so i need my muse with me in order to get the full effect.”

not only were you his significant other, but you were also his muse

little did you know about all of the songs that he has written about you in the past

if you’re really curious about the songs, then you can just scavenge through his bag and read through his journal, which has all of his song lyrics, written about you, with his pen ink smeared across

byounggon didn’t lie

having you directly next to him made him more productive than he was for the past three hours

he continued to write lyrics one after another

all while holding your hand with his other hand that wasn’t occupied by a pen

you two remained silent in the moment, but as usual, you didn’t mind

every moment when you two are together is enjoyable, even counting the silent moments too

you were both blinded by love

by the seconds that past by, you began to become curious as to what exactly byounggon is jotting down in his notebook

you slowly approached him and slid his journal out of his sight and into yours

you proceeded to read what he came up with, and you immediately knew it was about you

there was no doubt

but you still asked “who is this about?”

“hyunsuk.” byounggon jokingly responded back, squeezing your hand a bit tighter while breaking into a mini laughter

“then i guess you wouldn’t mind me writing about junkyu too, right?” you teased him right back

as the name ‘junkyu’ spewed out of your mouth, byounggon instantly stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes at you, pretending to be annoyed

but he could never be annoyed with you

it was a joke after all and you two regularly pester each other

“wanna hear a song i made a month ago?” byounggon asked even though he was already in the process of opening the music file

it was more like a “im going to show you a song i made a month ago.”

“yedam helped me with this one.” he added on, officially clicking the play button

once more, you two sat in silence and listened to the self-composed song

you were immersed in the song while byounggon was staring at you the whole entire time, wanting to see your facial expression to see whether or not you enjoy it

the song was more on the mellow side

byounggon rapped for the first and second verse while yedam sang the chorus

if you really put some thought into it, their voices contrasted one another

yedam’s voice is known to be as sweet as honey while byounggon’s voice is raspy and deep just like a black hole

when the song finally reached it’s ending, byounggon impatiently wanted your feedback “so?”

“yedam’s voice is seriously out of this world!” you gushed out loud while clapping your hands in excitement

that wasn’t exactly what byounggon wanted to hear

but as long as you liked it in some form

then he’s happy

his happiness revolves around you

the moon is still in the sky

and you’re losing track of the amount of hours you’ve been awake for

you lay your arms out on the desk and rest your head on top of them, laying your head sideways, so you can look up at byounggon

byounggon notices your action and stops what he’s doing

by doing the complete same as you, resting his head while looking directly into your pupils

you both don’t say a single word, but you both grin at each other

as if you both knew the other one was going to smile at the same exact time

byounggon lifts up his hand and runs it through your lock of hair

it was soothing and all you did in return was continue to smile for him

everyone smiles and it’s simply a natural thing to do

but why does byounggon’s heart race whenever he sees you smile?

his heart beats faster and faster

he sure hopes yours is beating just as quick as his

to cure his poor heart, he leans in, breaking the space

and kisses you softly on the lips

straightaway, you kiss byounggon’s lips back, reassuring him he’s not the only one alone in this feeling

everything goes quiet

there were no one knocking on the door, no footsteps and no music playing in the background

the only visible sounds were your’s and byounggon’s lips smacking against each others

and perhaps, your heart was beating just as loud

byounggon definitely knows how to steal your breath and give it back to you all in one

both of your hearts were blossoming like a field of flowers

maybe byounggon will make a song based off of this

the one thing you disliked about leaving byounggon was that you were unsure when will be the next time you’ll see him again

the two of you stood outside the building as you both waited for a taxi to stop by

his arms were wrapped around your waist as he dug his face in between the area between your shoulder and neck

“you really need to go back home. it’s already three am and you have school in the morning.” byounggon reminded you even though he was the one clinging onto you

“i can’t leave if you’re clinging onto me like a koala.” you chuckled, causing him to embrace you even tighter than beforehand

a taxi driver passes by, asking if you need a ride home

you both knew this was your call to leave

before you break the embrace to enter the car

byounggon leaves a quick peck on your forehead

the two of you wave goodbye to one another

the goodbye is more of a “see you later”

you both didn’t know when that day will come

but you’ll both make it work somehow

because you and byounggon would do anything for one another

[reatrea]

LTJG Michael Whitley: "I..." The engineer would pause, evidently trying to put words together properly. "You should've heard their voices, teach. They blamed me. They never outright said it, but... They blamed me for her death." Whit would sit there for a long moment, silently, before shaking his head. An obviously faked smile would be broad across his face. "But, y'know, I'll just show up, do what I need to, and dip out, yeah?"

Lt Vance chimes in from afar "You know what happened to me the last time I did that? You learned about it in my class."

Commander T'Sala:  "Did you ask them if they blamed  you?" she asks

LTJG Michael Whitley: Turning to face Vance, Whit would nod. "I remember. But, everyone deals in their own way." Turning back towards T'Sala, Whit would shake his head. "That's part of what I'm going to do while I'm there."

T'Sala lets out a little sigh from her nose. "You are not mistaken, everyone does. I am sorry that is what reached your ears, whether that was their intent or not does not change the pain of the mark it left."

LTJG Michael Whitley: Shaking his head, Whit would flash the faked grin again, "It is what it is, professor. I'll live."

Commander T'Sala:. "You you live. Life does indeed continue despite the pain. But I want you to look at me a moment Whit." she says shifting her eyes to catch his again. "Do you blame yourself?”

LTJG Michael Whitley: "I... If I hadn't been there, she wouldn't have. On the flip side, if she had just accepted my choices, she wouldn't have. So... I don't know how to feel, professor."

T'Sala nods and takes a breath. "I went through the same with my first husband. I will not deny a touch of petulance in my motivation but I wanted to be as free as possible from my Father's influence. Which is a story of its own. But we took the test in secret and applied to SFA. Salak wouldn't have if I did not. Then he was killed in combat. I also held him as he left.

I will tell you from intimate experience that you will never know the answer to "what if" and that it is most destructive when you direct it at the past. Instead, try and direct it at the future when you can. "What if I can prevent the next war to help this not happen again." Grief will never get easier. Do not let any 'bull shit' you other wise. You do get better at dealing with it. At looking it in the face and accepting its presence. I am still trying myself after seven years. I am Vulcan and there are still periods where I break down and cry.

Vulcans see grief as inevitable. But it can also be the most dangerous if not controlled. Because grief can turn into despair which is a harder and more destructive to the mind than even rage. We wear grieving markers much like the Romulans although it is our clothing, because it is that important to be given time and space to grieve in our own way BUT to have someone keep an eye on us because of how it can twist the mind. I am proud of you for facing this. You are doing it sooner than I was able to." She gives him a gentle look.

LTJG Michael Whitley: Sitting in silence as the commander speaks, Whit would let a small smile cross his features. "I'm just so sick of running from this, y'know? My own family, for fucks sake... As far as dealing with the grief its self? It's not alright. I'm not alright, and I'll be the first to admit it. But... I make it alright. It's alright because it has to be, yeah? I'll deal with it... When I get around to it. And that's all there is to it," He'd pause, his usual mischievous grin crossing his features, "professor."

Commander T'Sala: “It is your family and you should go back. You -are- done running and that is where you should focus now. Let this be a personal milestone. And I am agreeable to throw you out if I must next week. Perhaps even with a shuttle so you do not need to walk. Humor aside you are dealing. Everyone goes at their own pace. I have found some comfort as of late asking others how they deal because I've been on the edge of despair for so long...”

“Sometimes.." she pauses to make herself say it. "... I -do- fall into despair. I am not always alright either. Some days the amount of strength to get out of bed is like lifting a planet. But we do it and get through it. And that is something I find people do not cheer each other on for enough. It is also something people who haven't been through it will never understand. For me, helping others through it has been healing in its own way. Which is why Juvi -needs- you. No one else will get it like you do. And maybe you will help yourself along the way."

LTJG Michael Whitley: "Well..." The man would sit there in silence for a long moment, once more at a loss for words. "Fuck. That was... Pretty solid, teach. Thanks. I uh... I'll make sure I take that leave next week."

Commander T'Sala: “Good man." T'Sala nods firmly and stands, poking his shoulder. "And I am not a Professor. Im not allowed to be called that without a doctorates." LTJG Michael Whitley: "Professor, I mean this with all sincerity. Fuck the paperwork. Between experience and actions, you've more than earned the title. The paperwork just hasn't caught up yet because you keep getting shafted with bullshit. So... Yeah. Professor." The man would smirk, but a grin would flicker around the edge of it.

Commander T'Sala: For a rare moment in her life the Vulcan resists the perhaps downright genetic urge to argue. "Very well. Just not in front of the Admirals or Professor VonGrippen." She shakes her head. "What am I going to do with you, Whit? Besides put my boot on your bottom or hand on your back or just believe in you when you need it." She perks a brow.

LTJG Michael Whitley: "I mean...  Might as well let me do what I'm good at. Throw my ass in an engine room and walk away, and pull full plausible deniability when shit goes sideways?" The grin would remain in full force, mischievous as ever. Art By: HunnBunn

Main Blog: https://outpostzeta.tumblr.com/

[gohyuck]

Haechan - Drive

runaways au

fluff and implied past angst (mentions of abuse)

some lapslock in a dream sequence but otherwise i use normal capitalization

bad attempts at humor

really bad

im not funny

Gas station lights pollute your thoughts. The pockets of time when the whole world stops, white noise and radio silence, come and go easily, intermingling with the occasional car honk and on-and-off chirps of crickets. You aren’t sure whether they’re the saviors of your loud mind or whether they’re burning holes into your skull and flicking the ashes into your heart. You fiddle with the car door lock, flicking it back and forth with your index finger mindlessly. 

The driver’s seat door opens and in slides your what if, your maybe, your hopefully. Fingers stop messing with the lock, reflexively defaulting to running through your hair for a split second before moving to secure your seat belt across your lap. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, opting, instead, to turn on the engine, check his mirrors, and put his seat belt on. One hand grips the steering as the other rests on your leg, soft denim separating his palm and your knee.

“Are you sure about this?” The unspoken “About me?” follows, hanging, heavily, in the air.

He isn’t looking at you - how could he be, he’s shifted into reverse and is backing out of the parking space - but it still feels as if his eyes are boring holes right through your profile. You let air escape from between your lips before glancing at him from the corner of your eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” You’re surprised at how soft your own voice is, and clear your throat. 

“Yeah. I am.” Repeating your words again, albeit louder, you don’t miss the there-and-gone rise of one corner of his mouth. 

“Then let’s fuckin’ do this.” Donghyuck, or Haechan, as he forces everyone but you to call him, flashes you his beautiful, beautiful grin as he changes gears to leave the steadily more and more eerie by the minute parking lot. Both of your phones have been abandoned, left to be discovered behind the redbox machine on the side of the convenience store. It’s one thirty in the morning and there’s nobody else out except for the two of you and the cashier leaning tiredly against the counter in the store.

A thrill passes through your body as Donghyuck drives onto the main road, immediately accelerating to what you’re sure is at least five or ten above the speed limit. You startlingly realize that you’ve never felt more alive.   

“We’re going to have to dump this car in a few hours.” It’s been a good half hour of fairly silent driving, both you and Donghyuck in your own worlds. You cover the hand on your thigh with your own. He moves so his palm is facing upwards, and you intertwine your fingers with your best friend’s. Simultaneously he voices his agreement with you.

“I know; in those three or four hours we can cover a couple hundred miles, though,” Donghyuck swears under his breath as he notices a tailgater, causing him to change lanes. He continues, “Especially since my mom filled up on gas not three hours ago before driving home from work.”

“Bastard finally did something good for once.” You’ve never felt sympathy for Donghyuck’s excuse of a mother, and you know he feels the same contempt for your legal guardians. 

“Yeah, by funding her kid’s escape.” 

A comfortably silent ten minutes passes, although your heartbeat is loud in your ears. You realize that you’re on a service road.

“How about we get on the highway here?” You point at the upcoming ramp.

The faster you two get away and the farther, the better. 

“We’re getting interesting now.” He chuckles but obliges, moving both hands to the steering wheel as he accelerates. “Hey, get some sleep - I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn to drive.” 

You want to argue but your eyes seem to agree with him. Leaning your head against the window gingerly you close your eyes, willing yourself to drift as quickly as possible. You’re not good with sleeping on command, but with the gentle jostling of the car and with Donghyuck’s comforting presence by your side, a dream finds you within the next fifteen minutes. 

you and donghyuck are lying in a field, surrounded by the sun’s warm rays. both of you are dressed in all white, and when you look over at him he looks ethereal, even more breathtaking than usual. there are no splotchy bruises on his collarbone, no trademark scars from his mother’s nails on his chin or elsewhere in his skin. his eyes are raking up and down your frame, though not predatorially.  

“your scars are gone.” he speaks first, turning to gaze into your eyes.

“so are yours.” you turn complete sideways and place your hand on his chest as he lies flat again, pulling you into his right side with his arm. his left arm is folded to support his head. 

“hyuck?”

“yes?”

“you know that you’re my best friend, right?”

“uh...new phone who dis...”

“donghyuck!”

“i’m sorry but i really don’t - ow! quit poking me! fine, yeah. for real, though. you’re mine, too.”

a beat passes. he talks first, this time.

“you know that you’re my soulmate, right?”

“i thought i was the side hoe...”

“what? no-”

“how’re you going to break the news to mark?”

“to ma- christ. you had me scared for a second. although you’re not wrong...”

“shut up, hyuckie. i’m the one for you and you’re aware of it.”

“glad we’re on the same page. wait, though... if we’re both together and we’re both super hot... who’s the alpha hot one in this soulmateship?” 

“you’re a big dork, you know that?”

there’s nothing but fondness in your voice as you upturn your face to look at him. he’s glowing brighter than the sun as he moves his arm out from under you to use his hand to tilt your chin up. he leans in closer and closer. your eyes close a split second after his do, and your lips are about to meet in your first kiss with each other-

A light pinch on your arm wakes you up, causing your eyes to fly open. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you recall what was happening in your dream, what you so desperately wanted to happen in real life. 

“I need to pee...like...really badly. Map on the sign to the entrance of this rest stop says there’s  motel nearby here, by the way, and we’re a good couple hundred miles away from where we started. Now’s a good place to stop as any.” 

You unbuckle your seat belt, shoving open the prone-to-stick door as hard as possible to get out. Donghyuck does the same on his side, locking the car after.

“Kind of going to miss this car.” Remarking offhandedly, you read out your hand. Your best friend’s larger one finds it easily in the dark night. 

“Me too... You can drive us to a couple blocks from the motel, if there’s some parking lot or empty space we’ll just leave it there. Get it over quickly.”

“We can freshen up and take a really quick nap before leaving.” You smile at him, nervousness blooming in your stomach as you realize that it’s really happening - you have a chance of being free of everything with the only one who’s ever felt like home.

He grins, immediately grimacing afterwards.

“This’ll all happen but I really need to- can we walk faster?” 

The toyota’s been left in an old lot that looks like it hasn’t seen people since the last worldwide depression and the meager amount of money, a good five hundred dollars made through months of pulling weeds for neighbors and after school part time jobs is safe in Donghyuck’s pocket, and your legs feel like lead after the three mile walk following the car dumping. Donghyuck’s eyes are slits, his eyelids drooping lower and lower every minute, only to pop open in panic whenever he almost dozes off on his feet.

Neon red is a welcome sight as the slightly crooked motel sign comes into view. You grab Donghyuck’s elbow and speed up, both of you breaking out into a sprint in no time. It’s barely been a few hours into your new life and neither of you are roughed up by it, but you admit that the idea of sleep is still a pleasant one. 

The process of paying for a one night (more like three hours’) stay goes by quickly, and the smoke of the clerk’s cigarette follows the two of you down the torn down carpet of the singular hallway. Donghyuck wraps the rest of your money in his jacket and places it under his pillow as you wash up quickly in the shower. Once you’re done he swaps places with you, and you find yourself in one of his larger shirts and your own shorts, lying down on one half of the queen bed looking up at the creaky, slow moving fan. 

Thoughts flood your mind, of your “parents”, your old life, what’s to come, and, of course, of him. You find your tongue tied, suffocating yourself. He needs to know, you decide, but how can you tell him when it might ruin everything? 

After all, he’s all you have.

The question is lost, however, the moment the bed dips and you find him beside you. He turns off the only source of light, the lamp on the bedside beside him. You can’t see his smile but you can feel it, blinding you even when you’re in the dark and not looking.

The words can’t be stopped. 

“Hyuck...what if...maybe...hopefully...”

He says nothing, but you sense him propping himself up on his arm to be able to look at you as you speak. He’s waiting, you know. You always say what you think, in the end. You wince. It tumbles out of your month in one almost indiscernible sentence.

“I think I love you.” 

The light doesn’t turn on. Neither does the weight by your side leave. Both are unexpected.

Instead, a pair of lips finds its way to the junction between your neck and collar, leaving a chaste kiss in its wake. 

“I know.” He pauses. “I don’t think. I know that I love you.” 

You sigh, the last weight off of your shoulders. Turning around to face him you can’t miss his gorgeous smile or the happy glint in his eyes.

After what feels like an eternity his arm finds its way under your head while the other rests gently on your waist. One corner of his mouth turns up higher than the other as he leans in closer. Your noses touch, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

It’s five in the morning in a cramped town you’ve never heard of and you’re sleep deprived and broken and in love... and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier. 

“Are we gonna kiss or what?” Your conclusion, your definitely, your hope teases, mirth in his tired, but sparkling, eyes. Rolling your eyes, you nod slowly.  

“I think the former works just fine.”

idk how to end anything im sorry i love u all...this is kinda short but i was rlly just feeling the idea of driving today